It's Here. The Way of the Cross Opens Before Us

 It's been three weeks since my last post.  When Lent began I planned to write at least every Sunday.  So much for plans.

Three weeks ago life got really complicated.  It's better now, but it took a while.  We've had medical issues of various sorts, and planning for Holy Week on Zoom.  And I had good news: my first piece of memoir writing was accepted, to be published in July.  In the midst of all that, I plumb forgot to post here.

Now it's Palm Sunday, and we're entering into the heart of Jesus' story.  Yes, his birth is important; without his incarnation, we wouldn't have the rest of his story, or of our own.  And yes, his ministry is essential, his teaching forms us today.  But his central teaching is this: there is no life without death, there is no new life without relinquishing the old.  There is no new possibility unless we are willing to die to who we have known ourselves to be, what we have "known" to be true, what we have held out as most important in our lives.

"Those who love their life will lose it; those who lose their life for my sake and for the Gospel will have eternal life."

Thomas Keating's Welcoming Prayer sums up this path of discipleship.  He welcomes all that comes to him, and he lets go of all that might obscure the way:

"I let go of my desire for power and control.  I let go of my desire for affection, esteem, approval and pleasure.  I let go of my desire for survival and security.  I let go of my desire to change any situation, condition, person, or myself."

To call this a tall order is to minimize it.  This is the central challenge of our lives, to stare all of this in the face and mean it.

This is what Jesus did at the end.  He let go.  He "welcomed" this hard path, as he trusted that it was the only way forward.  He trusted that it was not the end.  In the garden he prayed to have it be otherwise; on the cross he cried out his fear; but he did not abandon his certainty that this was what God called for, and that God had promised new life would come.

As we walk with him, and with Mary Magdalene this week, take some time to reflect: where am I holding on to how I think things must be?  Where am I still clinging to some version of my life?  Where is God calling me to let go?

The challenges of this past month have planted in me the desire to let go more.  They were hard enough without my resistance; resistance just makes things harder.  So now I'm praying to let go, to welcome it all, to walk with Jesus and trust in Jesus' God.  Mary (all of them!)  is with me, with us, grieving and remembering and hoping against hope.

May you lose your life this week.  May you find the risen Christ at the end of the journey, offering you more than you can ask or imagine.  May it be so.

Cleansing the Temple

Ouch.

As I read today's Gospel (John 2:13-22), I felt the pinch.  I thought of Paul's words: "Do you not know that you are God's temple and that God's spirit dwells in you?" (1 Cor. 3:16)  So I had to look.

I looked in my heart, in my actions.  In my temple, I found lots of things beside the presence of God and the worship of God.  I found a money-changer, and someone selling doves.  I found myself putting my comfort in front of prayer.  I found places where I hold myself out as a woman of prayer, while I go to the mailbox looking for checks.  I found lots of times when I "welcome" people to the house of God, to the Companions community, without really seeing them.  I see the insanity of thinking I'm in a position to welcome others to a house that is not mine.  My temple is a mess.

This Lent has been powerful for me so far.  Even before it began I was being challenged to see the ways I cut people off or keep them in place.  I've seen more of my lack of trust in God, my compulsion to control others to feel safe, my racism.  I'm seeing more and more the cost of my perpetual haste - the sloppiness and lack of attention I can give to what and who is given to me to notice.  I'm daunted by the size of my mess.

I'm really not being hard on myself here.  I'm being honest.  Isn't that what Lent is for?  I'm actually excited, as I begin to face the mess in my temple.  I don't know what happens later, but I can smell potential, in the same way we can see possibility when we clean our homes.  What might I notice, and do differently?  How might I be a better of ally of BIPOC, a better Companion, a better friend and sister?  No, I'm excited.

So I pray: Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me.

All the pictures of this scene, following John, emphasize Jesus' anger and violence.  It may be holy zeal on his part, but I don't want to think of God's cleansing in me as the act of an angry, violent God.  I think of God showing me the mess and giving me tools to get to work.  God is not angry, but God is also not co-dependent!  In answer to my prayer, God says, "Here you go."

What are the tools I'm given?  First, God gives me inner eyes to see the mess and the desire to clean up. These don't start with me; they are a gift in themselves.  Then God hands me the glass cleaner, so I can see myself better.  Now it's time for the dust rag of humility, letting me see others more fully.  God offers the broom of willingness to sweep away the distractions that get between me and God.  But a broom isn't enough.  To really clean, I need the mop: renewing my baptismal covenant, letting myself be washed again in my heart.  And not least, God shows me the door to take out the trash!  Prayer, more prayer.  Letting go of the dust, the dirt in my soul.

Then I can look again.  Better, I can ask a companion I trust to look with me.  Did I miss something?  Probably.  Just like cleaning my house, I do what I can see at the time.  But I also get to notice where the shelves are clean, the floor is clean, the mirror is looking better.  I can stop sneezing from my own dust and start breathing deeply again.  I can look outside.

I don't know; maybe this doesn't sound like a project you want to get into.  But I find that each time I do it, I'm happier.  Yesterday I gave the car its spring cleaning, and I like knowing that it will last longer and do better than if I had let it go.  My soul is infinitely more precious than the car!

If you think your soul is maybe in need of spring cleaning, go to it.  God be with you.