Seasons of Yearning

This is the season of yearning. Here in the north, the bitter chill has settled upon the land. It creeps in through chimneys and through the cracks in the windows. Frigid drafts discourage us from getting out of bed in the morning and drive us beneath the covers early in the evening. It is a season of whiteness, when the world becomes and indistinguishable pallet of bleak tundra. The novelty of winter has long ago worn off and there is yet no promise of spring. It is the netherworld known as March.

“March sucks,” was the oft-repeated refrain of my father who used such expletives to decry the lack of outdoor activities available. In March it is too warm for ice fishing and yet too early for fly-fishing. Turkey season has not yet come and deer season is a distant memory persevering only in bitter refrains or in the bottom of freezers.

Even I, who share few of my father’s predatory tendencies, find myself aligned against the moth. Hiking is difficult amid the ankle-scraping drifts. Pants always return home with their cuffs soaked. Few animals brave the winter woods and the chance of an encounter is rare. A lack of flora yields unimpressive views. On top of all this, the blustery winds make it far more attractive to lament the season on the dry side of a pane of glass.

Yet there is value in longing. Our daily lives are an exercise in instant gratification. We expect (and sometimes get) things to come to us immediately. Technology is largely to blame but we must accept responsibility for our attributes. We have lost, it would seem, the satisfaction that comes from patient expectation. We might instruct our children in the virtue of patience but we buck against it when it rears its head in our own lives. There are some pleasures that only come by trial; some flavors only come through the ripening. When we rush through the process or (as is more often the case) bitterly complain our way through the waiting, we spoil the victory that we have gained.

The seasons are the perfect remedy for our demands for instantaneous action; the perfect teacher for our impatience. Regardless of our wishes, we are bound to the rhythm of the earth. Autumn paints the leaves at a constant rate every year. Summer remains a tantalizing prize in the heart of winter. The seasons--- their opportunities and their complications ebb and flow as the tides and if we are to not waste away our days on this earth, we must learn to find the beauty in the hours before the dawn, the joy in the pain. We must train our eyes to see the crocus emerging from the snow drifts, to find solace in the shade of a tree in the heat of the day, and to find beauty even on the greyest of days. We must slow and discern if we to find value in all things.

Ashes and Tears

I held tightly the bowl of ashes in my trembling hands. I stood as straight as I could … until I remembered the lessons I learned from participating in several weddings and unlocked my knees so I wouldn’t swoon, pitch forward, and make it a memorable Ash Wednesday indeed. The pews before me begin to empty as strangers and friends queue in the aisles, faces fixed in looks of contemplation.

I was asked to administer the ashes during the Ash Wednesday service by our pastor about a week before. It was something I had never done before and while it most certainly isn’t the biggest deal in the world, it seemed to me a solemn and holy service I really felt the Lord wanted me to do. So I agreed.

Ash Wednesday, and the Lenten season as a whole, is meant to be a season of reflection during which we remember our own sinfulness and Christ’s sacrifice. It is meant to be a solemn endeavor aiming to deepen our understanding of just how much Christ’s selfless sacrifice means for us. The more we understand about the depths of our own failures and depravity, the more we understand our inability to produce anything good or holy. Only when we comprehend our un-holiness do we really grasp our absolute need for dependence on a Savior.

As I waited patiently for my role in the service to begin, I started contemplating my own life and my past. My past--- oh, what a sordid picture of me at my absolute most selfish and disrespectful. It continually amazes me (dreadfully) how much of my time, my energy, and my thoughts have been wasted pursuing my own disgusting, horrible goals --- all of which left me empty and depressed.

I held the bowl of ashes in my moist palm. I ran my thumb through the coarse palm remains. I listened as the Scriptures were read: “if My people who are called by My name humble themselves and pray and seek My face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, will forgive their sin and will heal their land.” Oh how unworthy I am, I thought. There is nothing I have ever done to warrant the way that the Lord has used me, nothing. All that I have been and all that I have done in sin and selfishness should have more than disqualified me from His service, and yet He has seen fit to use me despite my past, despite my shallow faith, and despite my obvious deficiencies. Praise the Lord for His mercy is great!

Tears welled in my eyes (I never cry) as my friends and family approach. I mark their foreheads or hands mechanically while my thoughts remain marked by my own sinfulness and stricken by the boundless mercy of the Lord. His mercy is great indeed.

Earnestly We Seek Thee

Sinners, orphans, the world we sought,

Its pleasures and its approval.

From utter bondage our souls He bought,

By grace our sins acquitted.

Perfect love from Christ received,

New life in You is giv’n.

Your salvation in us conceived,

Our anchor fast in heav’n.

Earnestly we seek Thee.

Earnestly, we lift our hands.

With contrite hearts our offerings bring,

Our actions speak, our voices sing.

Our hearts, our souls have careless been

Trading heaven’s joy for pleasures fleeting.

May we recall all that we’ve seen;

That sin and death are beaten.

Kindle a fire within our souls---

A consuming flame ever enduring.

May thy Holy presence be our goal

That we may worship never ending.

Earnestly we seek Thee.

Earnestly, we lift our hands.

With contrite hearts our offerings bring,

Our actions speak, our voices sing.

Longing always, may we seek

Thy Spirit’s leading all our days;

A simple word for us to speak

An act of love to bring you praise.

Our sword and shield shall ever be

Our Lord, Our God in life and death

Who rules and reigns eternally

He supplies our life and breath.

Earnestly we seek Thee.

Earnestly, we lift our hands.

With contrite hearts our offerings bring,

Our actions speak, our voices sing.

If We Would Still

I’ve got a thing about gorillas. They fascinate me. I’ve read books about them. I’ve begun visiting different zoos to see each zoo’s gorilla exhibits. I love to observe their behaviors, their facial expressions, and mannerisms. Each time I find myself able to watch them I become transfixed by them. Often I’ll sit in front of the exhibits while the crowds gather around, gradually disperse, and gather again. If I had enough time, I’ll spend hours watching them. It’s amazing the things that you notice when you pause and allow time to take in your surroundings. When I watch the gorillas I begin to comprehend their personalities and quirks. I notice things that I would have missed otherwise.

We live lives that offer few easy opportunities for us to stop and still. The blessings of technology create an ever-connected lifestyle that, while offering us convenience and comfort, also presents us with innumerable distractions and temptations. We fill even our free time with appointments and distractions. There are few margins in our lives that afford us the opportunity to still ourselves.

I love to hike and one of the reasons that I love it so much is the prospect of seeing different animals and plants. Often, as I’m hiking along, it appears as if I am alone in the woods. Normally, I just plod along through (there are many miles to go after all) but sometimes (it needs to happen more) I will stop, take a seat, and observe the silence around me. The silence, it turns out, is not silence at all. Birdsong resumes faintly in the distance. The breeze high above moves the boughs. Some animal off in the distance pads along the fallen leaves. All along the silence had not been silence but rather a symphony of activity that I miss 99% of the time when, in haste, I hike on by.

We have erased the margins in our lives. We don’t allow time to pause and examine either ourselves or our surroundings. I even find myself feeling guilty for having downtime. We need to stop. We need to still. We need to relearn how to observe. We will never be healthy until we still ourselves even for a moment. We will miss out on hearing the voice of the Lord if we turn prayer, service, and the Word into another line on a to-do list. We will never perceive the hurts and needs of our neighbors if we never allow time for a “purposeless” conversation. Let us stop. Let us still. Let us listen and observe.

In the Absence of Words: Embarking on a Journey

For the last few months I’ve been thinking about prayer and Scripture. See, I enjoy teaching the Bible. I enjoy asking questions and proposing applications. I’ve been doing this in student ministry for nearly ten years and I have learned the gifts I have and the things that I don’t do well. I’m pretty regular with my own reading of the Bible (I don’t say this with any pride) but I’ve always been a little reticent when it comes to prayer, especially spoken prayer. Throughout the month of January, my church has been going through a study on prayer. None of it was especially revelatory if I’m honest, but it got me thinking: am I just learning about prayer or am I doing it? Is the knowledge I’m learning simply enabling me to teach others or is it actually affecting my behavior? These questions ran up against, and coalesced with some other thoughts I’ve been having about teaching others. A question emerged: Am I learning or am I experiencing?

So I made a course change. I dedicated myself to give up teaching for a month. In my Sunday school class we decided to focus entirely on reading the word aloud and to praying for the things that we always say we’ll pray for but never do. It is hard? Yeah. On day one, I had to fight back the tendency to fill the silence with my own observations. It is awkward at times? You bet. Are there weird silences? Absolutely. Perhaps though, the Lord will speak in the silence. Perhaps the Holy Spirit will move in the absence of exegesis. Perhaps we need to feel uncomfortable to ever be able to grow. I have no idea what the outcome of this course will be, but I figure that the world will benefit from less of me and more of the Lord.