The power of grace, according to Jean Valjean

First, a disclaimer.  Although this post discusses details of the movie/musical Les Misérables, there really is nothing about the plot that cannot be found by reading any newspaper or internet review and only the very beginning of the movie is really discussed.  However, if you want to see nothing about the film until you have seen it, don’t read this!

Today I went to see the movie Les Misérables.  Oddly, although I’ve listened to the Broadway Soundtrack many times, and know the basic premise of the story, I really didn’t know or remember much about the details.  And so it was that, in the first few minutes of the film, I was amazed by one of the most powerful exhibitions of grace that I have ever seen in film.  After Jean Valjean has been paroled after serving a 19-year sentence for stealing a loaf of bread for his sister’s dying child, he is understandably bitter and angry, vowing never to forgive the injustice that has been done to him.  After stealing the silver from a convent, he is caught and the Bishop, instead of accusing him and sending him back to prison, tells the authorities to that he has given Valjean the silver and, in fact gives him more.  In a moment that I imagine to be much like Jesus talking to the woman caught in the act of adultery, he says, “Use this silver to make yourself an honest man.”  In the next scene, Valjean is sobbing in front of the altar, completely broken down and overwhelmed by this act of grace, which has given him an opportunity at a new start.  He dedicates his life to the service of God and others, vowing never to forget what has been done on his behalf.

There is so much to say just about that one little bit.  It is key to the rest of the film, another 2+ hours’ worth.  However, it is also key to my life, to my Lenten journey and to my relationship with God.  

In reading reviews and comments about the film, it seems this moment is glossed over as “heartwarming” or an “act of kindness” and somehow, to me, the fullness of its meaning is lost.  The deeper meaning, to me, is that this is exactly how it looks when God redeems us.  This is why the life and death and resurrection of Jesus have such power.  Jean Valjean could be considered a “small time” criminal, a “minor” sinner.  He was treated unjustly, wasn’t he?  He “only” stole a loaf of bread. And surely, because of his sorry circumstances, he could be justified for stealing the silver from the Bishop.  However, the law sees it differently.  He is no different from any other criminal.  He has committed a crime and he must pay the penalty.  But the penalty he has to pay, far beyond the hard labour of prison, is also a life of bitterness and hatred. 

Many of us have found ourselves in this same boat.  We don’t consider ourselves really “that bad” of sinners.  We’re generally honest, hard working and just trying to get along in life.  Meanwhile, we’ve been hurt, often by the Church and by those we love, perhaps our parents or our friends.  We feel justified in living lives underpinned by bitterness and perhaps even revenge.  We seek out churches and therapists who help us to see how we’re not to blame and that we don’t need to be caught up in all that negativity and guilt and shame. 

However, we’re missing out on a big piece of the puzzle if we stay there.  Jean Valjean almost missed it.  But, of course, if he had, Victor Hugo would not have had a story.  The story is that ALL of us, no matter how big or small our offenses, live in a world embittered by sin, by fear, by guilt, despair and revenge.  A literal reading of the Bible attributes this state of sin to Adam and Eve eating the forbidden fruit in the Garden of Eden.  Whether that story is literally true or whether it is a metaphor (or a parable or an allegory, I’m never sure which), it is clear that SOMEHOW, the wonderful and perfect Creation that God intended has gone horribly wrong.  It is still beautiful, to be sure, but horrible things happen, often to really good, nice people.  And, despite our best intentions, we often do horrible things to those we love. 

So, what happens when, in our bitterness and guilt, someone says, “I love you, wholly and completely.  You are beautiful just the way you are, because I MADE YOU THAT WAY.  And I forgive you for all of the wrong you have done, even the wrong that you’ve kept hidden way deep inside.  I see all that. I KNOW you. And you are mine. “  How do I respond to that? How do you respond to that? 

If I really, truly take that all in, the only way I can see to respond to that is the way Jean Valjean responded.  It is so overwhelming to realize that I have been saved from a life of bitterness and fear and regret that really, all I can do is cry and pray and throw myself at the mercy of God and commit my life to following that example of grace and forgiveness.

Of course, the rest of the story, as I’ve repeated over and over on this blog, is that God became one of us and is intimately familiar with every kind of suffering we’ve experienced.  Jesus took it all on and he overcame it.  And that’s why we can trust him when he invites us to lay it all down and follow him. 

There is more to say about this.  The notion of “Cheap Grace” comes to mind.  A discussion of the rest of Jean Valjean’s story and his struggle to stay true to his promise to God to act with integrity and kindness is well worth further exploration.  Those will have to wait for another night.  For now, I’m contemplating this powerful scene in the context of today’s churches.  It’s either “believe in Jesus or you’ll go to Hell because you’re a miserable worm” or “forget all that shame and guilt stuff, God made you good and so you’re good. Period.”  I think it’s neither and it’s both.  I am a miserable worm and destined for Hell.  Whether that is a Hell of my own making, in this life, or a place of eternal suffering in the hereafter is not really as relevant as that fact that without the kind of grace embedded in the life, death and resurrection of Christ I am doomed to hopelessness and despair.  On the other hand, I AM a precious Creation of God and I no longer have to feel guilt and shame for what I’ve done BECAUSE of that grace.  At one extreme, the Gospel is not really “Good News” and at the other, it is pretty much meaningless.

As I contemplate this awesome, powerful grace, I want to leave you with a line from one of the final songs in the film:  “To love another person is to see the face of God.”  May I love others in a way that shows my gratitude to God for this most amazing grace.

Amen. 

Frozen by perfection

It's Day 2 of Lent.  Yesterday was Ash Wednesday and I was involved in meetings at the Med School all day so I had no opportunity to go to an Ash Wednesday service.  I did spend a fair bit of time THINKING about the liturgy of Ash Wednesday.  "Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return." "Return to the Lord your God for he is gracious and merciful, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love."  These phrases have been passing through my mind over and over the last couple of days.

Meanwhile, I haven't for the life of me been able to figure out what to write about.  I can't work out a "perfect" blog post to start off my Lenten journey.   And so I have been frozen into inaction, a sort of "writer's block."  But in my readings and prayers these last few days I have come across this concept of perfection more than once.  Lent isn't about being perfect.  It's about being REAL.  Being naked before God.  Letting God heal us from our imperfection.  Knowing that God has already redeemed us and healed us and accepts us as we are.

Lent isn't about empty piety either.  One of the listed readings for Ash Wednesday is Isaiah 58.  The prophet is talking about fasting as a self-serving exercise so that others and God might take notice.  But, the prophet, notes, these same people are oppressing their workers and stirring up trouble.  Instead, he says,

"Is not this the fast that I choose: to loose the bonds of injustice, to undo the thongs of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke? 

Is it not to share your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to cover them, and not to hide yourself from your own kin? 

Then your light shall break forth like the dawn, and your healing shall spring up quickly; your vindicator shall go before you, the glory of the Lord shall be your rear guard. Then you shall call, and the Lord will answer; you shall cry for help, and he will say, Here I am."

All of my Lenten discipline and striving for perfection is a big waste of time if I'm only doing it to for the sake of perfection or to look good.  If all I'm doing is trying to write a clever blog post to show you all how pious I am then it's all about me.  But Isaiah is saying that the fast that God wants is to break the bonds of oppression and injustice.  What am I doing today for the sake of justice?

That's not to say that I should give up this blog-writing discipline as meaningless. I'm not letting myself off that easily.  But in so many areas of my life I have allowed my own perfectionism (a very egocentric attitude) to get in the way of working for the cause of justice, of simple acts of sharing my bread with the hungry, clothing the naked, sharing what I have with the poor and homeless.  I make the same excuses that we all make.  "My little bit won't make a difference." "They're probably taking me for a ride, how do I know that person is really needy." "I can't afford it." "I don't want to pry into someone else's affairs." The list goes on.  Because I can't do it MY way, because I'm not rich enough or clever enough to come up with the PERFECT solution, I am frozen into inaction.

The opportunites are often subtle and small.  They usually do not involve making a big splash and getting our names out there for all to see.  And that's good.  Once my ego gets involved then I stand in God's way.  If I get in God's way then I frustrate all possibility of perfection as only God CAN make things right and perfect.  Likewise, if I turn my back on the opportunities God puts before me, it's quite possible that God will simply start giving the opportunities to someone else.  These opportunities to serve are opportunities to see Jesus, "God with skin on."  If I miss them, I miss God.  I miss the point of the journey to the cross.

What opportunities might I have today or tomorrow to meet and serve Jesus, to break the bonds of injustice, to feed the hungry and clothe the naked? How might I have to step outside of my comfort zone to do so? And how might my obsession with perfection get in the way of these small acts of service that might present themselves before me?

Almighty God, the Redeemer of all who trust in you; give heed to the cry of your people, deliver us from the bondage of sin that we may serve you in perfect freedom and rejoice in your unfailing love; through Jesus Christ our Saviour. (NZBB p 572)

This year, as every year, I try to be intentional about the journey of Lent.  Last year, it seems, my Lenten journey brought me to New Zealand.  Nonetheless, I start off each Lenten season with great intentions to do some extra prayer, meditation, study, reflection and to fast from things that seem to get in my way of these things.  Things such as the internet, Facebook, coffee, sugar, anger, politics...the list is almost endless.

One of the things I've noticed this year is that I spend an awful lot of my spare time sitting with my laptop in the lounge, while my partner sits on the opposite couch with hers and we're just there, not really talking to each other and doing what?  I don't know.  Facebook is really boring, and yet I spend a lot of time there.  I spend time on GCN and sometimes I look at some news item or blog post from someone I follow.  But most of the time is really a waste.  During the spring (that would be fall for my Northern Hemisphere readers) I decided that I could spend that time doing something else and so I signed up for an online course on "The Diaconate" through the Church Divinity School of the Pacific.  I wasn't really that engaged in it for some reason.  Partly, it was because my book arrived several weeks into it (because I only got the reading list a week before, way too late to get a book to NZ).  Partly, it was because everyone else in the class was in North America and were in some way already engaged in the discernment process while I am still exploring and not in a parish where it is even possible for me to be ordained to the Diaconate.

The point is that I have determined that there are way better things for me to do with my time than sit with my laptop in the lounge of an evening and fiddle around with Facebook and other mindless websites.  So one of the things I'd like to do (and in writing it here, am stating my intention to do) is to blog through Lent.  I'd like to work through the Lectionary readings for the days of Lent and write some reflections.  One year I committed to getting up early to do some Centering Prayer.  Another year I committed to getting up early to walk the dog for 20-30 minutes in the morning while doing a walking meditation (unplugging from the iPod for the walk was a real challenge).  Both of those years, I stated the intention and I stuck with it.  I got back to it when I missed a day or two, rather than scrapping the whole plan.  I intend to do that this year too.  I hope that my readers, few as they are, will hold me to it. If you don't see a post for a few days or a week, please push me!

If anyone has ideas about topics or readings for me to reflect on, I'm open to hearing about them.  If anyone has suggestions for how one creates and sticks to a discipline such as this, please share them.

Lent is about repentance, turning our hearts and lives around to follow Jesus to the cross.  It's about reflecting on the suffering of the Lord Jesus Christ as he walked the way of persecution and torture all for my sake.  I know there are readers out there who take issue with this characterisation of both Lent and of the meaning of the sacrifice of Christ and what atonement means.  Post-modern liberal theology says that we're all "ok" just as we are.  Yes, to an extent that is true...we are all accepted and unconditionally loved by God.  But "ok?"  No, I am most definitely NOT "OK" as I am.  I am imperfect, undisciplined and repeatedly fail to do the things that I "intend" to do and that I know are right and I persist in doing self-serving things which serve no useful purpose.  The purpose of this is not to beat myself up but to own up to my weaknesses so that I can surrender them to the care of a loving God who wants so much to be in relationship with me that God became Human and took on ALL of the suffering that we brought upon ourselves so that we can be set free from the power of the sin.

So, in my first post about Lent (which only starts in 2 days), I am becoming an apologist for my faith which is something that I think is vitally important for all people of faith.  I need to understand and explain why I am passionate about my faith.  Blogging about it will not only help me to become clear on that but in the process, maybe someone will read it and get something out of it.

The first of the Collects for Ash Wednesday list in the NZ Prayerbook is:

Jesus, holy and strong,

by your fasting and temptation teach us self-denial;

control and discipline us, 

that we may learn to obey.

May it be so.

The Lord is Risen!!

He is risen, INDEED!

I am late posting this, although, really, it's never too late. Plus, liturgically, Easter lasts for another 6 weeks until Pentecost.  I'm suffering from a bit of "OCD" writer's block.  I keep thinking of things I'd like to research and write about, things like early Church history around celebrations of the resurrection, and I'm not finding the time.

So, first, a bit about my celebration of Easter.  I went to Dunedin, to the Great Vigil at All Saints' Anglican Church.  Here's a little information about the Easter Vigil liturgy.  The service started with a bonfire in front of the church.  One of the advantages of being in the Southern Hemisphere this time of year is that it is not only possible, it's EASY to start the Vigil in the dark, as the rubrics in the Book of Common Prayer suggest.  In Montana, after Daylight Saving Time begins, it's still light at 8 PM and since this is typically a long service, it's quite difficult to start it after dark and not lose people due to the late hour.  (Of course, we are all wimps, because this service originated as an actual all-night vigil. Check out the Wikipedia article for more information than you could ever want about that.)

To back up, just a tad, I got a flat tyre (tire) on my way to the service.  It's a long story but to truncate it a bit, I called my boss (I was near his place) and he came and rescued me and took me to church then went back and put my spare on and then drove my car back to me while his wife drove their car so that I could go straight home after the service.  It was probably the most wonderful part of the whole thing!  This man couldn't care less about church.  He's not "anti" church or Christianity, just not interested.  But he exhibited a most Christ-like, genuine care for me and for what he knew was important to me.  And he never showed any degree of annoyance or in any way made me feel like I needed to repay him for his kindness.  As I was waiting in the dark for him to come and rescue me, I was thinking how much I had wanted to go to the Vigil and how I had planned out the day with just that in mind and I was so close to making it and it looked like I was going to miss it.  I had a moment of peace and clarity there--I said a prayer asking God to make a way for me to make it there or to help me to be ok with it if I couldn't make it.  I took a deep breath and let go of my wants and expectations and had a sense that whatever was in store was completely God's will and exactly where I was supposed to be.  That's nothing short of miraculous, frankly, as I'm the world's worst control freak!  And, in the end, the surprise was Branko, coming through to help me with my car AND get me to church!  Who knows what kind of work the spirit might be doing in him, or me?

So, to get back to the vigil, it was a beautiful service, starting with the bonfire and lighting of the Paschal candle.  The first part of the service is in the dark, by candle light with readings from the Hebrew Scriptures which tell the ancient story of God's salvation of his people.  The readings were interspersed with psalms and canticles.  The musicians were amazing, including the 15 year old organist!  After that, the lights come on and everyone joins in the proclamation that "Christ is Risen!"  The remainder of the service is spent in hearing the Gospel, singing songs of praise, and remembering our baptisms and renewing our own baptismal vows.  And afterwards, there's a big party!

It was interesting, because this service, for me, is always the START of Easter!  Although the space of time from Good Friday morning to Saturday night is quite short, it is a long time for me, an impatient person, to sit in that space of grief and pain.  But this year, I celebrated this amazing event in one of the very first time zones in the world!  I couldn't, then, go on Facebook and proclaim the Good News, could I? Not when most of my friends were still in that hard place with Jesus in the tomb.  It seemed sort of inappropriate.  So...I drove home on my spare tire, went to bed, and got up in the morning and did it all again.  Sort of...I did it in an entirely different format at St. Mark's in Balclutha.  I found I can really get into modern praise songs, as long as I've also been able to bathe myself in the rich tradition of the ancietn liturgy.

Because of my tyre, I stayed close to home for the remainder of the holiday weekend.  No fabulous photos to post.  I wasn't able to get the tyre fixed until Tuesday, the day I went back to work.  But that's ok.  It was good for me to take some walks and runs and meditate on the beauty and glory of it all.

One of the things I did was listen to a sermon by Jeff Miner about how we can live into the power of the resurrection.  It's nice to say "Christ is Risen" and rejoice that Jesus was raised from the dead.  But what does that really MEAN? And how does it or should it affect my life?  Often, churches are packed on Easter Sunday with people you won't see again until Christmas Eve.  Pastors have a hard job to do, to make the most of their one shot at reaching those people with the Gospel.  People want to see that we're really "walking the walk."  Are we REALLY following Jesus?  Even when it's really hard?  Are we "dying" to our own expectations, our selfish desires, and letting God raise us up to a new life of love, surrender, worship, and service?  If all people see is our "Hallelujahs" and our hand waving and clapping but no substance, no acts of love for the poor, the oppressed, the outcasts, what good is it for us to proclaim that Christ is Risen?  It's something to think about...daily, weekly, not just on Easter Sunday.

In keeping with the rather scattered motif of this post, I want to share something that comes to mind every so often, especially when thinking about death and resurrection.  It's a memory of my car wreck in 2006.  I'm not sure if it's ACTUALLY a memory, but it's become embedded in my narrative of the event to the point that I hold onto it as a memory.  In July of 2006, while driving home from work, I rolled my car off the interstate.  I don't remember why and I may never know why.  I remember only bits and pieces of what happened after that for the next several days, as I was rushed to the Livingston hospital, flown to Billings, operated on and taken care of in the ICU. At some stage, I had this very vivid flash of a memory of what happened as my car was flying through the air.  I remember a feeling of total surrender, knowing that I couldn't possibly survive this.  I didn't "WANT" to die--we had just returned from visiting Kate in Guatemala and I wanted to bring her home!  But in spite of that, I found myself looking straight into the eyes of Jesus, saying, "here I am, Lord, I guess it's time." I felt a sense of absolute peace and love, as I knew that I would be safe in his arms.  And then I heard, "No, not yet.  It's not your time, yet.  Your family needs you.  There's more for you to do."  It was like I'd been hit with a ton of bricks (maybe that was the car landing!) But it was a moment of disappointment because I knew that this was going to hurt...a lot...and that I was going to really have to fight for my life.

What the memory does for me, at Easter, is it drives home to me how I don't have to fear death because Jesus overcame death.  But, on the other hand, it also makes it crystal clear that Jesus' death and resurrection must not be in vain.  My life was spared for some reason.  It's all part of being "Guided by Grace" again.  I'm following in the path that is put in front of me, even though I often have no idea what it means or why I am on it.  It's very simple, and yet, sometimes it's the hardest thing in the world to do.

Christ is Risen Indeed!  Alleluia!!

Watch and Pray

As I write this, it is the afternoon of Good Friday, in New Zealand.  Liturgically, symbolically, Jesus has been betrayed, handed over to an angry mob, beaten, mocked, and crucified and then buried in a tomb.  It is that time of tension, waiting, sad but anticipating the joy of Easter Sunday.  I spent the morning doing a variety of “worship” activities. The first was a contemplative worship service at St. Mark’s Anglican, the church I have tentatively called my “home” while I’m here.  Following that, members of most of the congregations in town gathered outside St. Mark’s for a procession in which a large wooden cross was carried to each church in town, some readings and prayers were offered at each place of worship, and then we ended at the Town Hall, where there was an ecumenical service for Good Friday.  That was much more contemporary and, frankly, a bit jarring.  However, the whole experience was quite powerful for me.  It engaged all of my senses in the process of reliving Jesus’ final journey and act of overwhelming, all-encompassing love and grace.  And I have been left with a feeling of sadness, of emptiness deep down inside.  I think that feeling is meant to be there…when I reach in and examine it; I find that it is a sense of profound loss and grief, of rejection, fear and guilt.  And then I find that all of that is encased in a deeper feeling of hope.  All of that grief and fear and emptiness is being laid to rest in the tomb.  It is what Jesus took upon himself so that I can finally be free of it all. 

That raw feeling of grief must be what Jesus’ mother and the other women who were there with him at the cross felt.  It is likely what the disciples felt before they fled in terror.  It had all come down to this.  They had placed all of their hopes and trust in this man.  Hope fed by the miracles, the acts of mercy and justice, now all broken to bits as their hero, their saviour allowed himself to be unjustly condemned to die a horrible, shameful death.  In their grief, they didn’t know the ending of the story.  They should have, given all the hints Jesus dropped.  They should have been able to trust, to hope, to believe that this could not be the end of it all.  And, as I sit with these feelings, I know what they could only dare to hope for.  I know of what lies on the other side of the cross and the tomb.  I know, but it’s not time to go there yet. 

These spiritual exercises are far more than just memorials or nice things to do.  When I allow myself to turn inward and examine what happens when I take this journey with Jesus to the cross, it becomes real for me.  I think that’s what is meant by a “Sacrament.”  Somehow, the real presence of God comes into my heart and my soul in a real and tangible way.   And I have to sit with it.  I have to stay here and experience what I would be feeling if I were literally there with Jesus at Golgotha.  We live in a “fix it now” world.  We find it almost intolerable to sit with pain, with fear, with uncertainty. And we are not alone in that.  Jesus begged his closest friends to come with him to his darkest hour. “Watch and pray,” he said, and then he found them sleeping.  They couldn’t tolerate the intense loneliness, fear and pain that Jesus was about to endure.  Perhaps they didn't believe he would really go through with it.  Perhaps they were thinking that this time, like all the others, Jesus would pull a well-timed miracle out of his hat or find just the right searing words to say to his persecutors to put them in their places.  Ultimately, of course, Jesus forgives them of their lack of fortitude and their unbelief.  That is indeed good news, but it doesn’t let me off the hook.  In due time, I will get to rejoice in the glorious celebration of the resurrection, when all of the pain and suffering and death is turned upside down.  But if I jump the gun, I miss out on a critically important part of the process.  I miss the point entirely.  Easter means nothing if Jesus was not crucified.  And Jesus’ death means nothing without Easter. 

I think there is a bigger, broader lesson here.  We are often taught that Jesus took all of our guilt and shame and suffering upon himself and did away with it, once and for all.  I believe that is true, to a point.  However, there is more.  See, when Jesus was with his disciples, both before and after his death and resurrection, he didn’t tell them that life was going to be easy for them from then on.  He told them that they were going to be left behind on earth to continue Jesus’ work.  They were promised everything they needed for their work but they were also promised that they would suffer immensely, just as Jesus did, for doing that work.  So what was the point, then?  I think the point is that in walking with Jesus, in taking that journey into Jerusalem, to Gethsemane, to Golgotha, to the tomb and beyond, the disciples and we can see to what lengths God has been willing to go for our sake.  We have seen Jesus take on ALL of that sin, despair, hatred, and fear.  Our lives and our hearts have been split wide open.  Jesus has seen into the deepest, darkest places in our souls and has said, “I forgive you, I love you, I want to be with you forever and I want you to walk with me and continue my work.” In the resurrection, we know that we will never be alone and that we have the strength to go to those hard places, wherever they may be.  


Jesus didn't simply take away all of that grief and pain and suffering.  Instead, he gave us the assurance that we are clothed in God’s grace, we are forgiven, we are PART of Christ’s body and we have been given the strength to bear each other’s burdens, to suffer with the oppressed, and to cry with the broken-hearted.  This is “compassion:” "feeling with."  As we do this, we are healing the wounds of sin and separation from God, in whose image we are ALL created.  But, I believe, we can’t truly do this unless we spend some time with Jesus in that place of emptiness and isolation.  In order to know joy, we must walk through sorrow.  In order to fully appreciate the joy of the resurrection, we must suffer some of the grief and pain of death, knowing that nothing we suffer comes close to what Jesus went through for us. It is through the hope of the resurrection that we are able to endure such suffering and pain.  Like Advent, this is a past, present, and future event.  I must live in the present reality, while at the same time celebrating the past event of Jesus’ death and resurrection and anticipating the future promise of eternal life with Christ in Glory.  Watch and pray.

Liturgy in the Southern Hemisphere, Part 1

I promised a post about Lent, and here it is, at least in part.  I've had some difficulty describing what Lent is like for me this year and this evening,  while out on a run, it became crystal clear to me what the problem is.  The Liturgical year, all of it, is totally based on the seasons in the Northern Hemisphere.  I've lived in the Northern Hemisphere all of my life, save for a wee 6 week period in 1995.  That was in the middle of summer/winter and close to the equator so it really didn't make much difference.  Not to mention, I didn't join a Liturgical church until later that year so all of that meaning was lost on me.

For those readers who have no idea what I am talking about, perhaps I can give you the "Reader's Digest" version.

First, the entry in Wiktionary for Liturgy:

Etymology

From Latin liturgia, from Ancient Greek λειτουργία, from λειτ-, from λαός (“people”) + -ουργός, from ἔργον (“work”) (the public work of the people done on behalf of the people).

Noun

liturgy (plural liturgies)

1. A predetermined or prescribed set of rituals that are performed, usually by a religion.
2. An official worship service of the Christian church.

Churches that follow a traditional "liturgy" (eg. Catholic, Anglican, Lutheran, Orthodox, etc) also follow a calendar based on the seasons of the year.  This calendar starts with Advent, which is the period 4 weeks before Christmas.  In the Northern Hemisphere, this is a time of shortening daylight, and Christmas comes very close to Winter Solstice, the shortest day of the year.  After Christmas is the season of Epiphany, and then comes Lent.  Lent is a period of about 6 weeks leading up to Easter.  Again, in the Northern Hemisphere, Lent is a period of lengthening daylight and Easter celebrated using Springtime symbols.  After Easter, there is another big celebration at Pentecost and then a LONG period called "Ordinary Time" or the season after Pentecost.  This takes up the summer months and goes into the fall, up until the beginning of Advent.

Since 1995, this rhythm has become part of me.  My body is very tuned into the change in seasons and in daylight/darkness.  What's happening in the church year (periods of anticipation, celebration, repentance) have become intimately intertwined with my body's experience of the changes in light, color and weather.  Advent means that my world is dark and I'm waiting for the LIGHT, Jesus, the Light of the World to come and dispel the darkness.  Lent and Easter mean the days are getting longer as the period of reflection and repentance drives away the darkness, ultimately resulting in the triumphant victory of Jesus over sin and death, and the celebration of new and eternal life.  Even the season after Pentecost, those "ordinary" Sundays during the Summer have a particular feel, associated with fewer people in church, very long days and eventually a winding down to the fall and harvest season, Thanksgiving, and preparation, again, for Advent.

This year, not long after the start of Lent, I relocated to the Southern Hemisphere.  To put it simply, my mind and my body are CONFUSED.  It is hard to comprehend Lent when the days are getting shorter and the chill in the air is getting crisper.  The leaves on the trees are turning red and brown and falling off.

In order to organise my thoughts around this, I looked up the word "Lent" in the Wikitionary.  Here's what it says:

Etymology

Shortened form of Lenten, from Old English lencten. Related to German Lenz (“springtime”), which is derived from a word related to long, because of the longer days.

Ah ha!!  LENT is a springtime season, and the word is derived from the same word as "long" because the days are getting longer!

So what are we, in the Southern Hemisphere to do?  Apparently, from what I can tell, although the seasons are opposite, the church year and the holidays are exactly the same.  I suppose it would be too confusing, otherwise.  Afterall, Christmas and Easter need to be the same all over the world, don't they?  

I guess what I mean to say, here, is that my "Lenten discipline" this year has had more to do with just trying to reset my body and remember that this IS the season of Lent, of repentance, of reflection and introspection, than it has with any particular thing that I've given up or added into my routine.  An important, though somewhat peripheral, issue is the overwhelming sense of "Northern Dominance".  In my mind, it goes along with European Dominance and Male Dominance.  Some white men decided that it made sense to align the Liturgical calendar with the seasonal calendar.  And, in the Northern Hemisphere, it makes perfect sense!  

But putting aside any conspiratorial overtones, Lent has been a challenge for me this year.  On Ash Wednesday, Father Clark Sherman (St. James Episcopal Church) preached a very brief sermon asking us to imagine standing butt naked in a large room (which I imagined like an old operating "theatre" where people can sit up on balconies surrounding the center of the room).  Imagine, he said, that the room is full of people watching, it is dark, and suddenly the lights go on.  What are you gong to do?  In some ways, it has been the most effective introduction to Lent that I've ever heard.  The point of the question is to consider standing naked, in the light, in front of God and allowing God to see us and take us, just as we are, every wrinkle and flaw and blemish, and enfold us in God's forgiveness and love and healing power.  This is my Lenten discipline:  to be real and genuine, to not shrink back from the light for fear of my weaknesses being exposed.  

In the day to day rhythm of my current transition, I am finding that the only way I can cope IS by being real and honest.  Asking questions, admitting my ignorance, apologising, and asking for help.  And, as I try to incorporate the Daily Devotions from the New Zealand prayer book, I must also acknowledge that I am baffled by how this Liturgy works, here in the Southern Hemisphere.  I've asked a few people, and no one really seems to know.  Of course, if one has grown up here, and the rhythm of the seasons and their relationship to the church year have become incorporated into their bodies and their minds, they wouldn't know any different.  And so, I suppose, my challenge is to keep an open mind and an open body and stay alert to what is going on around me.  It goes back to being guided by Grace.  This is all new and different.  Instead of trying to impose my presuppositions of "the way it should be" onto my current situation, I need to remain open and willing to accept new interpretations and new ways of looking at an ancient framework that was developed to incorporate a totally different seasonal mindset.  What if, for example, I find out that the point of Easter isn't really to focus on the external manifestations of resurrection and new life, but instead to rely fully on the FAITH that Christ IS risen indeed, and it doesn't matter WHAT the calendar, the sun, or my body say about it.  It is the TRUTH!  What if I were to actually LIVE as if it were the truth?  What would that look like?  As I journey through Lent, I must focus on where that journey took Jesus--to incredible darkness and suffering and sacrifice on MY behalf so that I no longer need to be enslaved by the bonds of sin and death and suffering and isolation but can be healed and welcomed and embraced by God in the promise of new and eternal life.  If this year, my sacrifice is the comfort of familiarity that comes with the synergy of the seasons, that is a minuscule price to pay in comparison.  

It is now my bedtime, and I have just read the Devotional for Wednesday evening from the New Zealand Prayer book and I want to leave you with this:

Creator of the universe, infinite and glorious,

you give us laws to save us from our folly;

give us eyes to see your plan unfolding,

your purpose emerging as the world is made;

give us courage to follow the truth,

courage to go wherever you lead;

then we shall know blessings beyond our dreams;

then will your will be done.

Thanks to you, Lord Jesus Christ,

for all the cruel pains and insults you have borne for us;

for all the many blessings you have won for us.

Holy Jesus, most merciful Redeemer, friend and brother,

may we know you more clearly, love you more dearly,

and follow you more nearly, day by day.

God of peace,

be with us through this night which waits for us;

bless us if it brings us sleep;

support us if it brings us pain or anxiety,

till we come once more to the morning light of another day.

Amen.