Taking Up the Cross

I have been keeping my commitment to at least 15 minutes of prayer during the day.  I use the Psalter, sing the Psalms, read the day time scripture and then read the day's selection from the book Bread and Wine:Readings for Lent and Easter.  Today the reading was by Thomas a Kempis. The focus was on taking up the cross and embracing suffering rather than trying to avoid it.  Not light reading!  Before I got to the Kempis reading there was a very interesting epigraph by Sadhu Sundar Singh: "If we do not bear the cross of the Master, we will have to bear the cross of the world,with all its earthly goods.  Which cross have you taken up?  Pause and consider."  This reflection alone is a powerful one.  In my life I consider the "cross" of ambition and commitment to overwork.  This is certainly part of the world's cross and I have carried it for a long time.  Kempis makes the point, however, that when we take up the cross of Christ this brings us closer to God and pleases him.  What does this look like?  The way Kempis explains it, taking of the cross of suffering can involve just about anything from physical suffering to unrest or pain in the spirit.  Whatever it is, he emphasizes that we will suffer.  If we do so in bitterness, so much the worse for us.  He confronts us with the challenge that while many of us want to share the joys of Christ, few really want to embrace his sufferings.  While we like the miracles, we don't want to share his experience of pain and exile.  Certainly this is true for me.  But I had never thought of things the way Kempis does when he says that we will suffer anyway, how much better to learn humility through suffering and to draw closer to God than to be eaten up by bitterness.  He notes that no matter how much we organize our lives according to our likely, something will cause suffering.  I am certainly the kind of person who works very hard to have things arranged as I would like them in every part of my life.  I have, you might say, "control issues".  When things don;t go the way I've planned or the way I want them to, I am very upset.  This occurred just today and I'm sorry to say that my response was less than graceful.  My thinking has always been that I should be able to make things the way I want them to be.  The reading today and this whole season of reflection during Lent give me a really precious opportunity to reconsider, to turn away from this way of thinking and living, and to turn toward a way that helps me to grow closer to God and of greater use for his kingdom..

Ash Wednesday

Today I went to my first Ash Wednesday service.  I decided to go to Trinity Episcopal Church, right next to where we used to live and now only a short drive away from our new home.  I had decided about a week ago that I must take this entire day off.  My main goal then was to have some time off to rest and reflect.  But I had been thinking for a while, for years actually, about beginning to observe the church calendar in the rhythms of my everyday life.  Last night it became clear to me.  Rather than taking the day to engage in random recreation, I should take the opportunity to fully participate in Ash Wednesday, and to make—for the first time in my life—a Lenten commitment.  The commitment I’ve made is to take at least 15 minutes during the day each day of Lent for prayer and reflection.  I’ve also committed to get to bed on time, no later than 10pm each day of Lent.  This last may seem odd, but I’ve developed the bad habit of staying up later than I know I should.  The later night hours are the only time I have after the children have gone to bed to rest, watch TV, focus on myself.  I’m very selfish about that time.  This is fine, up to a point.  I go beyond that point when I consistently go to bed late because I am watching TV or doing something else to try to have “me” time.  The problem is that I still have to wake early, and without sufficient sleep it is difficult or impossible to do morning prayer because I am so tired.  Then also when I am tired I am not good company for anyone and I’m impatient with my daughters.  None of this is good or productive.  So with these two commitments—to daytime prayer which requires me to interrupt the day’s busyness, and to getting to bed on time—I aim to bring myself into a rhythm of rest and prayer that will be restorative and transformative.  I am eager to see what kind of transformation this brings about after forty days.

Today when I went to Trinity and received the ashes, communion wafer, and wine, I entered a wonderful window into a new way of seeing and living—a way where the mundane time of everyday life is continually made holy with the punctuation of prayer throughout the day and throughout the year.  As I sat in this beautiful sanctuary, allowing scripture and song to roll over me, I was struck by the sadness, even the tragedy of the various schisms of the church.  How much we miss in the non-liturgical evangelical Protestant world by ignoring the grace of these traditions of prayer and observant celebration.   And on the other hand, would not the beauty and grace of this Episcopal church experience with its wonderful life of traditional prayer be enriched and blessed by dwelling for a while with my earnest evangelical brothers and sisters who live out the call to make disciples and to share the love of Christ by living in difficult places, by encouraging and guiding each other in small Bible studies and prayer groups; through praise songs that resonate with a variety of local popular cultures—in short, through a form of church that feels more informal, closer to the everyday lived realities of people far removed from much older church ways and hymns?  Both these “high” and “low” manifestations of church have much to offer and much to share.  I intend to use this Lenten season to explore the liturgical tradition my church circles have cut me off from. As I face the beginning of this season, I am filled with joy and anticipation.