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Lent can be a journey taken in the darkness. Yet, there is a sense about Lent that is so beautiful, so full of gentle light and new life possibilities. In some ways, Lent can be a new start for us, a chance to start all over with more wisdom and resolve. There is newness of life in Lent when we spend these forty days mindfully. There are new beginnings in Lent if we take the Lenten journey with hope and courage. Although Lent can be a time of darkness, a time of trying to open our eyes yet not being able to see our way ahead, it is a worthwhile journey. Each step on this journey can be one of taking a careful step at a time into a darkened place, yet knowing that the light will pierce the darkness.

In that kind of darkness, it does take courage to change things about our lives. It takes a desire to become all we can be and to move toward new beginnings resolutely. Giving up something for Lent is the popular thing to do. But it’s more life-changing to embrace something during Lent, to find ways to become more fully alive. Joan Chittister expresses a wonderful way to take the Lenten Journey.

Lent is a call to weep for what we could have been and are not. Lent is the grace to grieve for what we should have done and did not. Lent is the opportunity to change what we ought to change but have not. Lent is about becoming, doing and changing whatever it is that is blocking the fullness of life in us right now. Lent is a summons to live life anew.

Chains bind us and hold us captive. We can be chained by a variety of life circumstances: illness, aging, financial difficulties, addictions, family violence and abuse. We can be chained by our own perfectionism and self-destructive habits. We can be chained by our family members, our spouses. We can even be chained by our religion, which can be toxic rather than life-giving.

What we long for is the freedom to be who we are, to break the chains that hold us captive. Galatians 5:1 says it eloquently:

Stand fast therefore in the liberty with which Christ has made us free, and be not entangled again with the yoke of bondage.

It is for us to determine what is causing our “yoke of bondage.” And then we must claim the liberty that is ours because Christ has made us free. What Gospel good news it is that we have the power to break the chains that bind us and that God wants us to do just that!

It might take some fortitude. It might take patience. It might require courage. Most definitely, it will require our honesty — a candid, realistic self-assessment of ourselves and the circumstances that surround us. God grants us the power to break those chains and to release the bondage that constrains us. Wait no longer! Proclaim that you are free from your bondage, that you have broken the chains that bound you! It’s important.
The song “Free” sung by Faith Hill is inspiring. I invite you to listen to it at this link:

Here are some of the lyrics:

Life pulls fast changes
Winds blows past pages
All I see is I don’t need this
High-strung tight rope walk
Ticking time bomb clock
Scratch my name
Cut these chains

I’m free
Kicking out of that prison
I am free
Singing those words of wisdom
Let it be
Nobody gonna put the blues inside of me

Because of an annoying habit of sleeping late, I always miss the sunrise. It’s a shame, really, not to get to see the yellows and pinks of a brand new day. It is the time of day that holds great promise, a new beginning, a fresh start, a time to begin new projects and tasks, maybe even a time to dream a new dream.

Seeing the sunrise is a reminder that, whatever the problems of the night, the sun always rises and gives new light to our lives.

Bernard Williams wrote these words: “There was never a night or a problem that could defeat sunrise or hope.”

Perhaps sunrise is a gift that brings us hope every day. And hope is the one thing that we desperately need. It gives us the strength to move forward and to anticipate a day brighter and better than we have ever experienced. The sunrise reminds us.

May your new day be filled with new hope as bright as the sunrise, new chances to start anew, new dreams to fulfill the longing of your heart.

 

I saw this statement on my Facebook page this morning. “I think of you as the woman who saves children. Thank you.” What a humbling statement that was for me! What an honor to be thought of in that way!

The truth is, though, that I have felt like a dismal failure at saving children. I have never forgotten the words said to me by a young victim of child abuse, “Why should I tell you anything? You can’t protect me. My father will find out I told and that will just make it worse.”

And tragically, his words were true. No matter what we tried to do, we couldn’t protect him from his abusive father. The abuse continued for many years and had a devastating impact on this child. The harm continues even now that the child is eighteen and far away from his father.

Children are harmed every day in this country that should offer protection for its children. Consider these statistics:

– In 2014, 15.5 million or approximately 21 percent of children in the U.S. lived in poverty. (feedingamerica.org)

– 15.3 million children lived in food-insecure households in 2014.(feedingamerica.org)

– Every year more than 3 million reports of child abuse are made in the United States involving more than 6 million children. (Childhelp USA)

– Children Die Every Day From Abuse or Neglect. In 2005, an estimated 1,460 children died as a result of abuse or neglect (USDHHS, 2007). Almost 76.6 percent of these children were 3 years of age or younger. Most child fatalities (76.6 percent) happened at the hands of parents (USDHHS, 2007).

– The United States has one of the worst records among industrialized nations – losing on average between four and seven children every day to child abuse and neglect. (Childhelp USA)

– A report of child abuse is made every ten seconds. (Childhelp USA)

– More than 70% of the children who died as a result of child abuse or neglect were two years of age or younger. More than 80% were not yet old enough for kindergarten. (Childhelp USA)

– 80% of child maltreatment fatalities involve at least one parent as perpetrator. (Childhelp USA)

– 555 children under 12 have been killed by firearms in the three years since the shooting at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Connecticut, on Dec. 14, 201

There are so many more statistics that should shame us. there is so much that God wants us to do to protect the children. Yet, often we turn a blind eye to the tragedies around us. I cannot help but recall this Scripture:

And whoever shall offend one of these little ones that believe in me, it is better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and he were cast into the depths of the sea. (Mark 9:42)

May we all be convicted of our failure to protect our children. May we search deep within and call out our better selves to save our children, all of God’s children.

There are few sights as beautiful as a sunset on a river. The light is dim, inviting a time of deep relaxation and contemplation. The sunlight is bright, but understated, almost as if it whispers to the soul. Breezes are gentle and the cicadas sing their lyrical songs. Some have called them the crying cicadas of sunset.

The image above of the Maumelle River in Arkansas calls out to me, “Peace can be found in this place.” And I am reminded that places of peace in my life are rare. Although peace is something my spirit longs for, I am trapped in mundane days and meaningless scenes.

I escape with photography and art. When I cannot physically sit on the banks of a flowing river, the photographs take me there. Even when I cannot physically go to a place where cicadas sing, believe it or not, I can listen to them on YouTube! I readily admit that this is a rather pitiful facsimile of nature’s captivating beauty. But, still, my appreciation of art and landscape photography feeds my soul. I am grateful for the artists that bring the world to life with their images.

Although many of us are imprisoned by our lives and separated from sunsets and rivers, God finds ways to caress our souls and fill us with grace. For me, art is the medium, my pathway to relaxation and contemplation. I can look at this photograph of the sunset on the river for hours, and I can find in the image the peace I so need. Even the stillness of the image moves my spirit beyond my circumstance. It’s called Contemplative Visual Practice, and it includes the following steps:

*Bring your attention to the present.
*Take several deep breaths and release them slowly.
*Release the to-do-lists yet to do…you can always pick them back up later if you wish.
*Gaze over the photo…take it all in…just as it is.
*Pause for several moments.
*Notice if a particular area of part of the image keeps drawing your eye.
*Notice if it is the entire image which is resonating with you.
*Savor what you are noticing.
*Let your imagination free to ponder the possibilities of what the Spirit is saying to you.

(https://theedgeishere.wordpress.com/2016/02/17/lent-2016-holy-conversations/)

I thank God that I am able to escape through images, especially when sunlit rivers are so far away.

I had an artistic experience yesterday that presented a small lesson. I decided I wanted to try my hand at a watercolor painting. Now, you must understand that I have no idea how to use watercolors. On top of that, I have barely a thimble full of artistic talent in me. But, still I tried.

I started with a wonderful piece of art to look at. It was painted by Richard Stevens, a brilliant artist from Hot Springs, Arkansas. I had no plan to copy his art, just to use it as a guide, thinking that if I studied his light and dark areas, I would be on my way to a personal masterpiece of some kind.

What I learned anew about watercolors is that you cannot control them. They flow where they want to flow and bleed where they choose to bleed. So in an instant, my painting took on a life of its own!

Reminds me of life in a way. We can lay it out like we want to, choose the “colors” we love, plan the central plot, but try as we might, we cannot control the outcome. Life flows like a watercolor painting, and the finished product is always a serendipity. We simply have no control.

By the way, I actually kind of liked my little painting, although it looked nothing like the work of Richard Stevens. And I discovered that having control isn’t the best plan anyway.

As far as life goes, it really is best to leave it in the hands of the master artist, a God who is full of grace toward us. So, thank you, God, for my complete lack of control. Thank you for painting my life with your colors, not mine. Thank you for even a thimble full of artistic ability. Thank you for the gift of creativity. Thank you for your unending grace.

The Lenten journey always prompts me to take stock of my faith. It is not enough to simply know my religious preference as a Christian and a Baptist. It is more like finding the very center of my faith and examining what is there. My deepest roots are in the Greek Orthodox Church where I was raised during my childhood and early teen years. At age eighteen I found what I describe as a personal faith, a faith that I carefully examined and chose as my own.

In spite of the rancor it caused in my family, I became a Baptist. I was educated at The Southern Baptist Theological Seminary in Louisville, Kentucky. I spent two years in Uganda, East Africa as a missionary. Years later, I would be ordained as a Baptist minister. I fleshed out that calling first as a hospital chaplain, later as a pastor of a church for nine years, and most recently as Minister of Worship at New Millennium Church in Little Rock, Arkansas.

But my faith is so much more than these ministry positions. I recently read an article by Caitlin Flanagan, Contributing Editor to The Atlantic, on time.com. Her description of Christianity put my own faith in perspective:

Christianity . . . is the religion of forgiveness and grace and clean slates, of sins washed clean and all of those things that have kept so many of us broken down old sinners going for so long.

When all is said and done, apart from ministry positions, religious affiliation and church-going, mine truly is the religion of forgiveness, grace, clean slates, and sins washed clean. Thanks be to God.

At times, we who are believers temporarily forget that we believe. Something interrupts our life in ways that can throw us off center. Circumstances assail us with doubt until we wonder if we believe at all anymore. It is a frightening place to be, especially for those of us who have most always had an unwavering faith in God.

But I have counseled with many a person who has lost her way and who finds herself questioning her belief in God. I recently had a long email conversation with a man raised as a Christian, but who simply did not believe anymore. I find it enlightening when a person dares to doubt God out loud. I find that the raw honesty of that person creates an even stronger foundation upon which to rebuild faith.

Bishop Steven Charleston wrote this about belief and unbelief:

I do not know, or pretend to know, the why and how of what I believe. I only know that I hear the sound of something moving through the winter branches, riding the sharp wind, speaking in an older language than words. I trust, more than I understand, watching and listening, waiting for the clouds to tell me secrets, for the water to sing a song from before the birth of fire. I am not here to tell you what to think. I am only here to walk with you as we follow tracks in snow.

So may each of us find refreshment and renewal in the questioning of our belief. May we find God again in the places we walk. May we trust even when we don’t understand.

Communication of faith through images is a powerful means of sharing. The images I use in my blog are often just as important to the message as is the written word. The images speak to me, and I hope are inspiring to you as well.

Today’s image reminds me of the fresh newness of the morning tide, it’s ever-changing pulse that mirrors our ever-changing lives. What a challenge it is to navigate life’s changes, to grow old, to meet the challenges that beset us, to face the obstacles of living. The good news is that navigating life’s changes means that we are in the midst of a life well lived. It means that when we fall down, we get up again, over and over again. It means that when we encounter stones in the road, we continue the journey.

John Dyer wrote, “The most amazing thing to me about the sea is the tide. A harbor is totally transformed in a very short space of time by the arrival or departure of the sea.”

Perhaps that’s why the tide is so life-giving, having the power to transform us as we watch it’s ebb and flow, strengthening us as we take in both its crashing waves and its gentle arrival on the shore. So is our life, made up of crashing waves in one minute and gentle flow in the next.

Today, I pray for you the light of a new morning to light up your day. And as you continue on the Lenten journey, may you find peace and fresh hope.

While Lent brings us the message that we are dust and to dust we shall return, it is not intended to be forty days of minimizing our worth. Yes, it is a time of confession and repentance. But it is not a time for self-denigration.

Why do we often have trouble honoring ourselves? Why do we doubt the wisdom that is within us? We have such a tendency to devalue ourselves. To do otherwise, we sometimes believe, is to be arrogant, to be self-centered. But there is more than enough going on around us to bring us down. There are plenty of people who disparage us along the way. The truth is that many of us struggle with our self-image for a variety of reasons.

The messages are many . . . you aren’t smart enough, or attractive enough. You aren’t outgoing enough, or athletic enough. Somehow, from some place very early on in my life, I bought in to the idea that I’m just not good enough.

Gaining maturity, unfortunately, does not erase those early messages. But there is good news. God honors us from the inside out. Created in the image of God, we are good enough! We just need to believe that about ourselves. I love this quote from Bishop Steven Charleston:

Honor yourself for the vision within you. It is both who you are and who you are always becoming. It is the reflection of your soul, the mirror of your deepest faith. It grows and changes, but at its core is an abiding wisdom, an understanding of life that escapes the grasp of words to explain. You have an intuitive spirit, one that sees as only the spirit can see, not limited by time, but beyond the physical, out into the wide reaches of sacred reality. Honor yourself for the vision within you, for no one else sees exactly what you see.

If, like me, you slow down your frantic pace during Lent, you are left open for deeper introspection. That in itself can be troubling in some very real ways. For me, slowing down results in a magnification of my challenges and problems. When I take stock of reality, I often find myself focused squarely on the problems I am facing. It’s no fun, but it is real.

And life’s reality is one of the things Lent is about. It isn’t about fantasizing and having magical thinking about things. It is about looking at circumstances the way they really are, facing off against your problems, being honest about your emotions, being realistic about your situation.

Lenten introspection may not always be uplifting, but it is good for us. It helps us open our eyes for an honest glimpse of our lives. It helps us lean on the strength of God when we recognize our frailty. It helps us move ahead on life’s journey, even if what is ahead frightens us.

As you journey through Lent remember this advice from Ralph Waldo Emerson: “Don’t be pushed by your problems. Be led by your dreams.”

As we move through Lent, we are not alone, but are cradled in the arms of a loving God. Problems do not separate us from God. Obstacles of life do not separate us from God. Acts of confession and contrition do not separate us from God. They draw us ever closer to the gifts of grace God offers us and free us to be led by our dreams.

I would like to introduce you to Hope’s Journey, a support system for survivors of violence and abuse. Hundreds of persons have found spiritual and emotional care through Hope’s Journey via email communication. At times, face-to-face help is daunting for persons who have been victimized. Many of them are too intimidated to even leave their homes. So email communication has become a transformative lifeline for them.

If you or someone you know would benefit from this kind of help through email, please contact me at kathymfindley@gmail.com. It may seem a bit impersonal to seek help in this way, but I have communicated for months with several people who began a healing journey through our email communication.

Just today I received a new request for email support from a young woman who has recurring episodes of post traumatic stress. The idea of email support works for her at this particular time in her life. She has had a great deal of personal counseling and trauma therapy through the years, but for now, she prefers spiritual and emotional guidance through email.

Hope’s Journey was founded in 2013 to provide spiritual and emotional care to persons who have been harmed by violence and abuse.

Mark Sandlin offers us two thoughts that should be written on our hearts at all times:

You are dust; to dust you shall return.
You are stardust; there is a universe of potential within you.

What a wonderful thought to begin our forty days of Lent. Yes, it is true, as we read in the book of Genesis (3:19), “You are dust, and to dust you shall return.” We are also reminded that Job repented “in dust and ashes.” (Job 42:6)

But as we look at ourselves introspectively during the Lenten journey, it is good news to know that we are not only dust, we are stardust.

Consider this quote from physics.org: “We are all made of stardust. It sounds like a line from a poem, but there is some solid science behind this statement too: almost every element on Earth was formed at the heart of a star.”

Inside of us, making us who we are, is a tiny part of the universe. It’s science. It’s physics. But it’s also just a little speck of divine mystery. Perhaps it is a part of what is special about us.

It is no small miracle that we were formed “at the heart of a star.” What a mystery is God’s vast creation. God created us out of great love. But if this small part of God’s creation can be explained by physics, it is no less a miracle.

We are dust, and to dust we shall return. We are God’s, and to God we shall return. And I want to believe, too, that a bit of stardust makes me who I am.

May you live these Lenten days in the warm embrace of God. May you hear God calling you to come apart from daily routine and rest a while in a quiet place so that your spirit might be lit with Resurrection light.

Ash Wednesday often brings my spirit to a halt. In the earliest centuries, Christians who had been immersed in persistent sin had ashes sprinkled on their bodies as a sign of repentance. Around the tenth century, believers began to signify their need for repentance by having ashes placed on their foreheads in the shape of a cross.

Today, many churches have Ash Wednesday worship services where worshippers are encouraged to openly acknowledge frailty and sinfulness. In a world that often expects us to be perfect, Ash Wednesday gives us an opportunity to freely confess our imperfections. The imposition of ashes on our foreheads are symbolic of our confessions.

So as my spirit sits in holy stillness today, I ask myself where I go from here. Where will this Ash Wednesday take me? What willLent’s forty days hold for me this year?

I considered giving up my blog writing for Lent, but that didn’t feel right. There is something about writing every day that is transformative for me. Yet, I have to admit that I sometimes tell myself that my blog of random thoughts is not something that anyone wants to read every day.

I often threaten to quit writing. But every time I do, I have a flood of mildly profound thoughts that beg to be recorded. So I keep writing, and every once in a while, I receive the blessing of hearing from a reader that benefitted from my words. Most of all, I write as a personal discipline, a spiritual discipline that forces me to engage my heart and my soul.

So how will I move through Lent? I will continue to write. I will post a daily Scripture on my Facebook page, hoping that even one Facebook friend might be lifted just for a moment from the activities of a busy life.

Most importantly, I pray that you will experience a holy Ash Wednesday and that your Lenten journey might be a time of spiritual growth and renewed faith. Today, may we symbolically mark our foreheads with the sign of the cross as a reminder of the crucifixion of Jesus. And then let us move through Lent holding tightly to the hope of the resurrection.

If you plan on giving up something for Lent, today is your last day of indulgence. Tomorrow is Ash Wednesday, the Christian holy day that marks the beginning of Lent, a 40-day journey that is considered preparation for Holy Week and the celebration of Easter.

The idea behind giving up something for Lent is based on Luke 9:23: “Then he said to them all: “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me.” It is about self denial, carrying our cross and following Jesus. Lenten discipline is something that’s done in a prayerful way, so that we can wholly renew ourselves in Christ.

I am reminded of the Scripture that should be the focus of Lent, “Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me.”

Perhaps rather than giving up chocolate or some other indulgence, we should give up ten minutes every day and spend that time praying or reading the Bible.

Perhaps we should spend time every week serving others. Perhaps we could write a brief Lenten meditation every day.

Whatever we give up for Lent, or whatever discipline we add to our lives, our prayer should be that God would create in us clean hearts and renew right spirits within us. My hope is to avoid a flippant decision that seems more like a New Year’s resolution. Instead, I want to walk the forty days of the Lenten Journey with awareness and reverence, using this forty day journey as an opportunity for spiritual transformation.

There’s a popular Gospel hymn entitled, “When the Morning Comes.” It’s an upbeat, happy hymn that talks about the coming of God’s ultimate morning, the morning “when all the saints are gathered home.” Along with that hymn, I think of the Scripture that says, “Weeping endures for a night, but joy comes in the morning.”

When I am feeling down, I always rest on the reality that after every difficult and dark night, morning dawns, bringing with it a lightened mood. It’s a cherished promise to lean on when life seems filled with challenges and obstacles. It’s good to know that it really is true that joy comes in the morning.

That thought has helped me get through many hard days and long nights. I especially remembered that promise during the time I was so sick and so concerned about my future. I remembered it when I watched the extreme worry of my husband during the many months of my illness. I remembered it even during the times when my faith was waning.

It is a word of good hope that after every dark night, the morning will come. Thanks be to God.

 

God, we confess that being in your presence sometimes frightens us.

You have called us time and time again: “Come near!”
But we have responded, “We fear transformation.”

You have said, “Receive a double measure of my Spirit!”
But we have responded, “We are afraid of the Spirit’s power.”

You have said, “Go up to the high mountain, and there see my face.”
But we have responded, “We are afraid that such a holy encounter will disturb our peace and dis-arrange our lives.”

Interrupt our lives, God, with transfiguring light we cannot refuse to see.

Cleanse us from the sin that refuses transformation.

Forgive us for ignoring holy encounters and mountaintop visions.

Enable us instead to see your glory and sense your holiness in the most unexpected places.

Amen.

One of the most uplifting stories in the Bible is the transfiguration of Jesus. The story tells us that Jesus goes up on a mountain to pray, taking with him Peter, John and James. Even though Peter, James and John have traveled with Jesus for a good while, and have seen many miracle moments, this moment on the mountain takes them by surprise. They are completely stunned when Jesus begins to change as he is praying. What an astounding sight to watch the face of Jesus begin to shine, his clothes begin to glisten, and his entire being transfigured before them.

What a moment! Peter wants to hold onto the moment, and wonders how to capture it, how to stay in the moment forever.

That’s my problem, too. Most of the time, in fact, my prayers are simply times of silence when I hope beyond hope that God is hearing me. I pray to what feels like an absent God at times, a silent God that just may not be hearing the prayers of my heart. And if I do experience a holy moment, I cannot seem to hold on to it or make it last. I don’t experience that many holy moments in the first place, but in times of deep prayer, sincere meditation, abiding with God, there are brief sacred moments that make my faith soar.

They are moments of heightened awareness. I call them “mountaintop moments.” Unfortunately, I cannot force them to happen. Instead, such moments literally break into my life in an instant, surprise me, and always leave me different than I was before. In such times, I learn learn that my life holds more holy mystery than I can possibly imagine.

Mountaintop moments remind us that God is real and that we are filled with hidden spiritual insight. Mountaintop moments remind us that we can see Jesus transfigured and walk away from that with our own transfiguration. Mountaintop moments promise us that, though they don’t last forever, they forever change us. Thanks be to God for every mountaintop moment we experience.

I have a dear friend who recently posted this on her Facebook page. “God wrap your arms around me. I’m feeling broken and beaten down.”

I felt deeply concerned for her, though I know she is a courageous and resilient person. But I must remind myself that courage is the willingness to admit being broken, to give yourself into the arms of a loving God.

I have known this friend since she was a teenager struggling to make sense of a lifetime of sexual abuse. She was courageous then, choosing to tell her story to a large group of victim advocacy professionals, and she is courageous now for admitting her vulnerability and letting herself be wrapped into the arms of God.

The Psalmist knew places of brokenness, and prayed in times of trouble.

Turn to me and be gracious to me,
For I am lonely and afflicted.

The troubles of my heart are enlarged;
Bring me out of my distresses.

Look upon my affliction and my trouble,
And forgive all my sins.

Look upon my enemies, for they are many,
And they hate me with violent hatred.

Guard my soul and deliver me;
Do not let me be ashamed, for I take refuge in You.

Let integrity and uprightness preserve me,
For I wait for You.   – Psalm 25:16-21

I have prayed for my friend. I have no doubt that by now she has taken the pieces of her brokenness and made of them something beautiful. Thanks be to God.

On January 23, 2016, the moon was full. I love this photograph of the full moon over Santorini. And I love that I know that the Santorini moon is the same moon I saw in Georgia. My relatives in Greece might have seen the Santorini moon, just as I saw the moon here. Lighting up the nighttime from dusk until dawn, the January full moon was stunningly beautiful.

I like to consider the moon as another grace gift from God, who desires that we enjoy the extravagant beauty of creation. There are forty references to the moon in Scripture, many of which declare the moon’s supernatural origin.

So many times when we are out at night, I make a comment like, “Look at that beautiful moon.” There is an ever-changing glory about the moon that enthralls us every time we notice it. The problem is that we don’t notice it often enough. I think I will make a covenant with the moon that prompts me to step outside and look for it.

Lots of people “wish upon a star.” I think I will spend more time looking for the moon in the night sky, making that a part of my contemplative time, standing in awe of its ethereal beauty, and maybe even making a few wishes and dreaming a few dreams.

I leave you with this quote by Tahereh Mafi.

The moon is a loyal companion. It never leaves. It’s always there, watching, steadfast, knowing us in our light and dark moments, changing forever just as we do. Every day it’s a different version of itself. Sometimes weak and wan, sometimes strong and full of light. The moon understands what it means to be human. Uncertain. Alone. Cratered by imperfections.

― Tahereh Mafi, Shatter Me