Lent Day 12: What Are You Longing For?

 As a deer longs for flowing streams,
   so my soul longs for you, O God.
My soul thirsts for God,
   for the living God.
~Psalm 42:1-2a

I abandon my promised practice of blogging daily lectionary passages, because I found Kate Bowler's question in our devotional so provocative this morning: 

What is your heart longing for today? Are you longing for something in the future, in the past, or for what might have been?*

So, I'm going to answer, from the heart, what I am longing for today. And I am going to ask you this same question: What is your heart longing for today? Please respond in the comments.

I long to live in a country where brilliant, green-card holding physicians are not barred entry because they hold Lebanese passports. 

I long to live in a country where people--the most vulnerable among us--are not deported to countries where their lives may be in danger, or where they have never lived, or where they have no friends or relations. 

I long to live in a country where women are equal citizens under the law with absolute bodily autonomy.

I long to live in a country which is not destroying the social safety net.

I long to live in a country where unelected sociopaths are not in charge of destroying government agencies and redistributing huge amounts of resources so that he, personally will benefit financially.

I long to live in a country where empathy is not described as a bug or failure in human character.

I long to live in a country where the hungry are fed, the thirsty are given clean, potable water to drink, where the naked are clothed, where the sick are cared for, where the imprisoned are treated like human beings with minds and futures, and where the strangers, aliens, immigrants, are not demonized and hunted like animals.

I long to live in a country where xenophobia is a quaint relic of the past and not the guiding principle of a government and political party.

I long to live in a country where the actual words of Jesus guide Christians, and not the trippy fantasy that almost didn't make it into the biblical canon.

I long to live in a country where disagreeing with the leader doesn't get you death threats.

I long to live in a country that isn't hell-bent on dragging us all into a dystopian future on a planet that cannot any longer sustain human life. 

I long to live in a country that isn't perfect, but is well-intentioned--where elected officials have the well-being of their constituents as their utmost priority, and not lining their pockets with money from big oil and big pharma.

I long to live in a country where the leader isn't using his power to take revenge on everyone who ever slighted him.

I long to live in a country that is trying to be better. That's all.

How about you?

*Question from Daily Guide, The Hardest Part, Everything Happens, co-authored by Brenda Thompson, MDiv, Angela Taylor, MDiv, Hailie Durrett, and Karen Bowler, PhD, copyright 2025.

Lent Day 4: Walking in the Light

 

Jesus said to them, "The light is with you a little longer. Walk while you have the light, so that the darkness may not overtake you. If you walk in the darkness, you do not know where you are going."
~John 12:35

Jesus is speaking to a group of "Greeks," which indicates Gentiles. This takes place just after Jesus has ridden into Jerusalem on what we know as Palm Sunday. Jesus has predicted his death, and is being asked, Who is the Messiah? Who is the Son of Man? Essentially, he is being asked who he is.  When Jesus tells the people around him that "the light" will be with them just a little while longer, he is speaking about himself. Jesus is the light of the world, and he knows that his death is imminent.

Like anyone faced with the immediacy of their own mortality, Jesus' soul is troubled. He asks aloud the question.. should I ask God to save me? But no. Here, as in every gospel, Jesus knows where he is being called, and he will walk that path. But he also wants the people around him to walk the path he believes God has chosen for them--the path of the light, the path that the early church called "the Way."

The Way of Jesus is described in the Acts of the Apostles as a time of great love and care shared by the fledgling faith community:

Awe came upon everyone because many wonders and signs were being done through the apostles. All who believed were together, and had everything in common; they would sell their possessions and goods, and distribute the proceeds to all, as any had need. Day by day, as they spent much time together in the temple, they broke bread at home, and ate their food with glad and generous hearts, praising God and having the goodwill of all the people. And day by day the Lord added to their number those who were being saved.
~Acts 2:43-47

This is what the early church understood as "walking in the light," or in the Way of Jesus. When I read this passage, I think of the forces of light and darkness that are always around us, but which seem to be especially visible to us in these chaotic times. What does it mean to walk in the light in these days? The early church offers us a blueprint of deliberate and generous-hearted care of one another, and of our neighbors (whether or not they are a part of" our" community). A wise woman said this week that, in these days of chaos, we must double down on love. 

...We’re living in a moment that has a very apocalyptic fragility to it, meaning that we can see the limits and how very delicate our structures are... But I will say one of the weird gifts of feeling apocalyptic fragility is, and we see this all throughout Scripture, is that heightened awareness. We have to... create practices that try to restore our own peace, to try to bring our neurological alert systems down, to remind ourselves of God’s abiding love, and really, the strength of the way that we can love each other back into a web that can reweave our own lives and our culture. I really do believe that. But the other thing is moments where we feel apocalyptic, you know, fragility.. it's the feeling of seeing things. And there’s some things that we should see. We should see injustice. We should see how much we are required to be a part of a world that needs us. We should see our own interdependence. So sometimes that revelation feels pretty awful. But other times I think it can make us really like sane. Like deeply sane. Because we can know what’s true, that our world is fragile. We can give ourselves more grace to restore our own peace, and that we just kind of double down on the stuff that really matters. Like being concretely loving, concretely honest... double down on the stuff that actually makes us good people of faith...*

Walking in the light means doubling down on love--loving the people who are in our circles, our community, and even who are not. Being there for folks as they lose their jobs, or lose their faith in the structures and systems that seems to be crumbling before our eyes. Being there for folks who have gotten a terrible diagnosis, or who face huge, unanticipated life transitions. Being there for those who might be lonely, or feel forgotten, neglected. 

What does it mean to you, for you, today, to walk in the light?

Blessings to you this weekend. Don't forget to set your clocks ahead! Let's walk in the light together.

* Kate Bowler, PhD, “The Hardest Part: Lent for Real Life,” Everything Happens Podcast, Season 14, Episode 3, March 4, 2025.

Lent Day 1: Ash Wednesday

You desire truth in the inward being;
therefore teach me wisdom in my secret heart.
~Psalm 51:6

David's Psalm 51--which our Bibles tell us was written after the Bathsheba/ Uriah fiasco, and God had caught David out--is the psalm appointed for Ash Wednesday. It is passionate, self-recriminating (appropriately), and also filled with gorgeous nuggets of wisdom. 

This verse is a little tricky for the translators, but contains a deep truth about being human. I think "hidden places" might be a good way to think about "secret heart"... as in teach me wisdom in my secret places. The places I hide, even from myself. 

I think David is in shock because he now knows he is a person who could do that--take a woman, without her consent, rape her, and then kill her husband to cover up her pregnancy (by marrying her real quick). A sin against Bathsheba, against Uriah, and against his people, because he is the king, and he bas broken faith with them in a devastating way. And, because each person is made in the image of God, a sin against God.

David knows, now, the only way out is through--he has to change from the inside out. Trying to hide didn't do it. Sacrifices won't do it. A thorough change of heart, his essence, is the only way.

We often come to Lent as though it were a massive self-improvement project, and I am sure I am at least partially culpable for that as a preacher. But this year I am embracing a simple plan (with the help of the exquisitely wise and funny Kate Bowler*). Lent is a time to acknowledge that we are human. That's certainly what the ashes are all about: our mortality, our finitude. But humanity is larger than simply the boundaries God has placed on our lives. Our humanity endows us with the ultimate dignity: we are made in God's image. We are God's beloved children. 

So let's start there. We are human. We are beloved. These forty days are not about the pounds lost or the mileage covered in our Bibles, but about what it means to be human. By all means--embrace a Lenten discipline if that is helpful to you. But never forget the first, essential sign of the ashes: We are dust. But what beautiful things God can do with that dust. 

*Go find Kate Bowler's Lenten Devotional ("Daily Guide") here. You won't regret it!