Lent Day 28: Sparking Love

There is something about Lent that brings an intensity of purpose to my work, and that is all for the good. I am glad and grateful that the church sets aside this time for us to aspire to a spiritual journey to the cross.

Yesterday's gospel reading did it for me. (John 12:1-8; you can find it here.) It brought the cross near. We witnessed Mary of Bethany anoint Jesus, as a tender act of both extravagant love and gratitude (Jesus had raised her brother from the dead! That calls for something big).

But it was also a prophetic act.

It was an anointing for Jesus' burial, even before he is dead. Jesus recognizes the act for what it is.

I witness in our culture, on a regular basis, real unease with the death of Jesus-- the pain, the blood, the real, human cost of a brutal system that saw all but the official state religion as a threat.

(Sounds familiar, in these days when some seek to make a bizarre, unrecognizable version of "Christianity" the law of the land.)

But Mary nails it (if you could, um, excuse that expression). She recognizes Jesus' death-- even before it has occurred-- as a supreme act of love. As the supreme act of love. And so, she responds in kind, with an act that also recognizes the human Jesus-- the feet that carry him on his journey, this journey to the cross. She responds in kind, in kindness, with extravagant love, love fragrant and pure, love that doesn't count the cost.

What good is religion if, in the end, it doesn't come to love?

These words, then, from today's reading from Hebrews, speak to me:

And let us consider each other carefully for the purpose of sparking love and good deeds.  Don’t stop meeting together with other believers, which some people have gotten into the habit of doing. Instead, encourage each other, especially as you see the day drawing near. ~ Hebrews 10:24-25

Spark love in one another, my beloveds. Spark love, kind acts, and encouragement.

What good is our faith, if it doesn't come to love?

Lent Day 19: Yeast

And again he said, “To what should I compare the kingdom of God? It is like yeast that a woman took and mixed in with three measures of flour until all of it was leavened.”  ~ Luke 13:20-21

Yeast.

My first experience with it was in college: I bought something called the Tassajara Bread Book, and taught myself how to bake bread. This was in an era when I was buying books about holistic health practices and imagining my life to be taking a kind of hippy-ish turn. Earthy, crunchy granola girl. Goals.

I was a junior in college, in a six-person suite, and my friend Jean was witness to my efforts. I'd grown up in a household in which my mother was self-described as being "NOT a baker." She sent me to her friend, Cecily's house at Christmastime, to learn how to bake cookies. She never made cakes or cupcakes; why should we, when there was Minos bakery in Atlantic City? The one thing I remember my mother baking was an apple pie, that was hot and fresh one day when I got home from school. But bread? Never. Not in a million years. You could buy bread anywhere.

But there I was, 19 years old and learning how yeast "proofs," or gets activated. It needs fluids and food to bring it alive-- like anyone, I guess. So, I provided, as the book instructed, lukewarm water and honey, and mixed in the tablespoonsful of yeast and watched as it spread, and bubbled, and declared: I'm ready.

Same baking book, thirtysomething years later. 

What followed was work, a kind of work I still love. Measuring and stirring, sure. But what makes bread is the kneading, and kneading is a whole-body experience. You do it with your hands, and elbows, and shoulders, and back, and hips. You put your whole self into kneading, and it is an exquisite workout. Kneading is what gives the bread its texture. Kneading helps the bread to rise by ensuring lots of air is also mixed in with what by the end of the 15 minutes (prescribed by the book) must be a thousand layers of dough folded in upon itself, again and again.

The work the yeast does is to help the bread to rise. By the time I was finished with my four fragrant honey-whole-wheat loaves, it was three in the morning and Jean and I were both delirious, me giddy with baking and the prospect of sitting down to cut into a loaf; and Jean, with French reflexive verbs.

"I've had a vision," Jean said. "The verbs are little ferrymen."

And we sat together, laughing, dipping hot bread in honey, and ate.

Jesus tells this tiny parable, only 24 words in the Greek (35 in English), and, as in so much of Luke, a woman features as the main actor in the miniature story. In the original Greek she "hides" the yeast/ leavening in the flour, until it all is leavened. Maybe "hides" because ancient people weren't so comfortable with leavening. It freaked them out. It was alive in an unpredictable way, and so it actually, for most people, symbolized something insidious, something uncontrollable, that could make mischief or even mayhem.

But Jesus doesn't use it that way.

Because now, bread is possible-- bread, the staff and stuff of life; bread, the word we use to indicate all sustenance; bread, the very least that every human being has a right to have, because no one in a civilized society should be denied it.

That, Jesus says, is what the reign of God is like.

Something unexpected, done by someone unexpected, makes something good.

Not only good, needed.

Not only needed, loved.

Not only good, needed, loved: but a source of life itself.