Looking at Lent

Posted on March 8, 2011 by Margaret

My kitchen calendar tells me this week is the official start of the Lenten season, 40 days of preparation toward remembering Christ’s sacrifice and celebrating his resurrection. I grew up in a protestant church that didn’t practice Lent, but I remember Catholic neighbors who did, and thought I was lucky not to have to give up stuff like they did.

In my 65 years I’ve never participated in Lent. But now I’m attending a new church where a Lenten sacrifice is a choice, and I’m going to try it. The purpose of Lent is to make our hearts right before remembering the crucifixion and celebrating the resurrection. The 40 days represent the time Jesus prepared for his ministry in the wilderness, a time during which he sacrificed eating in an offering of difficult self-sacrifice.

When I was young, our Easter season consisted of spring vacation, which brought us to Good Friday, followed quickly by an Easter worship service and a lamb roast. It was heartbreaking to dwell on how intensely Jesus suffered because of us and for us. We preferred to skip over Good Friday to the happy tune of, “Up from the grave he arose!”

The idea behind Lent is to invest 40 days in a “season of sorrowful reflection,” a period of grieving over Jesus’ death. Three things are important: extra prayer time (focusing on God), fasting (focusing on self-deprivation) and giving (focusing on neighbors).

Like any spiritual discipline, Lent can become legalistic, entered into by rote habit or because someone else forces the issue. But as a way to honor Christ’s sacrifice with a sincere heart, a quiet participation in Lent is an effective thank-offering to our Savior.

For the last couple of weeks I’ve been asking God what he’d like me to surrender as a Lenten gift of worship. Ideally it would be something I do or eat daily, something I’d really miss. Should it be certain foods? Trips to the beach? My ipod while walking Jack?

Today I decided. I’ll give up my favorite daily treat: rice cakes and peanut butter. Although that may sound insignificant, my kids all know I’m addicted to this combo, and they’ve seen me eat 7 or 8 in one sitting. Back when I was trying to lower my cholesterol, I quit rice cakes for several months, a difficult challenge. In the end, red yeast rice pills worked better on the cholesterol, and I went back to my PB and rice cakes.

A Christian’s body is the temple of God’s Holy Spirit. Sacrificing something we physically crave is probably a good way to privately acknowledge that our bodies are not our own and that we’ve bought with a high price, paid by Jesus. What better time to think about this than in the weeks leading up to Good Friday.

When Easter morning finally arrives, many families will begin that day with hot cross buns, but I’ll be celebrating with rice cakes and peanut butter.

“Give your bodies to God because of all he has done for you. Let them be a living and holy sacrifice—the kind he will find acceptable. This is truly the way to worship him.” (Romans 12:1)

A Day for Sweethearts

Posted on February 13, 2011 by Margaret

Today has been a pensive day. Maybe that’s because it’s Sunday, always the most difficult day of the week for missing Nate. Maybe it’s the approach of Valentine’s Day. Maybe both.

What good is Valentines Day without your one-and-only? Nate loved pampering me and never arrived at February 14 without a gift, chocolates, flowers, maybe a heart necklace. He always did a good job of making me feel loved.

This afternoon as I got teary, I put Nate’s wedding ring on a heart necklace and asked Jack if he wanted to go for a walk. The 54 degree weather was working on neighborhood snow drifts, and the air felt like spring. We hiked to the beach, a feast for the eyes in any kind of weather.

As the two of us surveyed the shoreline from the dune, appreciating the mountains of ice and deep drifts of snow, God gave me an idea to do something I haven’t done in my 65 years: make a beach snowman. Warm weather and dense snow made for perfect packing, and my three snowballs were rolled in no time. Because of wild winds, part of the sand had been scoured clean of snow, exposing smooth beach stones just right for snowman features and buttons. A bit of dried dune grass flew by, ideal for hair. I felt like a kid who’d gone out to play, and the sadness of the afternoon lifted.

As we left the beach, I remembered a Valentines Day snowman-extravaganza we orchestrated in the late ‘80’s. Mary and I, with the 12 children we then had, drove to our folks’ home in Wilmette well past the kids’ bedtimes. Our mission was to build snow people representing each of them, including props of their choice. We hoped to line them up on the front lawn facing Mom and Dad’s kitchen window. When they raised the shade on Valentines morning, they’d see 13 snowmen (one for my brother’s baby, too) looking back at them.

The kids got into the furtive nature of our special gift, keeping their voices low as they worked, the older ones helping the younger. When Dad surprised us all by driving around the corner and sweeping the yard with his headlights, they all dove for the ground.

After the snowmen were assembled, we propped up a big red sign that said, “Happy Valentines Day!” and sped away, successfully undetected. The surprise had the impact we’d hoped, and eventually the fun grew to include a couple of school field trips and one newspaper article, complete with photo. Long after spring had arrived, Mom and Dad were still talking about their 13 snow-kids.

This afternoon as the sun was setting, Jack and I walked home from the beach, concluding that Valentines Day isn’t only about sweethearts. God was sweet to me today, showing his love by putting an end to my grey mood with a simple white snowman.

“I will be glad and rejoice in your love, for you saw my affliction and knew the anguish of my soul. I trust in you, Lord; I say, ‘You are my God.’ My times are in your hands.” (Psalm 31:7,14,15)

Female Farmers

Posted on February 1, 2011 by Margaret

How thankful I am for the ladies in my Tuesday morning Bible study. Although I can’t always be faithful in my attendance because of travel and out-of-town commitments, when I’m go, I’m blessed.

We’ve been studying Hebrews this year, and today’s lesson was chapter 12:1-3. I’d been looking forward to this week, because these were Nate’s favorite Scripture verses. This very month they’re being carved in stone on his grave marker as a testimony to Jesus being at the end of life’s race.

The Bible has many race-references, including one I’ve never heard coupled with a running analogy. It’s offered by Jesus himself who uses a farming picture to make his point. He’d just offered someone the opportunity to follow him full time, but the man had deferred, telling Jesus he’d rather head back home and put things in order there first.

Jesus snapped back with this line: “No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for service in the kingdom of God.” His listeners were probably familiar with every farmer’s intention to plow a straight row. If he looked back, his plow would wobble and his furrow would wander. Jesus was highlighting the importance of purposefully moving forward without adding the confusion and delay of looking back… exactly as when running a race.

Today at Bible study, as we talked about persevering through life, plowing forward without getting bogged down in the past, we were each given a drawing of a lush maple tree. Near the roots were written the names of those mentioned in Hebrews 11, the Faith Hall of Fame. Those champions are the foundational examples of Scripture, and in Hebrews 12 they’re included in the “cloud of witnesses” cheering us on as we run our races or plow our rows.

Next to the maple tree were other blanks meant for us to fill as we thought about who else might be in our “cheering section.” Near the trunk we were encouraged to identify people of Christian influence in our childhood. As we edged up the branches, we wrote more recent influences, ending at the top with current “cheerleaders”, a thought-provoking process.

The remainder of our time was spent listening to stories of faith from among us, as women shared from their pasts. All of us took our hands from the plows so as not to wobble the furrows as we listened. What we saw behind us was God’s persistent call through neighbors, teachers, relatives, radio programs, funerals and friends as he faithfully placed his witnesses in our lives.

Every woman put people on her tree who may never have known of their powerful Christian influence on a child, a teen, a young adult. But the best part was realizing God had put each one in place to urge us toward himself and his kingdom at the end of our race or furrow.

As for my new women farmer-friends, we’ll just keep plowing through life together.

“Jesus replied, ‘No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for service in the kingdom of God’.” (Luke 9:62)