Lent began yesterday. We were supposed to gather, but (once again) our community was interrupted by the uncontrollable.

Lent…this season of prayer, fasting, and almsgiving that spans the 40 weekdays between Ash Wednesday and Easter.

Traditionally, we give things up with the hope that we may better hear the voice of God, sense the wooing of the Holy Spirit more intimately, and follow in the footsteps of Jesus with loving humility. It is typically a heavy season, beginning with a gathering to have ashes placed on our foreheads and remembering that we are going to die.

“From dust you came and to dust you shall return.”

 But you know all that.

The question I have is this,

“How do you observe Lent when it feels like Lent has been with us for eleven months?”

Friends and neighbors and loved ones have returned to the dust by the hundreds of thousands. For months we have been confronted with our own mortality.

Did I catch it?

Do I have it?

Will I make it?

We have given things up that are dear to us; hugs and handshakes, concerts and worship services, parties, and pot-luck dinners.

But you know all that too.

It’s not just intellectual knowing either. We feel it somewhere in the depths of our collective being. It’s so palpable I can almost see your eyes roll and hear your thoughts,

“After a year like this now the pastor - teacher - head question asker - discussion facilitator - lead provocateur - shepherd (or whatever we call him) at the barn church points at the liturgical calendar and says, ‘Look, it’s Lent!”’

If you are still reading, this is not a pep talk to rev you up to do Lent.

This is a confession that I (and we) need to remember the communal nature of our faith.

This is an invitation to share your Lenten journey with the Bread and Wine Community.

This an appeal extended with the hope that we can close the relational gap that circumstances have wedged between us.

This is a reminder that our stories are powerful.

This is a cattle call, seems appropriate for a people who worship in a barn, to contribute to who we’re all becoming.

Can you tell us how are you creating space in days like this?

Maybe you share about what you’ve given up or how you’ve chosen to be generous.

It could be sharing a story of how God’s grace surprised you during this season.

Perhaps you write a prayer for our community, our country, or our world.

Maybe it’s something that God taught you through your child or a passage of scripture.

It could be a resource, podcast or Instagram follow that you’ve found helpful.

Maybe someone said just the right thing at just the right time with just the right tone.

You get the idea.

 

And, just a couple of guidelines to help form and shape our response…

  • Don’t “should’ on anybody, including yourself.

  • Keep it current, we’re grateful for what God did in your life in 1998 but we want to hear what He’s up to in 2021.

  • Try to limit your post to 600 words. (For reference, I’m at about 600 words right here)

  • Email your thoughts, words, poems, encouragement with a recent photo of yourself to me at darrelharvey@mac.com.

 I look forward to hearing from everyone and sharing those with this community. We need each other now more than ever.

Thank you,

Darrel