(my Lenten discipline this year is to write a short devotion, without extra editing or excessive thought, on the coming Sunday's lectionary texts for each of the 40 days. Later I might go through and edit/rewrite, but for now these are first thoughts.)
Wednesday
Philippians 3.17-4.1
Brothers and sisters, join in imitating me, and observe those who live according to the example you have in us. For many live as enemies of the cross of Christ; I have often told you of them, and now I tell you even with tears. Their end is destruction, their god is the belly; and their glory is in their shame; their minds are set on earthly things. But our citizenship is in heaven, and it is from there that we are expecting a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ. He will transform the body of our humiliation that it may be confirmed to the body of his glory, by the power that also enables him to make all things subject to himself. Therefore, my brothers and sisters, whom I love and long for, my joy and crown, stand firm in the Lord in this way, my beloved.
Citizenship in heaven. Sounds pretty great, right? It must be better than earthly citizenship. My American citizenship comes with a lot of rights and privileges—voting, driving, purchasing power…and extensive travel privileges as well. Imagine what heavenly citizenship must entail!
Glory, transformation, power…but it seems that Paul has in mind here not privileges but responsibilities. Apparently, citizenship in heaven means living according to the example set by Paul and his other communities. It means living differently, setting our minds not on earthly things, not allowing our bellies to be our gods.
It doesn’t sound like the problems of the church have changed much in the past dozen centuries or so…the culture still proclaims the belly as god (or money, or power…), still encourages us to look away from heaven at all the earthly goodies and the prestige we can find right here. And Paul still sits here and encourages us to look somewhere else—to the cross. Yes, we live on earth but our citizenship, along with our rights, privileges, and responsibilities, are elsewhere. So we live differently, following the Way of the Lord, standing firm.
Paul doesn’t say here what that Way is, but from his other writing we can infer that we shouldn’t be indulging our appetites unhealthily, we shouldn’t be placing stumbling blocks to the faith of others, we should help out other people, contribute to the needs of the saints, and we should be praying continually. Right after this Paul exhorts his listeners to rejoice in the Lord always. That sounds pretty different from the way the world works. Heavenly citizenship can be hard work!
Gracious God, we sometimes get so caught up in our everyday earthly lives that we forget where our real citizenship lies. Make us mindful of the rights and privileges we enjoy with our earthly citizenship, and make us mindful also of the responsibilities that come with the citizenship in your kingdom. Strengthen and encourage us to follow you, to stand firm, and to serve your people. In Jesus’ name we pray. Amen.
Showing posts with label Lenten Discipline 2007. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Lenten Discipline 2007. Show all posts
Thursday, March 01, 2007
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Lent Day 6
Tuesday
Psalm 27 (selected verses)
The Lord is my light and my salvation;
whom shall I fear?
The Lord is the stronghold of my life;
of whom shall I be afraid?
One thing I asked of the Lord,
that will I seek after:
to live in the house of the Lord
all the days of my life,
to behold the beauty of the Lord,
and to inquire in his temple.
Hear, O Lord, when I cry aloud,
be gracious to me and answer me!
‘Come,’ my heart says, ‘seek his face!’
Your face, Lord, do I seek.
Do not hide your face from me.
I believe that I shall see the goodness of the Lord
in the land of the living.
Wait for the Lord;
be strong, and let your heart take courage;
wait for the Lord!
This psalm is so beautiful I’m not sure I can even say anything about it that is worthwhile. And yes, it’s one of my texts for preaching this Sunday!
I am particularly fond of the first and last paragraphs of the psalm: the idea that the Lord is light and there is nothing that can trouble me or inspire fear because of that, and the idea that God’s goodness can be seen even here on earth…both are so wonderful. Pop Christianity often has this idea that we can only see God after we die, that the whole point of living the Christian life is to be rewarded after death…but that’s not how I believe at all. I really believe that God can be seen in the land of the living—not just in creation, but in other people and maybe even in me…and I also think God does reveal Godself in different ways, including here and now.
Seeking God often looks like wasting time—to do one thing single-mindedly, to seek God’s face, to look forward to seeing God in God’s own house—but it isn’t. It does take waiting, which is not easy. Waiting requires strength and courage, seeking requires diligence, but the reward is to see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Even during Lent. Isn’t that what these holy seasons are about? We clear the clutter, we leave the busy-ness, and we seek God’s face through prayer and fasting, through worship and study, through rest and renewal. God said “when you search for me, you will find me; if you seek me with all your heart, I will let you find me” (Jer. 29.13). It’s a worthy pursuit…but it requires waiting. I hate waiting, and so I am one of those who needs extra strength and courage! In our instant gratification culture, waiting is unpopular. But God doesn’t work on our culture’s time—as Abraham learned yesterday. And so we wait.
God, I hate waiting. Give me the courage and strength to wait for you, to seek you diligently. Reveal yourself to me here in this time, and fill me to overflowing with your light and love that I might share it with the world. In Jesus’ name I pray. Amen.
Psalm 27 (selected verses)
The Lord is my light and my salvation;
whom shall I fear?
The Lord is the stronghold of my life;
of whom shall I be afraid?
One thing I asked of the Lord,
that will I seek after:
to live in the house of the Lord
all the days of my life,
to behold the beauty of the Lord,
and to inquire in his temple.
Hear, O Lord, when I cry aloud,
be gracious to me and answer me!
‘Come,’ my heart says, ‘seek his face!’
Your face, Lord, do I seek.
Do not hide your face from me.
I believe that I shall see the goodness of the Lord
in the land of the living.
Wait for the Lord;
be strong, and let your heart take courage;
wait for the Lord!
This psalm is so beautiful I’m not sure I can even say anything about it that is worthwhile. And yes, it’s one of my texts for preaching this Sunday!
I am particularly fond of the first and last paragraphs of the psalm: the idea that the Lord is light and there is nothing that can trouble me or inspire fear because of that, and the idea that God’s goodness can be seen even here on earth…both are so wonderful. Pop Christianity often has this idea that we can only see God after we die, that the whole point of living the Christian life is to be rewarded after death…but that’s not how I believe at all. I really believe that God can be seen in the land of the living—not just in creation, but in other people and maybe even in me…and I also think God does reveal Godself in different ways, including here and now.
Seeking God often looks like wasting time—to do one thing single-mindedly, to seek God’s face, to look forward to seeing God in God’s own house—but it isn’t. It does take waiting, which is not easy. Waiting requires strength and courage, seeking requires diligence, but the reward is to see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Even during Lent. Isn’t that what these holy seasons are about? We clear the clutter, we leave the busy-ness, and we seek God’s face through prayer and fasting, through worship and study, through rest and renewal. God said “when you search for me, you will find me; if you seek me with all your heart, I will let you find me” (Jer. 29.13). It’s a worthy pursuit…but it requires waiting. I hate waiting, and so I am one of those who needs extra strength and courage! In our instant gratification culture, waiting is unpopular. But God doesn’t work on our culture’s time—as Abraham learned yesterday. And so we wait.
God, I hate waiting. Give me the courage and strength to wait for you, to seek you diligently. Reveal yourself to me here in this time, and fill me to overflowing with your light and love that I might share it with the world. In Jesus’ name I pray. Amen.
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Lent Day 5
Monday
Genesis 15.1-6
After these things the word of the LORD came to Abram in a vision, “Do not be afraid, Abram, I am your shield; your reward shall be very great.” But Abram said, “O Lord God, what will you give me, for I continue childless, and the heir of my house is Eliezer of Damascus?” And Abram said, “You have given me no offspring, and so a slave born in my house is to be my heir.” But the word of the LORD came to him, “This man shall not be your heir; no one but your very own issue shall be your heir.” He brought him outside and said, “Look toward heaven and count the stars, if you are able to count them.” Then he said to him, “So shall your descendents be.” And he believed the LORD, and the LORD reckoned it to him as righteousness.
Abram is beginning to get a little anxious here…the promises God made sounded so great when he was leaving his homeland and his family and all he knew. But now things are a little sketchier. There are no children yet—and children are the crucial part of this whole plan. What kind of reward is it if there are no children to pass it on to, no family name to continue, no one to receive the inheritance?
Abram sees his life as one marked, at the moment anyway, by scarcity. And he complains against God out of that mindset—“you have given me nothing important” he says. But God has a different view. God sends Abram outside to look at the sky, filled with an abundance of stars. This is what will mark Abram’s life—abundance. And somehow, that is enough for Abram. Just a look at the abundance God has already created and provided in the heavens, let alone on the earth, and Abram believes that his descendents really will be innumerable. Quite a change from a few sentences before, when Abram sounded decidedly doubtful, and maybe even a little whiney!
Eventually, we all know, Abram manages to have two children, and beyond that his offspring really are innumerable…but there were moments of doubt. Even Abram operated out of a mindset of scarcity and doubt sometimes. Even Abram, the exalted ancestor, the one held up as a model for our faith, questioned God. And believed the answer. And that is a right relationship.
O God, you give abundantly. Your creation, your history, your people, are full of your abundant life. We pray that you would hear our questions, take our doubts and even our whining, and turn them into faith. Help us to be in right relationship with you. In Jesus’ name we pray. Amen.
Genesis 15.1-6
After these things the word of the LORD came to Abram in a vision, “Do not be afraid, Abram, I am your shield; your reward shall be very great.” But Abram said, “O Lord God, what will you give me, for I continue childless, and the heir of my house is Eliezer of Damascus?” And Abram said, “You have given me no offspring, and so a slave born in my house is to be my heir.” But the word of the LORD came to him, “This man shall not be your heir; no one but your very own issue shall be your heir.” He brought him outside and said, “Look toward heaven and count the stars, if you are able to count them.” Then he said to him, “So shall your descendents be.” And he believed the LORD, and the LORD reckoned it to him as righteousness.
Abram is beginning to get a little anxious here…the promises God made sounded so great when he was leaving his homeland and his family and all he knew. But now things are a little sketchier. There are no children yet—and children are the crucial part of this whole plan. What kind of reward is it if there are no children to pass it on to, no family name to continue, no one to receive the inheritance?
Abram sees his life as one marked, at the moment anyway, by scarcity. And he complains against God out of that mindset—“you have given me nothing important” he says. But God has a different view. God sends Abram outside to look at the sky, filled with an abundance of stars. This is what will mark Abram’s life—abundance. And somehow, that is enough for Abram. Just a look at the abundance God has already created and provided in the heavens, let alone on the earth, and Abram believes that his descendents really will be innumerable. Quite a change from a few sentences before, when Abram sounded decidedly doubtful, and maybe even a little whiney!
Eventually, we all know, Abram manages to have two children, and beyond that his offspring really are innumerable…but there were moments of doubt. Even Abram operated out of a mindset of scarcity and doubt sometimes. Even Abram, the exalted ancestor, the one held up as a model for our faith, questioned God. And believed the answer. And that is a right relationship.
O God, you give abundantly. Your creation, your history, your people, are full of your abundant life. We pray that you would hear our questions, take our doubts and even our whining, and turn them into faith. Help us to be in right relationship with you. In Jesus’ name we pray. Amen.
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Lent Day 4
(my Lenten discipline this year is to write a short devotion, without extra editing or excessive thought, on the coming Sunday's lectionary texts for each of the 40 days. Later I might go through and edit/rewrite, but for now these are first thoughts.)
Saturday
Luke 4.1-4
Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, returned from the Jordan and was led by the Spirit in the wilderness, where for forty days he was tempted by the devil. He ate nothing at all during those days, and when they were over, he was famished. The devil said to him, “If you are the Son of God, command this stone to become a loaf of bread.” Jesus answered him, “It is written, ‘One does not live by bread alone.’”
Other versions of this story say that Jesus was driven into the wilderness by the Spirit, or led into the wilderness by the Spirit, but Luke says that Jesus was led in the wilderness by the Spirit. There’s something wonderful about that—being in the wilderness, seeking God, being tempted, being intentional about discerning what God is calling you to do, filling your days with prayer and fasting…and being led by the Spirit the whole time.
I’m a Presbyterian pastor. When I lived in Scotland, anytime we used the phrase “led by the Spirit” what we meant was “we didn’t have time to plan this out the way we Presbyterians really like to do, so we’re going to be led by the Spirit instead.” I’m pretty sure that isn’t quite what Jesus was doing. Though I doubt he planned to spend forty days fasting in the desert and hanging out with Satan making snide remarks about stones and bread, he probably wasn’t using “led by the Spirit” as a euphemism for “flying by the seat of my pants.” I suspect that he was actually being led, discerning, praying, and resting in God. Isn’t that what Lent is about? This wilderness time—whether we gave something up, took something on, or are doing our best to ignore the season—is a time when we stop pretending we have control over every little bit of our lives, and instead intentionally seek God’s spirit, letting her blow where she will, following where she leads.
Come, Holy Spirit, and lead me where you would have me go. In this season, we are trying to be open to your movement. Blow among us and through us and in us, and show us a new path. In Jesus’ name we pray. Amen.
Saturday
Luke 4.1-4
Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, returned from the Jordan and was led by the Spirit in the wilderness, where for forty days he was tempted by the devil. He ate nothing at all during those days, and when they were over, he was famished. The devil said to him, “If you are the Son of God, command this stone to become a loaf of bread.” Jesus answered him, “It is written, ‘One does not live by bread alone.’”
Other versions of this story say that Jesus was driven into the wilderness by the Spirit, or led into the wilderness by the Spirit, but Luke says that Jesus was led in the wilderness by the Spirit. There’s something wonderful about that—being in the wilderness, seeking God, being tempted, being intentional about discerning what God is calling you to do, filling your days with prayer and fasting…and being led by the Spirit the whole time.
I’m a Presbyterian pastor. When I lived in Scotland, anytime we used the phrase “led by the Spirit” what we meant was “we didn’t have time to plan this out the way we Presbyterians really like to do, so we’re going to be led by the Spirit instead.” I’m pretty sure that isn’t quite what Jesus was doing. Though I doubt he planned to spend forty days fasting in the desert and hanging out with Satan making snide remarks about stones and bread, he probably wasn’t using “led by the Spirit” as a euphemism for “flying by the seat of my pants.” I suspect that he was actually being led, discerning, praying, and resting in God. Isn’t that what Lent is about? This wilderness time—whether we gave something up, took something on, or are doing our best to ignore the season—is a time when we stop pretending we have control over every little bit of our lives, and instead intentionally seek God’s spirit, letting her blow where she will, following where she leads.
Come, Holy Spirit, and lead me where you would have me go. In this season, we are trying to be open to your movement. Blow among us and through us and in us, and show us a new path. In Jesus’ name we pray. Amen.
Saturday, February 24, 2007
Lent Day 3
(my Lenten discipline this year is to write a short devotion, without extra editing or excessive thought, on the coming Sunday's lectionary texts for each of the 40 days. Later I might go through and edit/rewrite, but for now these are first thoughts.)
Friday
Psalm 91—a metrical setting
Whoever lives beside the Lord,
sheltering in the Almighty’s shade,
shall say, “my God, in you I trust,
my safety, my defender.”
From unseen danger and disease
God will keep you safe and sure;
beneath God’s wings a place you’ll find,
a refuge from all danger.
You will not dread what darkness brings—
hidden danger, deadly plague;
nor will you fear in daylight hours,
the evil that surrounds.
A thousand may die at your side,
thousands more fall close at hand;
but with God’s truth for strength and shield,
no threat will ever touch you.
God says, “I’ll save from every harm
those who know and love my name.
In trouble I will honor them,
and show them my salvation.”
The metrical setting of Psalm 91, to the old Scottish folk tune Teann a nall, is so beautiful that every time I hear or read the first verses of the psalm, I can’t help but sing the tune. And what a beautiful image, too: sheltering in the Almighty’s shade, a place beneath God’s wings.
The thing is, the psalm, read uncritically, seems to be a big fat lie. Sure, you can rest in the shadow of the Lord, but the reality is that disease, danger, and threats do touch us, even those among us whose faith is so sure and sound that it can’t be shaken, even those whose lives seem perfect, even those who really ground themselves in the Word…danger and disease are part of the human reality.
But Psalm 91 assures us that these things are not the end of the world, that danger and disease do not have the last word. Not even death has the last word, really: God does. Trouble may come, but God will still be around. “in trouble I will honor them and show them my salvation.” What good news tucked in this beautiful Scottish psalm tune.
Almighty God, clothe us with your truth, cover us with your wings, shelter us in your shade, keep us safe and close to you throughout this season. In Jesus’ name we pray. Amen.
Friday
Psalm 91—a metrical setting
Whoever lives beside the Lord,
sheltering in the Almighty’s shade,
shall say, “my God, in you I trust,
my safety, my defender.”
From unseen danger and disease
God will keep you safe and sure;
beneath God’s wings a place you’ll find,
a refuge from all danger.
You will not dread what darkness brings—
hidden danger, deadly plague;
nor will you fear in daylight hours,
the evil that surrounds.
A thousand may die at your side,
thousands more fall close at hand;
but with God’s truth for strength and shield,
no threat will ever touch you.
God says, “I’ll save from every harm
those who know and love my name.
In trouble I will honor them,
and show them my salvation.”
The metrical setting of Psalm 91, to the old Scottish folk tune Teann a nall, is so beautiful that every time I hear or read the first verses of the psalm, I can’t help but sing the tune. And what a beautiful image, too: sheltering in the Almighty’s shade, a place beneath God’s wings.
The thing is, the psalm, read uncritically, seems to be a big fat lie. Sure, you can rest in the shadow of the Lord, but the reality is that disease, danger, and threats do touch us, even those among us whose faith is so sure and sound that it can’t be shaken, even those whose lives seem perfect, even those who really ground themselves in the Word…danger and disease are part of the human reality.
But Psalm 91 assures us that these things are not the end of the world, that danger and disease do not have the last word. Not even death has the last word, really: God does. Trouble may come, but God will still be around. “in trouble I will honor them and show them my salvation.” What good news tucked in this beautiful Scottish psalm tune.
Almighty God, clothe us with your truth, cover us with your wings, shelter us in your shade, keep us safe and close to you throughout this season. In Jesus’ name we pray. Amen.
Friday, February 23, 2007
Lent Day 2
(my Lenten discipline this year is to write a short devotion, without extra editing or excessive thought, on the coming Sunday's lectionary texts for each of the 40 days. Later I might go through and edit/rewrite, but for now these are first thoughts.)
Day 2
Deuteronomy 26.5b-9
“A wandering Aramean was my ancestor; he went down into Egypt and lived there as an alien, few in number, and there he became a great nation, mighty and populous. When the Egyptians treated us harshly and afflicted us, by imposing hard labor on us, we cried to the LORD, the God of our ancestors; the LORD heard our voice and saw our affliction, our toil, and our oppression. The LORD brought us out of Egypt with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm, with a terrifying display of power, and with signs and wonders; and he brought us into this place and gave us this land, a land flowing with milk and honey.”
Humans are naturally storytellers—if you don’t believe me, head to any school and listen in the hallways or the cafeteria while the kids talk between classes. Everyone has a story to tell. We also have some communal stories—stories about our family, our country, or the world, stories that we connect to in some way even if it isn’t something that happened to us. This is the kind of storytelling that lets us say “those are my people” even if you’ve never met them or never been to their part of the country/world.
This is one of those stories that we tell because it reminds us who we are. Once upon a time, we were a mighty nation. Once upon a time, we were slaves. We were rescued and brought to this incredible place. This is our family story.
This story also tells us whose we are. Once upon a time, God made a covenant with our ancestors. Once upon a time, we called upon the LORD and were heard. God brought us out of slavery with signs and wonders, with a mighty hand, with terrifying power. God gave us this land. We belong to God, we are the people of God, we are the people God rescued and brought home.
And that’s what storytelling is really about, isn’t it? Coming home? Stories help us to live, to re-live, to inhabit our space and time. Telling the story brings us home again, brings us closer to one another and to the God who gave us the story and who continues to write the story with us.
Story-making God, today we affirm with the ancient Israelites that a wandering Aramean was our ancestor, that once we were mighty, once we were slaves, and many times we have been rescued by your mighty works and terrifying power. We pray today that you would be with us as we tell the stories of our life and faith in this season of Lent, that we might come ever closer to our home in you. In Jesus’ name we pray. Amen.
Day 2
Deuteronomy 26.5b-9
“A wandering Aramean was my ancestor; he went down into Egypt and lived there as an alien, few in number, and there he became a great nation, mighty and populous. When the Egyptians treated us harshly and afflicted us, by imposing hard labor on us, we cried to the LORD, the God of our ancestors; the LORD heard our voice and saw our affliction, our toil, and our oppression. The LORD brought us out of Egypt with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm, with a terrifying display of power, and with signs and wonders; and he brought us into this place and gave us this land, a land flowing with milk and honey.”
Humans are naturally storytellers—if you don’t believe me, head to any school and listen in the hallways or the cafeteria while the kids talk between classes. Everyone has a story to tell. We also have some communal stories—stories about our family, our country, or the world, stories that we connect to in some way even if it isn’t something that happened to us. This is the kind of storytelling that lets us say “those are my people” even if you’ve never met them or never been to their part of the country/world.
This is one of those stories that we tell because it reminds us who we are. Once upon a time, we were a mighty nation. Once upon a time, we were slaves. We were rescued and brought to this incredible place. This is our family story.
This story also tells us whose we are. Once upon a time, God made a covenant with our ancestors. Once upon a time, we called upon the LORD and were heard. God brought us out of slavery with signs and wonders, with a mighty hand, with terrifying power. God gave us this land. We belong to God, we are the people of God, we are the people God rescued and brought home.
And that’s what storytelling is really about, isn’t it? Coming home? Stories help us to live, to re-live, to inhabit our space and time. Telling the story brings us home again, brings us closer to one another and to the God who gave us the story and who continues to write the story with us.
Story-making God, today we affirm with the ancient Israelites that a wandering Aramean was our ancestor, that once we were mighty, once we were slaves, and many times we have been rescued by your mighty works and terrifying power. We pray today that you would be with us as we tell the stories of our life and faith in this season of Lent, that we might come ever closer to our home in you. In Jesus’ name we pray. Amen.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Ash Wednesday
Ash Wednesday
Joel 2.12-13
Yet even now, says the LORD, return to me with all your heart,
with fasting, with weeping, and with mourning;
rend your hearts and not your clothing.
Return to the LORD, your God, for he is gracious and merciful,
slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, and relents from punishing.
This is an odd day. It’s not often in our culture that we come face-to-face with our own mortality, and it’s even less often that we choose to think about the fact that one day, in the not-so-distant future, we will once again be nothing but the dust from which we were made. To put ashes on the forehead of someone else is a powerful thing—to look into someone’s eyes and tell them they are only dust, blowing in the wind.
Yet I still greet people on this day with “Happy Ash Wednesday!” I get strange looks and confused emails and text messages, but I really think this is a great greeting. Yes, we’ve put away the pancakes. Yes, Lent is often seen as a time of deprivation and denial. Yes, we’re putting ashes on ourselves and confessing our sin and thinking about how we’re going to die. But it’s also the beginning of our yearly 40-day journey, the time when we clear out all the nonsense and the false abundance, the time when we confess so we can move forward. Without this confession, this recognition, we can’t even begin to get back on track, to start the journey home. We can’t return to the Lord with all our hearts if our hearts are full of wrong things. And so we empty them, and ourselves, to make room for the love and grace and mercy that God gives in abundance, so we can be filled to overflowing by God who is gracious and merciful, abounding in steadfast love.
Gracious God, may the ashes on our foreheads be a reminder not only of our mortality and our sin, but also of your incredible love for us. Help us to empty ourselves of false abundance and to return to you with our whole hearts. We pray in Jesus’ name. Amen.
Joel 2.12-13
Yet even now, says the LORD, return to me with all your heart,
with fasting, with weeping, and with mourning;
rend your hearts and not your clothing.
Return to the LORD, your God, for he is gracious and merciful,
slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, and relents from punishing.
This is an odd day. It’s not often in our culture that we come face-to-face with our own mortality, and it’s even less often that we choose to think about the fact that one day, in the not-so-distant future, we will once again be nothing but the dust from which we were made. To put ashes on the forehead of someone else is a powerful thing—to look into someone’s eyes and tell them they are only dust, blowing in the wind.
Yet I still greet people on this day with “Happy Ash Wednesday!” I get strange looks and confused emails and text messages, but I really think this is a great greeting. Yes, we’ve put away the pancakes. Yes, Lent is often seen as a time of deprivation and denial. Yes, we’re putting ashes on ourselves and confessing our sin and thinking about how we’re going to die. But it’s also the beginning of our yearly 40-day journey, the time when we clear out all the nonsense and the false abundance, the time when we confess so we can move forward. Without this confession, this recognition, we can’t even begin to get back on track, to start the journey home. We can’t return to the Lord with all our hearts if our hearts are full of wrong things. And so we empty them, and ourselves, to make room for the love and grace and mercy that God gives in abundance, so we can be filled to overflowing by God who is gracious and merciful, abounding in steadfast love.
Gracious God, may the ashes on our foreheads be a reminder not only of our mortality and our sin, but also of your incredible love for us. Help us to empty ourselves of false abundance and to return to you with our whole hearts. We pray in Jesus’ name. Amen.
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