Stuck in White (missed Red … should be Green)

June 10th, 2010 — 11:00am

Easter (liturgical white) season has come and gone.

The Pentecost (liturgical red) party is over.

Now is the extraordinary span of Ordinary Time (liturgical green). That long green run into discipleship. Or at least it should be.

But I’m still stuck on the day after Easter, staring at an empty tomb.

After the hoopla and thrill of knowing the One is alive, I’m thinking on the meaning of an empty tomb.

Poor thing, that tomb. Didn’t even get to keep it’s quarry but a few days. Due to the 100 or so pounds of spices Joseph of Arimethea hooked up, there wasn’t even a smell of decay before the tomb’s resident hopped up and out.

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A Lenten Confession: The Antonym of Me

March 26th, 2010 — 8:34am

This is the first Lenten season I’ve been unable to take large chunks of time for prayer and reflection. Having been in “professional ministry” (whatever that is) for the last many years, I was able to take half-days and whole days for reflection, silence, and meditation.

During previous Lents, I have been able to move beyond repentence to cherishing the simple truth of God’s presence. This year, however, I have stayed in confession mode … and I haven’t tried to move beyond it. But this has been ok.

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Ash Wednesday Prayer

February 17th, 2010 — 10:51am

Here is the prayer I’m praying this day:

Marked by Ashes

Ruler of the Night, Guarantor of the day . . .
This day — a gift from you.
This day — like none other you have ever given, or we have ever received.
This Wednesday dazzles us with gift and newness and possibility.
This Wednesday burdens us with the tasks of the day, for we are already halfway home
halfway back to committees and memos,
halfway back to calls and appointments,
halfway on to next Sunday,
halfway back, half frazzled, half expectant,
half turned toward you, half rather not.

This Wednesday is a long way from Ash Wednesday,
but all our Wednesdays are marked by ashes —
we begin this day with that taste of ash in our mouth:
of failed hope and broken promises,
of forgotten children and frightened women,
we ourselves are ashes to ashes, dust to dust;
we can taste our mortality as we roll the ash around on our tongues.

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