The Cradle of Lent

Dear friends in faith,

Lent is well-launched with Communion and a great sermon by Vicki McPhee.  Through Vicki, God invited us to embrace this season before Easter as a waiting time in which grace has “elbow room” to accomplish the things we weren’t even thinking about. 

But even before the first Sunday in Lent, something special had already happened. As in years past, some of us went over to St. Laurence Anglican Church for their Ash Wednesday service and Holy Communion. It’s always special to me because I get to be present in the congregation singing and praying beside my own parishioners, walking with them to the rail for the imposition of ashes, and then a second time for the elements of bread and wine. The Rev. Anna Greenwood-Lee is a gracious presence who makes us feel so welcome. Her words are deep and wise. Her faith—obvious. Each year I receive something special from this ministry, but this year there was a new clarity.

As I heard the familiar words “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return” I felt my vulnerability—not just to sin—but to so many things. I wanted to cradle my mortality—hold it carefully so that I could really know it. And if I lived each day of Lent cradling my mortality, what would I discover?

So far, every single day has felt more significant. I live a whole day, lungs breathing, heart beating. Then I close my eyes, fall asleep and with no effort I keep going through night—lungs breathing, heart beating. It’s a gift every single day and night, because during the day I spend time with people living on the edge of their mortality, in the drama of facing real limits, succumbing to them and occasionally surpassing them. Family, caregivers, medical personnel and I try to cradle their mortality with reverence, skill, commitment and love.

But there was more to come. The catastrophic devastation of earthquake and tsunami in Japan seemed to mock the very idea of cradling anyone’s mortality. But even in the face of such unimaginable loss, within hours there were pictures on the news of Japanese adults passing babies and children from arm to arm, getting them to safety—cradling their youngest ones’ mortality. Within days more pictures of people from around the world getting off airplanes with supplies, medical teams, others leading recovery teams of specially trained dogs—everyone ready to cradle the mortality of a whole nation, one way or another.

For me, Lent has become a cradle in which my mortality rests just long enough for me to grasp the miracle of its persistence and the love that is required to respect it.  Will I ever be careless with it again? Perhaps. But when Lent is done and death has done its worst, I will hear again in the Gospel that found me years ago—the Holy miracle of God’s persistence and the Holy love that makes Life stronger than death. I will “Remember that I am dust, and to dust I shall return”. But I will also remember that I am a child of God, and loved with a love that is stronger than death.

And into that cradle of Lent, let us lean back into grace of God together.

With you in ministry,
Diane.