Awe-full

Great and holy God
awe and reverence
fear and trembling
do not come easily to us
for we are not
Old Testament Jews
or Moses
or mystics
or sensitive enough.
Forgive us
for slouching into Your presence
with little expectation
and less awe
than we would eagerly give a visiting dignitary.
We need
neither Jehovah nor a buddy –
neither “the Great and Powerful Oz” nor “the man upstairs.”
Help us
to want what we need…
You
God
and may the altar of our hearts
tremble with delight
at
Your visitation
amen.

~Frederick Ohler

This poem was found as a meditation in the Mosaic Bible which is a regular New Living Translation of the Bible with a special section in the front that has art, essays, and poems by authors across time periods and continents. These are organized thematically and weekly into the church calendar. So this poem was a meditation for the first week of Lent which is this week.

It's been a long time since I have read poetry, and I like this one.

What does God do with dust and ash?

It's Lent again. I've been reading the Anglican Book of Common Prayer (1662) off and on for the past year or so. One thing difficult for me to quite come to terms with is the constant petitioning for mercy and forgiveness. It's not that I think I deserve God's kindness, but as far as I can tell, it's been extended. The whole contrite thing can sometimes feel like sniveling and hoping for grace which has already been given. But perhaps that's why I stick with it; I think I still have much to learn. Maybe I need to be reminded more often of how my life is good only in that God imbues it with goodness.

I liked this guy's meditation on Ash Wednesday:

What does God do with dust and ash?

He grows things out of them.

He covers them with purple raiments.

He lifts people out of them.

He unfairly accepts them in exchange for beauty.

He writes mysterious things in them.

He spits in them and uses the mud to give sight.

He washes them off your stinky feet.

He breathes into them and creates new life.

He descends into them, submits to their suffocation, and emerges alive and spotless.

When you return to dust, even if your body should be burnt to ashes and scattered over the four winds, he who is the Lord over the earth will be able to collect you, reconstitute you, and resurrect you into a body fit for eternity.

~Jared Wilson

Ash Wednesday

The Collect

Almighty and everlasting God, who hatest nothing that thou hast made and dost forgive the sins of all them that are penitent; Create and make in us new and contrite hearts, that we, worthily lamenting our sins, and acknowledging our wretchedness, may obtain of thee, the God of all mercy, perfect remission and forgiveness; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

This Collect is to be read every day in Lent after the Collect appointed for the Day.

~The Book of Common Prayer, 1662

Tortured inadequacy

I've been thinking about why new motherhood has provoked so much reflection and desire for guidance. Reflecting on reflection, like it? For me, becoming a mother has made me painfully aware of my inadequacies at a time when I was cresting a high point in achievement. I was a couple years into a marriage with my wonderful husband, financially stable (because of him), professionally accomplished and respected, and generally well-regarded in my circle of peers.

Motherhood, in the early weeks, was like bootcamp: crazy hours, physically demanding, a steep learning curve, and nowhere to hide. You can't imagine having to nurse every 2-3 hours until you have to nurse every 2-3 hours. And in that exhaustion, you have to care for the most helpless, innocent thing who's your child at whom you get frustrated, whom you are tempted to shake into silence, and who has conditions you don't know how to evaluate as medically serious or not. Mebbe this doesn't dump some women into the inadequacy pool, but it sure dumped me there. While my daughter is well out of those early feed-a-thons, I continue to find myself challenged. I'm less challenged physically having learned more of less how to keep pace, but I am more challenged emotionally as she blossoms into personhood. Can I put aside my to-do list to interact with her wholeheartedly? Can I speak kindly when our wills are opposed? Will I pause in the "doing" to tell her I love her? Honestly, a lot of times the answer is No and I know that.

And while I could despair in this, the following promise brings hope:

9But [Jesus] said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me.

~Paul's second letter to the Corinthians, chapter 12

One commenter's translation for my grace is sufficient for you has you need nothing more than my grace, in other words, the grace of God is adequate. And not only is the grace of God adequate but it dovetails into completeness when it rests in weakness. The Greek word translated as weakness, astheneia, here refers to an incapacity for something or an experience of limitation. Today, this is good news because this is the way motherhood frequently feels: I am incapable of loving well, limited in my selflessness, lacking in wisdom.

I have many questions about what the future holds and I often wonder if I will have the wherewithal to make the tough decisions. This passage reminds me that I probably don't have the wherewithal and that's ok because the grace of God will fill in the gaps gladly. It will even fill the gap of questioning whether gaps can be filled. Filling in gaps about gaps being filled, like it?

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This post is part of an ongoing series I am writing along with the author of On Expecting