Psalm 69:
⁸ I have become a stranger to my kindred,
an alien to my mother’s children. …
²⁰ Insults have broken my heart,
so that I am in despair.
I looked for pity, but there was none;
and for comforters, but I found none.
²¹ They gave me poison for food,
and for my thirst they gave me vinegar to drink.

Read the full psalm. 

In my yard during Lent, the snow melts, and I take stock of my outdoor plants. It isn’t pretty. The voracious mint patch has choked out the salvia my mom planted two falls ago. The lilacs close to the house bow low with buds, but the lone one at the edge of the yard shows no signs of life after a late frost.

The season of Lent invites us to take stock of our spiritual lives as we wake up from the dormancy that sets in after the Christmas season. What bad habits have crept up, choking out life-giving intentions? What has died and needs to be cleared away? Where have forces outside your control caused hurt?

The author of Psalm 69 (let’s call him David) takes stock of his life and speaks the misery he finds—rejection, hatred, and harm by people who are supposed to love him. Why? Not because David has forgotten God, but precisely because he is trying to live a faithful, authentic life (vv. 9-12). The hurt runs so high and so deep that he feels like he’s drowning (v. 2). I’ve been there. Have you?

If David were standing in my Lenten garden, I imagine he would identify most with the lone lilac, isolated and barren. We might be tempted to keep quiet, but David does the most faithful thing: he speaks it before God, raw and honest. While speaking his pain, he finds the energy to pray for himself: “Rescue me from sinking in the mire” (vv. 13-14). While praying for himself, he finds the energy to remember the goodness of God: “I will praise the name of God with a song” (vv. 30-33). While remembering the goodness of God, David begins to come to life again.

Psalm 46 (NIV):
¹ God is our refuge and strength,
an ever-present help in trouble.
² Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way
and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea,
³ though its waters roar and foam
and the mountains quake with their surging.

Read the full psalm. 

Uneasiness. Apprehension. Dismay. The journey of Lent invites us to examine these feelings of unrest, express sorrow that we’ve submitted to such fears, and seek restoration and renewal.

Early this January, I headed to the New York Department of Motor Vehicles office to renew my license. The DMV is adjacent to a distressed section of the city. A sense of reluctance, nearing dread, marked my frame of mind as I entered the crowded storefront-like facility.

With warmth and grace, the uniformed officer by the door directed me to the publication rack and handed me an enhanced license renewal form. A pleasant counter agent looked over my documents, sympathized with my not having correct paperwork to signify “veteran” be stamped again on my renewed license, gave me a ticket number, and instructed me to wait my turn.

The repurposed church pews for seating were crowded full. I took an empty counter stool, feeling content to participate in my civic responsibility along with fellow Orange County citizens.

After a long delay, due in part to reduced Thursday afternoon staffing, the new year, and computer rebooting, my number appeared. The agreeable administrative officer processed my documentation and speculated that my veteran status might transfer over. After taking a photo and paying the fee, I needed to sign one final form. With a satisfied smile, the agent pointed to the “VET” designation on the temporary enhanced license. I left the facility with the feeling that the church pews were singing regarding my uplifting experience.

As we are aware of generous, Jesus-shaped love active in our communities and give thanks for evidence of God’s grace, we release fear, tension, and strain. Composure—a state of rest and balance—is restored. Quiet joy returns as we realize “the Lord our God is with us” and with our world.

March 27, 2019
By Jim Daniels

Psalm 49 (NIV):
 ¹⁰ For all can see that the wise die,
that the foolish and the senseless also perish,
leaving their wealth to others. …
²⁰ People who have wealth but lack understanding
are like the beasts that perish.

Read the full psalm.

As a hospice chaplain, I have the honor of walking with people as they live out their final months. If we are fortunate, we get to talk about what is most important to them. All patients have wanted to talk about their families—whether still living or deceased. And though I have met some very wealthy people, I have never once heard them talking about the wealth they had accumulated as what was important to them at the end of their lives.

Psalm 49 discusses how wealth cannot purchase a person’s life or buy an escape from decay, but that it is God alone who can—and will—redeem a life from the grave. This Lenten season is one of walking toward the cross with Christ, and I, for one, use it as a time to contemplate the end of my life. I attempt to reorient my thoughts and actions in a way that allows me to die as a person with understanding—a person who relies upon God for redemption.

On the first day of Lent, the ashes are imposed, and I am reminded that I am dust and to dust I shall return. It begins a time of remembering what is important and what is passing. I am reminded to trust in God for redemption, and not for some act or accumulation of wealth or status. I am marked by the reminder that I follow the path of all flesh.

This does not bring me sorrow now as it used to. I now count each day as part of my riches, and my understanding expands with each day of gratitude. As we walk this Lenten path toward the cross, let us pray for understanding.

March 26, 2019
By Brian Dykema

Psalm 43 (NIV):
¹ Vindicate me, my God,
and plead my cause
against an unfaithful nation.
Rescue me from those who are
deceitful and wicked.
² You are God my stronghold.
Why have you rejected me?
Why must I go about mourning,
oppressed by the enemy?
³ Send me your light and your faithful care,
let them lead me;
let them bring me to your holy mountain,
to the place where you dwell.

Read the full psalm. 

I would dare say I am not alone when I share that lately I have struggled with feelings of doubt and discouragement. At times, it would appear that deceitfulness and wickedness are widespread and just keep getting worse. Our nation claims to fear God, but behind all the speeches exist actions and decisions that contradict the teachings and commands of God by choosing a path that looks more like oppression and unfaithfulness.

This country is still my home, and yet my heart mourns over how far we have wandered from God. And still, as the psalmist says, there is always hope and a way back. “Send me your light and your faithful care, let them lead me; let them bring me to your holy mountain, to the place where you dwell” (v. 3). My mother has a saying: “Keep looking up.” God is faithful and that is what truly matters. God will not fail, and I believe God’s love is still stronger than all the evil in the universe. God’s unconditional love can move the stars, change the world, and heal the human heart. There is always a way back home where rejection ends and God is ready with an embrace.

During this Lenten season, I pray we will choose to look up to God and ask the Spirit to dwell within us to help us believe the world can change. It begins with love, or like it says on the stone in the story “The Old Turtle and the Broken Truth,” “You are loved and so are they.” Dear friends, take heart. God is still on his throne, and his kingdom will not fail. Peace be upon you, and to God be the glory now and forever.