Mustard Seeds Poetry 1

Ann Nadge, a poet I know, has distilled some of the posts from this blog into poetry. She has used my words verbatim, captured the essence of the post, and moulded it into a poet's vision. This is the first of more to be published over the course of the year.

This poem is from an original post on 28th March 2020 that was written at the beginning of COVID-19.

 Lazarus, a figure of conversion 

life of discipleship, moves 

from life to death to a life given back. 

So too, we move deeper 

into God’s love - movement 

from life to death to a life renewed 

in daily dying and rising with Christ. 

We die to the false self, in Christ 

receive a renewed sense of self. 

Imagine Lazarus smelling the roses 

after he was raised, living the gift 

of life despite the dark times. 

We too are called to smell the roses 

for we have gained our lives, 

not lost them. 

 

Whatever cross you bear 

there is a flower on your path 

just waiting to be noticed. 

Live the gift of life given back, 

live it as the gift it is.

Lent is a Season of Repentance

 Lent is the season of truth. And this through repentance. And by repentance I don't mean the human effort to clear the decks of the bad things we have done so we can have a relationship with God. That would mean that we don't need God when we are at our lowest. The Gospel is that we are saved at our lowest ebb. That's why it is grace and why it is freedom. But, if Lent is the season of repentance, does that mean we are spending six weeks finding misdemeanours to repent of? That's part of it, of course, but that sounds more like the work of private or congregational confession and absolution. So repentance is the confession, with a truly penitent heart, that "I did this."  But it is more also. Repentance includes digging down and recognising and acknowledging who we truly are. What we really are like. Deep down. In our fears. In our malice, in our egotism, etc. To be able to say, at the end of Lent, "So, I'm like this" is the goal. 

So repentance is also about who we are, not just what we did or didn't do. Perhaps even more about the who rather than the what. And in recognising who we are, we touch our deep need for God and who God is calling us to be. (There is a parallel here to sin as not just actions or omissions. Sin also refers to the distortions that live in me that need healing.) And, so, this is why Lent is about the truth. The truth about ourselves. (And remember, we do this with God's love and acceptance with us now, as we come to face the truth.) The one who God desires is you and me, as we actually are, not a fictionalized version. Let us reacquaint ourselves with our true self this Lent.

Dust and Ashes

 We begin the Lenten journey on Ash Wednesday. Prior to the day, we burn the palm crosses left over from Palm Sunday the year previous. The palm crosses, before they are made into ash, remind me of the rejoicing at the coming of the Messiah into Jerusalem. And yet, a few days later, the same crowd are baying for the blood of Jesus.  The hopes of the crowd turn have turned to dust and ashes. Or perhaps they are just fickle like crowds can be. Or perhaps it was malice, envy, scapegoating, or betrayal that turned them. Any number of these all too plentiful human realities explain the change in a those few short days. Death will turn us to dust and ash, but we invariably turn so much goodness in our lives into dust and ash well before death. So the ash points us to our mortality. We are dust and ash. To be marked with the sign of the cross in ash is to acknowledge this deep need.

Come Easter Day we will celebrate resurrection. He is risen! But first, we connect at ever deeper levels with our need. Unaided, we cannot save ourselves. We wait in the ash of the frailty of our humanity and our lives for that new life that death could not hold. (And sin could not stop.)