Ash Wednesday and Lent...

"The wind blows where she will," said Jesus - to which Bob Franke added - "so beware of the man selling tickets." Last week my sister, Laura, sent us a gift package of delicious teas, an old musical friend began a brilliant new radio show that feeds my soul, everyone in the Berkshires freaked out over a snow storm that never arrived and I found myself re-reading some brilliant new/old prayer resources from the Community of Iona. (No fooling that the wind/spirit blows where she will...)

Which is to say that I had no plan to explore Eucharistic spirituality for Lent when I first started, but now find myself delighted to be moving in that direction. During preparation for worship over these last two weeks, the wisdom of Henri Nouwen in "the Beloved" just kept working its way into my head and heart. And I found that there was not time or space to go as deeply into his ideas of being "taken, blessed, broken and shared." So I took a bath (usually it is just showers for me) and found myself reflecting on this prayer from Iona:

With the eye of a weaver, Lord, you have chosen us such different threads to be gathered into unity that the world might believe. so may we not serve your purpose unless we are open to each other; not care for each other unless we reflect your love; not dare to love like you unless we are glad to accept the cost and joy of discipleship, as friends and followers of Jesus in whose name we pray.

What a great collection of images: gathered from diversity to document unity, threads in a tapestry chosen to be shared in service and beauty, nothing done unless it embody the cost and joy of discipleship. If there had been any ambiguity about Lent before, it was gone for it seems the Spirit has been blowing me toward the communion table and mystery of bread.

That means that during Lent I will be rereading The Life of the Beloved by Nouwen as well as his collected insights on spiritual direction (ed. Michael Christiansen and Rebeca Laird) and prayer (ed. Wendy Wilson Greer) too. And I think that there are four other books that are calling my imagination as Lent dawns:

+ The One Loaf - an everyday celebration by Joy Mead of the Community of Iona. I bought this book when we visited Iona four years ago and it has continued to intrigue me. Now, as part of my Lenten discipline, I'm going to bake something to share each week.

+ The Pastor as Minor Prophet by M. Craig Barnes. This wise little book was given to me by a wise older pastor in my congregation and it got buried under seemingly more important volumes. It is brilliant, witty, provocative and practical all at once - real bread for the journey - and I look forward to spending time with it through the wilderness of this season.

+ The Spirituality of Bread by Donna Sinclair - another bread book that I started about three years ago but never finished. A few weeks ago on mini-retreat in Brattleboro my wife handed me a collection of quotes on feasting and fasting noting, "This was made for you, man..." And it reminded me of an old Scottish verse: Be gentle when you touch bread - let it not lie uncared for - unwanted. So often bread is taken for granted; there is so much beauty in bread. Beauty of sun and soil, beauty of patient toil, winds and rain have caressed it - Christ so often blessed it: be gentle when you touch bread. So... back I go to see what I have been careless with all too often.

+ And then The Wound of Jacob by Trevor Herriot about how wildness has been sacrificed and must be reclaimed for the healing of all of God's creation. I started it last night and was touched by the beauty of his prose and the tenderness of his heart. (Thanks Peter!) For most of my life I have HATED the wildness of winter. Yesterday we went skiing and the snow was too slick and I kept wiping out and crashing into trees! After smashing into the dog AND a tree for the third time I just said, "Fuck it - I'm done!" And snapping off my skis dragged my sorry ass home... Herriot is luring me to, at the very least, walk back into those woods and get myself outside more this Lent in the harsh quiet of the winter. So that's part of my prayer this season, too. (NOTE: after talking about this with Dianne she said, "You need to walk more - I worry about you." So, Lent ALSO means 3 days of walking plus one afternoon in the woods with her. Talk about repentance!)

+ The Sacred Meal by Nora Gallagher - one of the great new books about Eucharist by a woman who had considered studying for the priesthood but chose otherwise.

And I have set aside some new/old music for savor: Carrie Newcomer, Rickie Lee Jones, Leonard Cohen, Toad the Wet Sprocket, David Crosby, K.D. Laing and Cowboy Junkies. Winter is still here. Gertrud Mueller-Nelson writes in To Dance with God that there is a season for waiting and watching and gestating and nothing comes to life without such a season. That's what Lent feels like to me this year in the Berkshires.

So when Ash Wednesday comes, I will be singing my own version of Isaiah 58:

Shout! A full-throated shout! Hold nothing back—a trumpet-blast shout!
Tell my people what's wrong with their lives,
face my family Jacob with their sins!
They're busy, busy, busy at worship,
and love studying all about me.
To all appearances they're a nation of right-living people—
law-abiding, God-honoring.
They ask me, 'What's the right thing to do?'
and love having me on their side.
But they also complain,
'Why do we fast and you don't look our way?
Why do we humble ourselves and you don't even notice?'

"Well, here's why:
"The bottom line on your 'fast days' is profit.
You drive your employees much too hard.
You fast, but at the same time you bicker and fight.
You fast, but you swing a mean fist.
The kind of fasting you do
won't get your prayers off the ground.
Do you think this is the kind of fast day I'm after:
a day to show off humility?
To put on a pious long face
and parade around solemnly in black?
Do you call that fasting,
a fast day that I, God, would like?

"This is the kind of fast day I'm after:
to break the chains of injustice,
get rid of exploitation in the workplace,
free the oppressed,
cancel debts.

What I'm interested in seeing you do is:
sharing your food with the hungry,
inviting the homeless poor into your homes,
putting clothes on the shivering ill-clad,
being available to your own families.
Do this and the lights will turn on,
and your lives will turn around at once.
Your righteousness will pave your way.
The God of glory will secure your passage.
Then when you pray, God will answer.
You'll call out for help and I'll say, 'Here I am.'

As a young social activist, Isaiah's word used to get me fired-up - they still do - but I no longer am all that interested in getting in any body's face. Rather, for now at least, I think I need to make them some bread and sit and listen to their story for awhile. Maybe take a walk to let it all sink in, too. Then, and maybe only then, will I be able to discern where the wind may be blowing. We shall see...

Ash Wednesday, therefore, becomes a quiet and gentle way back to the table: a time to gather as community and carefully start the kneading and waiting as we wait for the bread to rise. I hope to bake my first loaf for Wednesday's Eucharist.