thank you...

We are cooking pancakes tonight in solidarity with the Mardi Gras/Shrove Tuesday feasts of Western Christianity. Tomorrow I will join millions of other penitents for the imposition of ashes and Holy Eucharist at one of our Episcopal congregations. Last year, after retiring from pastoral ministry, Lent snuck up on me. Honestly. I lost track of the days until I was in a meeting downtown and the reality of Ash Wednesday took me totally by surprise. At the close of my meeting, I slipped into the back of the local Roman Catholic cathedral, made the sign of the Cross at the right times, and went forward to receive both the ashes and the host. Upon arriving back home, I intentionally and prayerfully made a physical calendar that I could reference from time to time - and included all the holy days of my tradition. 

Last year, everything felt new and a bit disoriented as I was without a worship community. What's more, I was no longer the celebrant at worship. It was a little weird after 40 years. It became a year of being small and mostly quiet. It was our year of beholding what the Lord was already doing in our lives. It was essential for me to be still. After a full year of watching and waiting this year feels more settled. I am much more at ease in my non-celebrant status. I am just an older, straight white guy who loves Jesus. I want to strengthen the ties that bind. And I want to do it with tenderness and simplicity. Over this year I have found great joy in becoming Frère Jacques - Brother James - a 21st century secular monk. Most of the people I hang with never knew me as a pastor. When we worship, it is mostly with our children and grandchildren in NYC. Or with their on-line church through the miracle of the Internet. I pray the liturgy most every day at home and practice periodic quiet prayer. I have been blessed to be with my L'Arche Ottawa community for some of the feast days this year, too and will make two trips to L'Arche Ottawa during Lent for prayer and Eucharist. This year I have made a personal commitment to reread Jean Vanier's commentary on St. John's gospel to go deeper into the spirituality of L'Arche. 

Last year I found I was a bit nostalgic for what I had given up. Grateful, too, as it had become exhausting and filled with anxiety. But I was also grieving in ways I could not fully articulate. This year on the crest of Lent I find that I am quietly happy. A poem I read this morning during prayers has steadily grown on me as the day unfolded. It is by Ross Gay and called, "Thank You."

If you find yourself half naked
and barefoot in the frosty grass, hearing,
again, the earth’s great, sonorous moan that says
you are the air of the now and gone, that says
all you love will turn to dust,
and will meet you there, do not
raise your fist. Do not raise
your small voice against it. And do not
take cover. Instead, curl your toes
into the grass, watch the cloud
ascending from your lips. Walk
through the garden’s dormant splendor.
Say only, thank you.
Thank you.