The journey with Jesus toward Jerusalem begins again this week.  During my childhood years in a Lutheran church in south Louisiana, the Lenten season had a definite rhythm and a definite feel.  We enjoyed the festivities, the “last blast” of Mardi Gras, as a reminder that we were moving into a “sober” or “somber” season. 

For us the Lenten season included fasting and reflection.  An intentional practice of giving up something for Lent was the norm—as was worship every Wednesday evening.  It was a rich liturgical time when, in good Lutheran fashion, we focused on the cross and the costliness of our freedom in Christ.  The spare feeling of the season was all designed to make us hunger more deeply for the feast of resurrection.   

But I wonder whether such a sharp divide between fasting and feasting is really necessary for us to appreciate the Lenten journey.  Isn’t there a way in which our fasting can also be a feasting?  What if our fasting, our “giving up” something, becomes the adoption of its opposite, an intentional spiritual practice of feasting on the opposite of what we give up?  For example, what if we:

Fast from judgment, Feast on compassion

Fast from greed, Feast on sharing

Fast from scarcity, Feast on abundance

Fast from fear, Feast on peace

Fast from lies, Feast on truth

Fast from gossip, Feast on praise

Fast from evil, Feast on kindness

Fast from apathy, Feast on engagement

Fast from discontent, Feast on gratitude

Fast from noise, Feast on silence

Fast from discouragement, Feast on hope 

Fast from hatred, Feast on love?

    What might be your fast?  What will be your feast this Lent?

“Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.“

We hear these sobering words each Ash Wednesday. It is sobering to hear them as a cross of ash is smudged on our foreheads. And it is sobering as a pastor to say them. They name the mortality we all share. They are even more poignant reminders of that reality when you must look into the eyes of someone struggling with a terminal disease and say, “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”

I recall the comfort I tried to render decades ago to a friend who had been diagnosed with AIDS. He quipped in reply, “We’re all dying--some of us just more quickly than others.”

What does it mean to prepare the way? Who prepares the way? Us? God? Both?

The season of Advent invites us to reflect on what it means that the Way took flesh and came among us, what it means to live as followers of the Way, what it means that God has prepared the Way and that we also have a role in preparing the way for all flesh to see the glory of God among us.

In these ever-shortening winter days and these days of economic struggle, life may seem dark. But the light is also growing. We have already lit the candle of hope on our Advent wreath. In the coming weeks we will light the candles of peace, joy, and love.   May these words by Ann Weems from Searching for Shalom fill you with confident anticipation that the true Light of the world will dawn anew.

          There are those times when

                   all the stars are torn from our skies,

                   and morning will not come.

          We try to make our way

                   in unlit passages,

                   frightened, desperate and despairing.

          We cannot see,

                   for wherever we turn

                   the night continues,

          And yet, it is

                   into this impenetrable night

                   that the Child is born.

          Tearing through the seams of darkness,

                   the Morning Star appears

                   in our eyes and in our hearts.

          The people who walked in darkness

                   have seen

                   a great Light.

from Carol Seaton and Mickie Williams

Mark 13:24-37

Who’s having a baby? Mary and Joseph, you say. How do you know? I didn’t hear anything about it. You say this baby is the Messiah we’ve been waiting for – but if so, why wasn’t there a big announcement, some flashy display so we would all know.

There was no big announcement before the baby was born, just the angel’s visit to Mary, a special dream for Joseph, and a host of angels singing to the lowly shepherds. The people had been waiting and watching for the Messiah to come for years but ... they missed the signs of his birth.

We too are waiting and watching for the day when the Messiah will come again in God’s glory. No one knows the time, the day or the hour when He will come. Many proclaim to know more than the angels and even the Son of God. They make their predictions with dazzling performances, as they try to pull the wool over our eyes with dates of when He will come again.

When God’s time is fulfilled, He has promised to send us signs. There will be hard times, heaven and earth will pass away and the sky will be filled with such brilliance, not one person will miss it! From every corner of the earth, the angels will gather God’s chosen people.

So how do we recognize the signs of the Messiah’s coming? Were there signs in the faces of our unemployed neighbor or our friend who is heartbroken? What about the children sharing their last meal in a make-shift shelter, are these more signs? Are our eyes so focused on the coming we have been blinded to the Christ who is present in those who need us today?

The signs of Christ’s coming in glory may also be quiet signs. Others will look at the things happening in the world, and even try to predict the date for his coming. But God has called us to simply continue to go about our work – God’s work – of feeding the hungry, visiting the sick, sharing the good news of Jesus Christ with all people. That is how we prepare for the coming of Christ each day.

Loving God, help us to truly prepare for your coming again by keeping watch over all that we say and do. Keep us from being so busy with our concerns that we miss the needs of others around us. Help us to see the face of Christ in all our neighbors, as we wait for that day when he will come again in glory. Amen.