Tag Archives: Lent

Prompted poetry: sign

As part of my Lenten observance this year, I’ve decided to write a poem each day in response to a list of prompts. This is the prompt (and poem) for the third day of Lent, which was yesterday; it took longer getting here than I expected.

Sign

Watching M*A*S*H, I see that iconic
post bristling in the middle of the camp
with signs that say, “You are not here,”
embodiment of the dislocated denizens’
fervent prayer to be anywhere
else.

 

The signpost from the M*A*S*H set, as seen in the Smithsonian museum. Photo taken and released into the public domain by Stephen Williamson.

 

Prompted poetry: proclaim

As part of my Lenten observance this year, I’ve decided to write a poem each day in response to a list of prompts compiled by several Lutheran mission territories (also called synods). Today is the second day of Lent.

Proclaim

a fast from guilt, a season
of abstinence from beating
oneself up, from lying
awake nights to relive every lapse
in judgment, every hasty
word, every inaction

to repent means to go a different
direction, not to retrace one’s
missteps

 

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Prompted poetry: dust

Several mission territories of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America have created a photo-a-day event to mark the Lenten season, which begins today, Ash Wednesday. I’ve decided that my Lenten discipline this year will be to use the prompts to write a poem each day.

Lent Begins

today I will give up
shame over my inadequate
housekeeping and see instead
my home dusted in grace, its corners
draped with filaments of mercy

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Lenten devotion for 2 March 2013

[The following meditation was based on the hymn, “My Song is Love Unknown” (Hymn 343 in Evangelical Lutheran Worship). It was published in 2013 Lenten Devotions by the East Kentucky Conference of the Indiana-Kentucky Synod of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America.]

“My song is love unknown.” Love doesn’t have to be acknowledged to be real, to be powerful, to do its work. God loved the world into existence and has been loving the world into redemption ever since, whether we know it or not.

“My song is love unknown.” Love doesn’t have to be understood to be real, to be powerful, to do its work. God’s world-making, world-redeeming love operates in us, around us, and through us, even when we are most unloving and unlovable.

“My song is love unknown.” This love is the deep magic to which C.S. Lewis refers in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, the inexplicable and relentless Love that continually remakes us and the entire world in its own image.

It is often unknown because it works in ways that we do not always recognize or understand, but it is not unknowable. We experience it in the filigree of miracles that sustains life. We encounter it in the daily grace of living with other beings. It is manifest in the Christ, the One who died and was raised, the One we see in the faces of enemies and strangers as well as family and friends.

O Love unknown, help us remember that you are always at work, even in the least likely places. Stir up in us a desire to know you, to seek you in the unfamiliar and the perplexing. In the name of Jesus, who gave himself in love to redeem the world. Amen.

 

Pancakes for the road

When the kids were little, we belonged to a church that had a wonderful Shrove Tuesday tradition. Everyone gathered in the fellowship hall that evening, bringing with them electric frying pans, home-made applesauce, and any food they were giving up for Lent. We ate the snack-type foods while preparing supper together, and everything else was either eaten during the meal or taken home by someone who wasn’t giving it up.

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Catsup not pictured (for the more delicate of stomach)

It began with the peeling crew, who started in on several dozen pounds of potatoes. Kids carried peeled potatoes into the kitchen to be shredded, mixed with eggs and flour, and pressed into pans of hot oil. As soon as the first batch was draining on paper towels, the applesauce and sour cream (and catsup for the kids) went out on the tables and the feasting began. The peelers ate first and rotated into the kitchen so the shredders, mixers, and fry cooks could eat.

It was a small congregation and nearly everyone turned out for this festive occasion. The kitchen and fellowship hall formed a kind of great room, so conversation flowed back and forth between those who were cooking and those who were eating. As people finished eating, they filtered back into the kitchen to clean up. It was like a big family dinner where everyone shares the work as well as the meal.

We all went home with hearts and bellies full, fortified in both body and soul for the long Lenten journey we would begin, together again, the following evening.

May your Shrove Tuesday be replete with good food and warm fellowship, regardless of your religious inclinations.

(This post is offered in thanksgiving for the congregation of Good Shepherd Lutheran in Hamden CT, saints both past and present with whom we gladly lift our forks today.)