A Labyrinthine Journey

I realized last week that I was tired of winter. Tired of the world being so cold that all I want to do was stay inside and rebreathe the same old stale air I had rebreathed a while ago. I knew it was time to start expecting and waiting for spring. Here in Iowa expecting spring includes looking for those signs of spring:

• the robins reappearing and seeking food and nesting material,
• the geese coming back as water is released from the frozen ice and offers landing places,
• the grass to turn from brown to ever more a live shades of green as they reach up to the sky,
• the shedding of thick and tired winter coats and the joy of light jackets and short sleeves,
• and the bulbed crocus and tulip breaking through the black soil with their green leaves and offering their cups of color to the ever-present sun.

All these signs are subtle and invite us to open our eyes wider and to slow our steps so we don’t miss those little gifts that are the first signs of new life. We must seek these signs with heightened expectation as they quietly are revealed following the season of fallow hibernation.

We are already experiencing another one of those sure signs of spring: the thaw.

Just a few days ago everything was sparkly white, clean, beautiful in its snow-covered image of perfection. Yet the winds were also bone-chilling, and the air was forbiddingly cold. We had been far below freezing for over a month and it was not enjoyable to see the stark beauty of the snow unless we were behind our glass walls.

With the thaw comes the revelation of our ugliness. The dirt that had been blown by the winds, the gravel and sand that had been strewn to keep our steps a bit more secure, and the mud beneath is now being uncovered and is laid bare for all to see. This sign of spring is not pretty, but is essential for the next stage. Without the uncovering of the dirt, there is no place for the new life to stretch out.

Welcome to Ashy/Dirty Wednesday. Lent presents us the opportunity to slow down and intentionally look for and nurture the signs of new life that the Holy Spirit is always bringing into our lives. As with the spring here in Iowa, those signs are more often subtle and easily missed unless we choose to stop and look and savor.

Similarly, our hearts are also in need of regular spring thaws. Our carefully crafted, surface-beautiful facades often hide wintry cold, and fear-hibernating hearts. Before the growth can come the dirt must be unveiled. This is not enjoyable. We get mud on our feet and our faces get splashed by the slushy runoff of our own disappearing pride, selfishness and idolatries. Yet, everything washes in Christ. The dirt and mud find their new homes in our growing places. The water stored in the wintry white covering becomes the well from which those cups of beauty and those thin green hands reach heavenward in spring.

I hope to return to writing this week sometime. This last week was spent getting ready for teaching an Advanced Lay Speaking Class on spirituality.

Here is yesterday’s sermon: “Prayer and a Loving God”

After thinking about it and being encouraged by some members of my church, I am entering the world of podcasting. I will begin with recording and then podcasting my preaching. I may in the future, put together some smaller devotions.

Here is the first one, Prayer: More than Words.