Thoughts on Low Light

I have read and contemplated much about the reason for Lent: I think Donne's poem puts it most succinctly. There are periods where we must strip off the wallpaper which garnishes our lives and get down to some serious internal housecleaning. In this poem (which is only partial), Donne reflects on the loss of his land and the gain he anticipates from departing all that ties him--and on what he anticipates to gain by going out of sight.

A Hymne to Christ, at the Authors last going into Germany (partial)

I sacrifice this land unto thee,
And all whom I loved there, and who loved me;
When I have put our seas twixt them and me,
Put thou thy sea betwixt my sins and thee.
As the trees sap doth seek the root below
In winter, in my winter now I go,
Where none but thee, the Eternal root
Of true Love I may know.

Seale then this bill of my Divorce to All,
On whom those fainter beams of love did fall;
Marry those loves, which in youth scattered be
On Fame, Wit, Hopes (false mistresses) to Thee.

Churches are best for Prayer, that have least light:
to see God only, I go out of sight:
And to escape stormy days,
I choose An Everlasting night.

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from A Hymne to Christ, at the Authors last going into Germany (partial) by John Donne

His Hands, His Heart

We speak much about the hands of Jesus Christ at the time of his crucifixion, but I would also like to think about His Hands as we begin the Lenten season. The hands of God are sacrificial loving hands because He is both sacrificial and loving towards us. The poem below uses a phrase taken from Psalm 31, verse 15. If you read the psalm, you might recognize how many times it is quoted in the gospels.

My Times Are In Thy Hand

“My times are in thy hand”;
My God, I wish them there;
My life, my friends, my soul, I leave
Entirely to thy care.

“My times are in thy hand”;
Why should I doubt or fear?
My Father’s hand will never cause
His child a needless tear.

“My times are in thy hand,”
Jesus, the crucified!
The hand my cruel sins had pierced
Is now my guard and guide.

“My times are in thy hand”;
I’ll always trust in thee;
And, after death, at thy right hand
I shall forever be.

• by William F. Lloyd

Psalm 31 (complete)
In thee, O LORD, do I put my trust; let me never be ashamed: deliver me in thy righteousness.
Bow down thine ear to me; deliver me speedily: be thou my strong rock, for an house of defence to save me.
For thou art my rock and my fortress; therefore for thy name’s sake lead me, and guide me.
Pull me out of the net that they have laid privily for me: for thou art my strength.
Into thine hand I commit my spirit: thou hast redeemed me, O LORD God of truth.
I have hated them that regard lying vanities: but I trust in the LORD.
I will be glad and rejoice in thy mercy: for thou hast considered my trouble; thou hast known my soul in adversities;
And hast not shut me up into the hand of the enemy: thou hast set my feet in a large room.
Have mercy upon me, O LORD, for I am in trouble: mine eye is consumed with grief, yea, my soul and my belly.
For my life is spent with grief, and my years with sighing: my strength faileth because of mine iniquity, and my bones are consumed.
I was a reproach among all mine enemies, but especially among my neighbours, and a fear to mine acquaintance: they that did see me without fled from me.
I am forgotten as a dead man out of mind: I am like a broken vessel.
For I have heard the slander of many: fear was on every side: while they took counsel together against me, they devised to take away my life.
But I trusted in thee, O LORD: I said, Thou art my God.
My times are in thy hand: deliver me from the hand of mine enemies, and from them that persecute me.
Make thy face to shine upon thy servant: save me for thy mercies’ sake.
Let me not be ashamed, O LORD; for I have called upon thee: let the wicked be ashamed, and let them be silent in the grave.
Let the lying lips be put to silence; which speak grievous things proudly and contemptuously against the righteous.
Oh how great is thy goodness, which thou hast laid up for them that fear thee; which thou hast wrought for them that trust in thee before the sons of men!
Thou shalt hide them in the secret of thy presence from the pride of man: thou shalt keep them secretly in a pavilion from the strife of tongues.
Blessed be the LORD: for he hath shewed me his marvellous kindness in a strong city.
For I said in my haste, I am cut off from before thine eyes: nevertheless thou heardest the voice of my supplications when I cried unto thee.
O love the LORD, all ye his saints: for the LORD preserveth the faithful, and plentifully rewardeth the proud doer.
Be of good courage, and he shall strengthen your heart, all ye that hope in the LORD.

Marked by Ashes

   Marked by Ashes

Ruler of the Night, Guarantor of the day . . .
This day — a gift from you.
This day — like none other you have ever given, or we have ever received.
This Wednesday dazzles us with gift and newness and possibility.
This Wednesday burdens us with the tasks of the day, for we are already halfway home
   halfway back to committees and memos,
   halfway back to calls and appointments,
   halfway on to next Sunday,
   halfway back, half frazzled, half expectant,
   half turned toward you, half rather not.

This Wednesday is a long way from Ash Wednesday,
 but all our Wednesdays are marked by ashes —
  we begin this day with that taste of ash in our mouth:
   of failed hope and broken promises,
   of forgotten children and frightened women,
  we ourselves are ashes to ashes, dust to dust;
  we can taste our mortality as we roll the ash around on our tongues.

We are able to ponder our ashness with
  some confidence, only because our every Wednesday of ashes
  anticipates your Easter victory over that dry, flaky taste of death.

On this Wednesday, we submit our ashen way to you —
  you Easter parade of newness.
  Before the sun sets, take our Wednesday and Easter us,
   Easter us to joy and energy and courage and freedom;
   Easter us that we may be fearless for your truth.
 Come here and Easter our Wednesday with
  mercy and justice and peace and generosity.

We pray as we wait for the Risen One who comes soon.

• Walter Brueggemann

Starving to Live - or How to Keep a True Lent

TO KEEP A TRUE LENT
by Robert Herrick

Is this a fast, to keep
The larder lean ?
And clean
From fat of veals and sheep?

Is it to quit the dish
Of flesh, yet still
To fill
The platter high with fish?

Is it to fast an hour,
Or ragg’d to go,
Or show
A downcast look and sour ?

No; ‘tis a fast to dole
Thy sheaf of wheat,
And meat,
Unto the hungry soul.

It is to fast from strife,
From old debate
And hate;
To circumcise thy life.

To show a heart grief-rent;
To starve thy sin,
Not bin;
And that’s to keep thy Lent.

English Sacred Lyrics , London : Kegan Paul, Trench & Co., 1884. (out of print)