LIVING IN A TIME OF PANDEMIC
This is uncharted territory. None of us have had to figure out what life looks like in the midst of a worldwide pandemic. Anxiety is widespread - as we worry about the well being of our families and loved ones, our finances, our security, our sanity, and our world! So let us be gentle with ourselves and with each other. These are unprecedented times. Stressful times. There is much we have lost already and we don't know the full measure of the losses to come.

Students from wee-high to college-age are missing out on the power of in-person learning. Neighbors from all backgrounds, cultures and economics are missing out on the richness of community and the structures of support in their lives. Workers across so many industries are missing out on the crucial income they need to survive. Families are mourning the deaths of their loved ones. And those on the front lines— grocery clerks, social workers, health care workers and first responders, are missing the safety they once felt as they enter a war zone every day. There is much to grieve.

ALL THINGS HAVE THE ABILITY TO DRAW US INTO THE LOVE OF GOD
And yet as crazy as it sounds, all of this is the soil to grow in faith, hope and love.

Therefore, since we have been declared righteous by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ. We have also obtained access through him by faith into this grace in which we stand, and we rejoice in the hope of the glory of God. And not only that, but we also rejoice in our afflictions, because we know that affliction produces endurance, endurance produces proven character, and proven character produces hope. This hope will not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured out in our hearts through the Holy Spirit who was given to us. [Romans 5:1-5]

God's love remains true. Suffering, affliction and persecution are not new to the world or to Christians historically — and yet nothing, nothing can separate us from the love of God.

Who can separate us from the love of Christ? Can affliction or distress or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword? ...No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am persuaded that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor any other created thing will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord. [Romans 8:35-39]

Perfect love casts out fear. And so even in times of global pandemic, we can be conquerors of anxiety, greed, fear and loneliness. St. Ignatius' first principle states that “all the things in this world are . . . presented to us so that we can know God more easily and make a return of love more readily.” And so over the course of the next few weeks, we will be exploring what it means to find God in all things - here and now, in the midst of our own fears, worries and constraints. How can we move through what feels like a loss of freedom to find the expansiveness of interior freedom that comes as we grow in love and childlike trust with our Creator who knows us intimately, Christ who understands our suffering, and Spirit who is closer than our very breath.

JOINING IN GOD'S WORK OF LOVE IN OUR NEIGHBORHOOD
God loves and invites us to love God in return. Secondly, God loves and invites us to love our neighbors. We are invited to join with God in this work of love that is transforming and healing the world. And in a time of widespread anxiety and economic uncertainty, the call to love our neighbor is crucial, especially for the most vulnerable. As the COVID-19 pandemic affects the ways in which we gather as a church, it doesn't change the fact that we are the church. And we are perfectly poised to be the church in our neighborhood.

"The questions each member of a local church needs to ask are "How can our participation in a particular gathering grow our capacity to be a living expression of the church together in everyday life? How can it really help us to become a tangible witness of Christ's love, and to participate together in what God is doing in the place we live?" -The New Parish

I believe we have been faithfully asking this question and that we are called for such a time as this. I urge you to reach out to your neighbors in this time, especially those who may be sick, elderly, or disabled. I have seen so many great examples of how neighbors are offering to check in on one another and offering to run errands or get groceries for those who are quarantined: See Neighborhood Pods, Neighborhood Flyers, and Curing Our Moral Virus of Loneliness.

Today I conspired with Lynn Newcombe, the Director of Turning Point, our nonprofit that provides free tutoring to students who qualify for free and reduced lunches in the Shoreline School District. With the need for spatial distancing, our tutoring program has closed with the closure of school. However, our community and love for one another has not stopped. In fact, we are putting together a plan to continue to support our families who will be hard hit by this pandemic. Chromebooks, good fiction, and board games are being shared and given. Tutors are being recruited to offer remote assistance. And grocery gift cards will be given out to families now who are struggling to survive! And because of our relational equity over the years, we are able to uniquely bring our neighbors together! And each one of you can join in this work of love in the neighborhood! You can give here toward grocery cards for neighbors in need. (Just select -Lenten Generosity for Neighbors in Need-)

“In love, one always wants to give to the other what one has.” - St. Ignatius.

So what is our invitation to love? What does love compel us to do or to be? How do we show our love for God, for ourselves, for others, and for our neighborhoods?

SPATIAL DISTANCING, NOT SOCIAL DISTANCING
I'm not a fan of the trending phrase, social distancing - as if we are not already isolated, fragmented and lonely! Instead, I am using the term spatial distancing for we absolutely cannot afford to go it alone. And while love may dictate that we keep some spatial distance during this time, I encourage you to make sure you connect, check in, and care for one another!

Last week, we ended up making the decision to move our weekly in-person gathering online and we will continue to meet virtually through the end of March or as needed. It was really heart-warming to see everyone's faces and it was good to connect with one another in these challenging times. So I encourage you to join us this Sunday at 5pm for a Zoom Call. And we will explore these questions. How do we lean into the interior freedom of love and trust in these times? And what is the invitation to love our neighbor in really practical ways? How do we find Love in all things?


​by Jessica Ketola

Last night I traveled back from sunny San Diego on an eerily empty flight. I guess no one was pumped about flying to Seattle when we are at the epicenter of the country's Coronavirus pandemic!

There is a move to contain the spread of the virus here in our area with schools closing, events being cancelled and companies urging employees to work from home. I've heard from those who aren't concerned about it in the least chalking it up with overblown scares in the past, and others who are anxiety-ridden, at-risk or find themselves quarantined with life very much disrupted! As with anything, our perspectives are largely dependent upon our level of privilege and proximity to the threat.

And so I have been asked the question, as followers of Jesus, what is our response to be? And in keeping with the teachings of Jesus and oddly enough paralleling the Lenten journey, I believe we are called to both constraint and generosity that resists fear and moves us toward love.

CONSTRAINT
I believe we must use wisdom and discretion certainly, if not for our own sake, for the sake of those who are vulnerable among us. Many of us are young(ish) and healthy and would survive the virus just fine. But unfortunately, there are others who are more susceptible to its life-threatening effects. And so I urge you to follow the recommendations of King County Public Health. Wash your hands (religiously in this case!) and stay at home if you are are feeling ill. For those of you considered to be high risk, it is recommended that you stick close to home and stay away from large gatherings. Following precautions and using constraint acknowledges the simple truth that we are all connected and that our individual actions have impact on the collective whole.

GENEROSITY
At the same time, as people of faith, we are called not to fear but to courageous love that compels us to love our neighbor as ourself. And so let us resist the urge to panic, to lock our doors and hoard our resources. Historically, Christians have been known for their self-sacrificing compassion and care for the sick during times of plague or sweeping illness. [Check out the response of Christians in Wuhan!] And so let us look beyond our own concerns and look out for the welfare of our neighbors, especially those who are most vulnerable. Here is a wonderful article that talks a little about our own invitation toward transformation: Corona: Disorder as Transformation.

If you are a younger and healthier individual who is fully capable of heading to the store without taking your life in your hands, remember those like my 83-year-old neighbor who should not be in public spaces. If you know of those who are ill, make sure they get the medical care they need. If you have friends or co-workers who are quarantined and isolated, reach out to offer some support, even if it is through your iphone or computer screen. If you are shopping or going out to a restaurant, support your local businesses (perhaps especially Asian business) that might be hard hit in this time. Let us be known for our love, our kindness and our generosity.

By practicing both constraint and generosity, we attest to the reality that we are not rugged individualists independent or silo'd away from "the other". We are more connected than we often recognize. We are meant to be a body, connected and diverse, each part contributing and affecting the flourishing of the whole.

And in a time of widespread fear and all the worst that kicks up in people in the midst of anxiety, we can offer comfort, peace, kindness, mercy and hope. For we will journey this Lenten season toward the Love of God that holds us, surrounds us and pursues us tenaciously. And we are invited to turn away from fear and scarcity and turn towards a generous and courageous love.

by Jessica Ketola

Last Sunday, we took some time to envision the kind of community that we dream about being a part of as The Practicing Church. If anything is possible, who do we want to be? What does it look like? What are we up to in the world? And it was a generative and hopeful exercise. I heard themes around inclusivity, welcome, authenticity, diversity, justice, community engagement and grassroots, catalytic movement. And I am so excited to see how God's dream emerges in us, around us and through us!

As we have been actively listening, praying and leaning into our next step as a community to create a place of hospitality in the neighborhood, we have seen the doors fling wide open. And so I am thrilled to announce that we will begin meeting on Sundays at One Cup Coffee, as soon as March 31st! This has been a decision that we as a community have been prayerfully discerning for several months now. And we are amazed at God's provision to us through the generosity of Bethany Community Church North to be able to have a welcoming and visible presence in the neighborhood! Surely the Spirit of God is at work!

This week also marks the beginning of the season of Lent, which is the 40 days before Easter that the church sets aside for repentance, generosity to the poor, and prayer. And I can't think of a more perfect time to begin to pray the prayer that Jesus taught us to pray, "Let your kingdom come, here and now, on earth as it is in heaven," as we move into our new gathering space.

For much more than a move from one space to another, we are literally moving as a community on this transformational journey into the heart of our neighborhood. We are opening up wider and we are rooting down deeper.

And as we do this, we will journey through Lent around Jesus' teachings of the Sermon on the Mount. And as I was ruminating on this with Carrie Cates, she sent me the following thoughts:

[I see the Sermon on the Mount] fundamentally about the weaving together of heaven and earth. Lent is this quiet season of repentance, prayer, fasting - rooting down into the essence of what it means to be a follower of Christ. The Sermon on the Mount calls us to such practices, practices of bodies and of systems, which change our posture in this world. At the same time, it calls us to change the posture of our hearts and minds, to invoke the blessings and hopes of heaven. I don't necessarily see that Jesus says that you must focus more on heaven or more on earth. The implication seems more to be that there is a ceaseless flow between earth and heaven; that our hearts, bodies, and actions can be a part of bringing heaven to earth; and heaven (the shalom, the wholeness, justice and perfection of God) is at least in part manifested in us. I think of Rilke's poem that talks about returning to first things, about learning to fall so that you can fly:

"If we surrendered 
to earth's intelligence 
we could rise up rooted, like trees."

The more deeply you root into earth, the higher you reach into heaven.

And so we will begin the transformational journey of Lent by praying, practicing, and manifesting heaven on earth. We will join together to participate in God's dream for us and for our neighborhoods, as we wrestle with the challenging teachings of Jesus to orient the whole of our lives around this revolutionary way of love. We will repent from scarcity, white supremacy, individualism and consumerism and we will stand in solidarity with those who suffer. And we will make space in our hearts for God to come and to dwell in us, meeting the deepest longings of our soul and awakening us to the abundant life we were created for.


by Jessica Ketola

Bread. It is life. It is sustenance. In so many cultures, it carries our stories. Here around the table, we gather as we have for hundreds of years and we share life. We share community. And we share bread. This week as I feasted upon the wonderful array of delicious traditional dishes made lovingly by the mothers of our Turning Point families, I also feasted upon the sites, the sounds, and the stories. This is the beauty of our community meals.
 
Iris, resilient and eloquent, her voice strong and yet incredibly gracious as she tells the story of her Native American people through the fry bread she has brought.
 
Saba, warm, gentle and kind. Not generally one for the center stage but everyone knows she is the mother hen behind it all -- gathering, nurturing, greeting everyone with a hug or kiss, and informing the other Eritrean moms what dishes they will bring to complete the meal. She holds up the beautiful himbasha she has made especially for this night served in a traditional colored basket. And she talks with pride about the prominence of injera at the center of every Eritrean meal.
 
And then Efrem. Talented, likeable, smart, with a winning smile and an excitement for life. Nodding his head enthusiastically as Saba describes his own culture and food. Willingly jumping up on stage to play his saxophone and a kirar (which is a stringed guitar-like traditional instrument) as he began to sing a traditional song. The whole room is caught up in the performance and the kids squeal with delight when he offers to let them join him on stage and play along. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. It is here at our community meals that I experience just a little taste of heaven.
 
And so it strikes me. Bread. Communion. The stories of death. The stories of life. The stories of celebration. It is all here. Around the many different colored faces in the room, the varied languages, the rich cultures. We share bread and so we share life. And we share community.

As Iris spoke of the pain and suffering held in the story of her fry bread, I was deeply moved. For the Navajo fry bread was born out of the suffering of captivity and death as they were forced from their fertile lands on “Long Walks” to internment camps where hundreds died from starvation and meager supplies. Fry bread could be made from the flour, sugar, salt and lard that was provided and so became their sustenance, their manna in the desert. To this day, fry bread remains an important part of any gathering, across different Native American tribes, languages and cultures. For in it holds community, tradition and the celebration of life. And through it, they remember a common story of suffering, death and an atrocity never to be forgotten.
 
As Saba shared about her beloved injera, it spoke so beautifully of community. The process to make injera takes days, allowing time for the dough to ferment -- just as everything good and beautiful takes time. If you run out, you go get some from your neighbor. Everything about their meal is communal, served on a family-style plate where everyone partakes in this earthy and bodily experience using only their hands. You see, the very nature of the bread tells a story of communion.
 
In my own faith tradition, we also have a bread of communion, a bread of celebration, and a bread of suffering. We celebrate the Eucharist, remembering a horrific death, the crucifixion of Jesus. And we remember that life comes out of death and that joy comes out of sorrow. That Jesus rose from the grave, conquering death and evil for all time. We celebrate that love wins. That mercy triumphs over judgment and that love conquers evil.

This is what the Easter holiday is all about. And so as we break the bread, we remember the suffering of Jesus and of all humanity. We stand in solidarity with those who suffer the unimaginable  -- the Syrian refugee, the child forced to work slave labor, the women and children in South Sudan walking for weeks in search of food. And we remember our suffering God, who entered the pain and the brokenness of our world and who ultimately defeated evil, violence and oppression with LOVE. We remember that God’s presence is here with us. We experience communion. God’s presence is near, and it sustains us. For Jesus said, I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never go hungry. We receive the gift of community. We are not alone. We are all a part of a story of love and redemption that is unfolding.
 
This week, as we remember the suffering of Christ and the suffering of the world, may we eat the bread of brokenness and join in the suffering of all of humanity. Conversely, as we celebrate the biggest win of all time in the resurrection of our Lord and the day the revolution of love began, may we also share in the bread of celebration and abundant life. And may we break bread together. Often. Regularly. With our neighbors. Across different cultures and different religions, political mindsets, and socio-economic divides. May we find the joy of communion as we share our bread and thus our lives.

​by Jessica Ketola

As we continue our journey through Lent, I have to say that my burning prayer is simply this. Transformation. If there is a target, a bull’s-eye, an end-game to what we are about, this is it. This is the measure of our “success”. Not butts, budgets or buildings, not slick programs or hip events. No, we will hit the mark if: a) We, ourselves, are being transformed, looking more and more like Jesus. b) Our neighbors are experiencing the transforming love of Jesus. c) Our neighborhoods and communities are being transformed to be places Jesus would like (where everyone flourishes).
 
My top go-to prayer these days is the one Jesus taught us. “Let your kingdom come and your will be done. On earth as it is in heaven.” Last Sunday, as we sang a song together containing these powerful words, a member commented, “I don’t just want to sing these songs. I want to believe that when we pray them, God’s kingdom, God’s rule and reign, God’s healing, peace, justice, mercy and renewal will actually come in that moment.” And I deeply resonated with his words as I have pondered this a lot. I want to see God show up. I want to see hearts and lives, people and places transformed. I long to see God’s merciful and just kingdom come to a broken and unjust world.
 
And here, our intellect and reason, our apathy and disengagement, our cynicism and unbelief, and especially our pride and self-sufficiency keep us from receiving God’s kingdom. Over the last few weeks, we have been immersing ourselves in Jesus’ words. Blessed are the poor in spirit, the pure in heart, the meek, the merciful, the peacemakers, those who mourn, those who hunger and thirst for righteousness -- for the kingdom of God is theirs. But to receive this kingdom, it seems we must be hungry for it. We must become poor, giving up our rights, grieving over our sin, and surrendering to a God who is so much bigger than we can fathom. Trusting that God is indeed good. For if we have faith the size of a mustard seed, Jesus says that we can move mountains. Nothing will be impossible for us.
 
John Wimber, founder of the Vineyard Movement, talked a lot about the kingdom of God and how as followers of Jesus, we are compelled and commissioned to actually do the works of Jesus. You know that Jesus-stuff -- preach the good news, heal the sick, open blind eyes, set the captives free, and feed the hungry. Wimber coined it, “Doing the stuff”, and called every follower of Christ to proclaim and demonstrate this revolutionary kingdom.  Wimber told the story about how when he first became a follower of Jesus, he kept waiting to do the stuff. But alas, Christians just wanted to talk about it. And you know, I can relate. I am so tired of the talk. Aren’t you?
 
I don’t want to do church unless transformation happens. Unless God’s kingdom of love breaks into our everyday lives. Unless we become known as folks in our communities that bring healing, renewal, and restoration, like the words of Isaiah 58, making the community livable again. I am tired of an impotent gospel. I long for people to truly know what God is like. To experience the “good news” of this kingdom of grace in a holistic way.
 
You see, I am a charismatic contemplative. I believe these are not polarities, but rather two sides of the same coin. I long to join in God’s work in the world, attending to what the Spirit is birthing in our own lives and in the world around us. And I believe we do so by cultivating the slow work of the Spirit that happens gradually over time. The steady, the faithful, the small, the ordinary. And yet I also believe that we are called to midwife the Kairos moments of the Spirit where heaven breaks into the now in an instance or opportune time.
 
For I want to see God’s kingdom come in the slow, the small and the ordinary as we join God in our everyday lives. And I also want to see the supernatural power and presence of the Spirit breaking into the midst of sickness, need and affliction. I long for God’s power to demonstrate His love. Those of us who say this is unimportant forget what it is like to be desperate and in need, to be bound and to be afflicted, to be broken and to be shattered. We talk about the now and the not yet of the kingdom and I wholeheartedly embrace this theology, but what happens when we lose our faith for the now? Yes, it is true. So often, we live in the painful realities of the not yet. We cannot explain suffering, and we don’t understand when God fails to answer our prayers. And yet Jesus, in a moment, changed the trajectory of life after life, as he healed the sick, cast out demons, forgave sins and invited the outcasts and the untouchables to the table.

​I talk a lot about the need for reformation today. In society. In culture. And most definitely, in the church. It seems we have lost so much of what is good. I mean what is truly good. The real thing. Not the artificial. What is good for our souls, our bodies, our hearts and our minds. What is good for our families and our neighborhoods, our economies and our environment. What is good for our communities and for the flourishing of all who live here. What is the picture of the good life? And what is it that we truly hunger for?
 
America has sold us a picture of the good life. And for years we have bought it. Hook, line and sinker. It involves fame. Success. Accolades. Climbing the corporate ladder. The power of the dollar and the bottom line. It’s about the powerful, the strong, the big story and the top dog. It involves suburbia. And individualism. Private lives. Privilege. The freedom of choices so overwhelming we need Xanax. The big house, the white picket fence, and good schools for the kids. And it involves stuff. Toys, gadgets and more stuff. Stuff that breaks so we have to buy more. Shiny toys that must be upgraded every year. Gadgets we can’t possibly live without and lots of plastic that overwhelms our landfills and infiltrates our eco systems. Not to mention that we eat food that no longer resembles food, filled with “crack” substances like sugar and corn syrup proven to be as powerful as cocaine. And turns out, it was all a plan hatched to turn us into consumers who would buy what we didn’t need, and who would eat more than our fill-- so that we would keep working, and buying, and consuming. And well, it has worked. We work, and we work, and we work. And we consume and we consume. But for what? What are we truly craving?
 
I think the gloss is wearing very thin on this picture of the good life. For we are tired of chasing after that which doesn’t satisfy. This Lent, we’ve been spending time in The Beatitudes, which offers a very different picture of the good life. This week’s text is...
 
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness for they will be filled.
 
Filled? Satisfied? Is this even a thing? It seems foreign to the consumptive American appetite. Jesus offered bread to satisfy our hunger, water to satisfy our thirst, so that we would never hunger or thirst again. Whaaaat? What is this? And if this is true, surely our economy that is built on never ending consumption is doomed.
 
But I sense a hunger today. For righteousness. Said another way. There seems to be is a deep longing for justice, for shalom, and for peace. For things to be set right in the world. Another vision of the good life, Jesus’ vision. For the world to be renewed and for people to be made whole. For communities to be reconciled and for relationships to be restored. This is a picture of the good life. And one that more and more people are awakening to. The sham is over. The emptiness of consumption has been exposed and we are in the wake of a people and land raped by its insatiable appetites. It seems we are hungry for more.
 
But Jesus offers to satisfy our hunger with a very different vision of the good life. A life that is built around something other than what we have and what we can acquire or achieve. And the promise is that we will be filled. Satisfied. Whole. People today are hungry for a different vision for their lives, for their neighborhoods and for the church. And this is why we as The Practicing Church are so committed to learning, experimenting, and growing together as we seek to embody the words of Jesus in our neighborhoods.

​Hungry for more?

by Jessica Ketola

​Remember as a kid when it was opposite day? Oh the fun we had, the possibilities seemed endless, the opportunities boundless, as we turned every scenario on its head only to burst out into side-splitting giggles. As I read the gospels, I see that Jesus was a big fan of this game. For everywhere he went, he seemed to declare and demonstrate a message that turned everything upside down and inside out.

For in Jesus’ day, when his followers declared Jesus was Lord, this was not a religious or rote saying. Under the ruthless rule of the Roman Empire, Caesar was Lord. No, this was a bold confession of a new allegiance to Jesus’ Empire not the Roman Empire, to a new revolutionary, opposite-day kind of kingdom, not the oppressive, self-serving, power-hungry kingdom of this world.
 
For Lent this year, we are spending time in The Beatitudes. And wow, I think that every day in this kingdom of love might be opposite day. These words, so simple and yet profound, confront and challenge every aspect of the way we do life. The Beatitudes is probably one of the most beloved portions of the gospels, found in Matthew 5 and Luke 6, beginning Jesus’ famous manifesto, The Sermon on the Mount. If Jesus was President (as Shane Claiborne likes to talk about), this would be his state of the union address where he lays out his platform and what he is all about.
 
And yet these words are truly the antithesis of all we hold dear in America. Jesus begins.

Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
 
Blessed are the poor? Are you kidding me? We do not find it blessed or delightful to be poor. In America today, it is all about acquisition, wealth, possession, climbing the corporate ladder, and social status. We like our nice things, our comforts, our houses, our cars, our private lives, our freedom, our cappuccinos and pour-overs, and all our little luxuries.

And we want to be great. Right? Make America great again! This is the land of opportunity. We’ve just elected the first billionaire as president, and for better or worse, Trump seems to be the manifestation of a culture that has worshipped the gods of capitalism, greed, fame and power. Even our church culture has been affected. A fellow songwriter recently commented on this phenomena in the American church where we have all these “God is Great” songs at the top of the worship charts. And while we know that God is indeed great, we also know he came to the world not in greatness but through humility. His revolution was not one of dominance with tanks and armies but one of submission and subservience that led him to the cross. And so while we want to be great, whether that is through our wealth or our success, our social status or what we can achieve, Jesus invites us to another way.
 
And this is a difficult way. One that is harder for a rich man to traverse than for a camel to fit through the eye of a needle. To empty ourselves of pride and of privilege. To be poor. And to be for the poor.
 
But I have a confession. I want to be great. I have been steeped in a culture that says I am loved and esteemed if I can make something of myself. And yet, Jesus calls me to another way of being, to become poor even as he became poor. To humble myself. To give up my privilege and possessions. And to be for the poor.
 
So we are invited this Lent to die, to empty ourselves of our pride, of our need for success and social status and wealth, our comforts, our own interests and desires, so that we might find life. That we might experience the true government of peace, love and justice in Jesus, not the capitalistic, reality TV government of our current administration. So what does it mean for us to give up privilege, luxuries, time, or our own desires so that those who have nothing could have something?
 
If we take these words of Jesus seriously, this is challenging. This changes the ways we do life. How can we open our homes and our wallets and our lives to be for the poor? What does it mean to embrace simplicity, refusing to consume more than we need and conserving so that other generations might enjoy the beauty and resources of the earth? We have so much. To the point of excess and waste. We rape the land, we pillage, we pollute and we destroy. We buy and we acquire stuff to the point that it becomes a burden. We throw away food when others go hungry. We consume and consume often without regard for its impact, the price of our consumption on the backs of the poor. But for what?

Jesus said, Whatever you do to the least of these, you do unto me. [Matthew 25:40]

As I look in the faces of the poor, as I see Christ looking back at me, my heart breaks. Surely, we are called to repentance. Surely, we have lost our way. If we are to claim that we are followers of Jesus, then I believe that we must respond to the compelling words of our sacred text. It is a time for change and for reformation. Because today and everyday is opposite day.

Lent is here and in some ways it could not have come soon enough. Like the kid who ate too much Halloween candy now forced to eat carrot sticks the next day, the blissful sleep that a delirious toddler finally succumbs to, the detox diet after all the rich food of the holidays or a good, brisk walk after feeling uncomfortably sedentary. It feels welcome. The good kind of discipline that actually feels like a relief, that makes us feel alive and reminds us what “good” truly is. So often, the artificial, the decadent, the loud, the urgent and the glamorous distract us from the simple goodness of life.
 
Which is why I love the season of Lent. (Is it okay to love Lent?) I don’t think I’m being masochistic or a glutton for punishment. For me, it is much more than giving up chocolate or another chance to blow my New Year’s resolution and feel badly about myself. No, Lent is more than that.
 
This year, I find I am welcoming Lent with anticipation and a sense of relief.  For I am bursting with lament. I am full of repentance. My tears overflow with grief and sorrow at the state of our nation, the condition of the church, the wrongs in our culture, the injustices of our communities and the indifference of my own heart. And I am longing for conversion. For transformation. For rebirth. That we would actually (not theoretically) become more like Christ, embodying the presence of Jesus in our neighborhoods and work places. That we would truly be a people of His Presence that live our lives in such a way that would invoke curiosity in those around us. And that we would find the face of Christ in our neighbor and in the stranger, in the weak, the poor and the vulnerable. If all I wanted for Christmas was my two front teeth, then all I want for Lent is transformation.
 
But what are we talking about here? What does repentance feel like? Believe me, it does not feel like that dreaded condemnation or judgment crap that we run from for dear life. No. It does not feel like the mind-numbing wash of shame or the black, heavy boulder in the pit of the stomach. No, it feels good. Like returning to a beautifully, home-cooked meal after a series of stomach-churning junk food binges. Like coming home to yourself after wandering away for so long. Like being grounded again in what is true and right after feeling fragmented and tossed in the wind. It is simply a turning toward and a turning away. It feels good in a deep, soulful way. So repentance, like Lent, is good.
 
Lent is an invitation to find pause in the midst of the chaos. To find silence in the midst of the noise. To rediscover what it is to be hungry. To rekindle desire. To reorder the stuff of our lives and to rid ourselves of the clutter. To return to what truly matters. For Lent is a time for reflection. It is a time for repentance. It is a time for prayer, fasting and almsgiving. To remember the poor. And then to become poor even as Jesus did. Though he was rich, yet for your sake he became poor, so that you through his poverty might become rich. [2 Corinthians 8:9] Lent is a time to empty ourselves of privilege, wants, desires, and comforts so that others might have them.
 
This is the backwards, upside down paradox of Jesus. That the first will be last and the last will be first. That we must lose our life to gain it. That we must die in order to live. And this is what the journey of Lent is about. The descending path of Jesus. Walking in the way of the cross so that we can experience the new life of the resurrection.
 
Then he said to them all, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will save it. What does it profit them if they gain the whole world, but lose or forfeit themselves? [Luke 9:23-25]
 
So this season of Lent, let us not run from repentance. But let us embrace this time to turn towards Jesus and to turn away from the counterfeits. Let us embrace the time to do our spring-cleaning, to consider our disordered desires, and to reorient our lives. And please, do not miss the opportunity to lament, to grieve, to fast and to pray. I hope you wore ashes and tore your clothes at least just a little. You must do so or you will inevitably implode with the residual anger and grief that builds with each insult added to injury. Yes, it will feel good. For Lent is good. Good for the soul.

by Jessica Ketola

*** Join us for a 6 week Lenten journey through the Beatitudes, Sundays 10am at The Practicing Church.