From Lee, our Priest-in Partnership
From Lee, Our Priest-in-Partnership
Dear Friends,
Every once in a while something insignificant comes around that still is capable
of throwing me for a loop. Such is the case of my laptop cratering on me while
at Executive Council last week. Its timing was impeccable: the night before
the first of four days of meetings at which I serve as secretary to the Standing
Committee on World Mission, my computer decided not to boot up. First, there
is the sense of betrayal by the machine — a Mac no less! — and then
there is the frustration factor — having to borrow a friend’s computer,
thereby inconveniencing him, plus being relegated to getting emails via my cell
phone (at least that!). Upon return to Vermont, the demise or grave illness
of my computer demanded a round-trip to South Burlington, ‘buying’
a loaner and having to get it working enough by installing various applications
so that I can type this note to you.
Lest you think I am stuck in a litany of woe, be assured that I have also put
it all into perspective and considered the blessings this inconvenience has
brought about. As I spent the weekend unable to putter (more realistically,
waste time) on the internet, I was able to go
out for walks in a new place, Omaha’s Old Market, and spend time with
friends and colleagues whom I see three times a year, normally under intense
schedules. Not having all the computer applications at hand — music, desktop
publishing, internet, I returned back to a life I once knew, one that consisted
of simply reading books and the newspaper and taking notes by hand. (There also
was some watching the Olympics, not something I can do at home, not having a
television by choice). This involuntary fast gave me opportunity to consider
what the Lenten fast might mean.
Keeping Lent means more
a conscious attempt (or struggle!) to be silent, still aware, to listen to my
heart at prayer, and to find those moments of intersection of the holy and the
daily and the daily with the holy. Maybe it is a function of my life, with its
busy-ness, the time spent doing things when I really need to be still, but the
idea of giving up something for Lent in quite the same terms as I did as an
earnest seventh-grader just doesn’t ring true.
Maybe we need to remember Lent’s original purpose. It was two-fold in function but singular in purpose. Lent was a time for preparing newcomers into the faith tradition, a time to introduce newcomers to their future relationship with God. At the same time, as the Ash Wednesday exhortation in the prayer book reminds us, Lent was a time when notorious sinners sought forgiveness and were restored to right relationship with the rest of the community. In both cases, Lent was a time to sustain relationships— with God and neighbor.
‘Lenten disciplines and routine that call us to self-examination and interior
meditation only strengthen our tendencies to bear up under life alone, or in
silent communion with some distant deity. In a society already fractured and
isolated, and among a people hunkered down in
individualism, many of our customary spiritual disciplines serve not as preparation
for life in community or the healing of our disaffections, but rather as exercise
to extend our powers of endurance. So much of what passes for Lenten or other
spiritual discipline renders us unfit for human companionship.’ These
critical words written by Sam Portaro, Episcopal Chaplain to the University
of Chicago, also contain grains of truth.1
We are relational beings with one another and with God. We need one another. And God needs us. Rabbi Abraham Heschel believed that God created humanity in order to have a conversation with us, because God needed someone to share the wondrous stories of creation and covenant. And Heschel also believed firmly that it was dangerous to pray alone. One had to pray in community, too.
On a deeper level, according to writer Wendy M. Wright, ‘Lent is a time
when we enter into the mystery of pain and brokenness, both our own and the
world’s, to discover that we are not alone, that what seems hopeless is
in fact hope-filled, that what appears dead can spring forth in life. It happens
because we are embedded in a wider, more sustaining matrix of love than we can
possibly imagine.’
If we are to fast this Lent or take on some discipline, then it should be the
type of fast that Isaiah envisioned God desiring: This is the fasting that I
wish: releasing those bound unjustly, untying the thongs of the yoke; setting
free the oppressed, breaking every yoke; sharing your bread with the hungry;
sheltering the oppressed and the homeless; clothing the naked when you see them,
and not turning your
back on your own.
These are all relational activities, actions that bring us not only closer to
our neighbor but also to God. So maybe Lent is more about finding the balance
between personal and private reflection and engaging on a true, honest level
with our neighbors, to try to bring about healing
and integration to this broken world.
And maybe for some of us, it means detaching ourselves from the grip of our
machines and returning to a more simple life.
In Christ’s peace,
Lee
(The Rev’d Canon) Lee Alison Crawford,
Priest in Partnership
1 Sam Portaro,
Daysprings: Meditations
for the Weekdays of Advent, Lent, and
Easter (Cambridge, MA: Cowley, 2001),
75.
Presiding Bishop Katharine Jefferts Schori and the Rev. Canon
Lee Alison Crawford at the 76th General Convention (c. 2009, Richard Schori)
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