Lenten Reflections on Faith-Filled Generosity
Week 6: Easter: Restoring Faith in Ourselves and Each Other
BY ELISE MILLS
The story of the opening of the tomb after Christ’s resurrection is short but complex. In the Gospel of Luke’s rendition of the tale, two men in dazzling clothes ask the women disciples: “Why do you look for the living among the dead?”
As humans, it is extremely difficult for us to process death since it is by definition, removed from our lived experience. In reading scripture, I remind myself that Christ’s death would have been extremely traumatic for his disciples. And though the author of the Gospel of Luke lived after Jesus’ timeline, we can very well imagine the trauma of the series of events. No amount of consolation or preparation from Jesus would have really formed his closest circle to watch him be humiliated and put to death.
There is much to mourn at first with any kind of loss, which allows grief to make us painfully aware of how much we invested in love for what we’ve lost. But the mourning period is a natural transition for transformation.
In Lent, we focus a lot on the lack of something or the loss of something significant in our lives. In letting go, we have to ask ourselves for what are we making room? For Easter, the story of Jesus’ resurrection and ascension, the conquering of death (or at least conquering the finality of it), comes about as part two of the healing cycle. In His resurrection and ascension, Easter reminds us that there is room for yet more abundance, more faith, and more than enough opportunities for renewal at every stage. There is hope.
The disciples are reminded to have faith. In our own lives, we encounter uncertainties wherein we are asked to have faith. At least in my experience, I think miracles happen when I renew faith in myself in the face of these uncertainties, and when I extend that faith to others who support me in the journey. We need each other for support, for reminders to look for the living where there is already life, which naturally perpetuates in our relationships with each other and the environment. If we restore faith in ourselves in whatever struggle and restore faith in our communities, we can lovingly receive the joys that come from reciprocity.
Elise Mills, TENS’ Staff Writer, is a recent graduate, writer, and musician from San Francisco. She looks forward to taking afternoon naps with her cat. She is a member of Holy Innocents, San Francisco. TENS is an association of church leaders who understand, practice, and proclaim God’s call to generosity. tens.org
Week 5: THE GIFT OF LETTING GO
FROM THE EPISCOPAL NETWORK FOR STEWARDSHIP
“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume,” Jesus tells us. As we enter the season of Lent this year, we encounter their truth anew. In this year that has seen so much loss, the idea of our treasures disintegrating around us is not hard to imagine.
A few years ago, early in the Marie Kondo craze, I got excited about purging my stuff. I followed the directions, had heartfelt check-ins with my possessions about whether or not they sparked joy, and then reorganized them all. Bookshelves were cleared, clothes were piled, drawers were emptied. I let go of so much. When I put the things I was keeping back, everything had a place to go, a box to sit in, a basket to keep it. And goodness! The moths and rust I found along the way –even a mouse nest in some long-untouched camping equipment.
And so, what I discovered, is that I could see my stuff more clearly. The photos or the clothes, the electronics or the linens, all had a purpose, a place, a reason for being where they were. My possessions were now useful to me.
Months later I applied this to my finances as well. It started by analyzing the monthly subscriptions hitting my checking account. I began cutting things for which I had been paying but about which I did not care. It did not end there.
By the time I finished making cuts, I had reduced my cost of living in some significant ways and was more conscious of every outflow from my account.
As with my possessions, I could now see the gifts I was making more clearly. The monthly deductions to my church, my Alma Mater, and other organizations, shone out in radiant splendor from the black type and white screen.
Freed from shackles of stuff and spending money for more of it, I could now focus on participating more fully in my community, in caring about the people my church served. The gifts that I made even had more meaning, because they stood out. In short, where I put my treasure, I found my heart was right there as well. Treasure and heart aligned – I discovered this in Jesus’ invitation to let go. |
TENS is an association of church leaders who understand, practice, and proclaim God’s call to generosity. tens.org
Week 4: The Stewardship of Lent
BY CAROLYN MOOMAW CHILTON
“Lent, he said, is the season that the church has set aside for us to intentionally reflect on our relationship with God, others, and ourselves. It is a time to reflect on those things that bring us closer to God and others, and those things that keep us alienated from God and others.”
When I was a child growing up in the Shenandoah Valley, I recall that our Lutheran church focused on two aspects of the sacrificial nature of Lent. One was a mite box. My parents placed it on the kitchen table, and each day they would put coins in it. I don’t recall that I put any coins in the box. I watched. The second thing was no meat on Friday. You need to understand that this was a big deal in our house – my parents raised all of our food including all the meat. We ate a lot of meat, especially beef. No meat at dinner was noticeable. My brothers complained. That was noticeable too.
Somewhere along the line, I developed a dislike for Lent. Who likes to do without something they love? “Where’s the beef?” could have been my motto. In our early thirties my husband John and I were living in Columbia SC. I was the volunteer Christian Education Director at our small church, and I confessed to our Rector, Bob, that I didn’t like Lent. He asked why, and I explained that I just couldn’t make the connection between giving up something and the theology of Lent. “What’s giving up chocolate got to do with my spiritual life?” I asked. The Senior Warden chimed in that he was giving up ax murders for Lent. “See,” I said to Bob, “that’s my point. He’s not even giving up something real for heaven’s sakes. What’s it got to do with making us better Christians?”
Bob rose to the occasion. Lent, he said, is the season that the church has set aside for us to intentionally reflect on our relationship with God, others, and ourselves. It is a time to reflect on those things that bring us closer to God and others, and those things that keep us alienated from God and others. Bob encouraged me to add something to my life in Lent, not take something away. So I began what has since become a yearly discipline. I’ve added such things as special daily readings, a Lenten retreat, daily worship, a spiritual discipline such as centering prayer and volunteering with the less fortunate.
Clever Bob. By adding these types of disciplines to my life, I began to take away, or give up, other things. Out of one of these Lenten habits I developed the practice of giving away at least two articles of clothing every time I buy a new one. It’s a small thing that has made a big impact in my life. Another time, I developed the habit of the mite box! (Isn’t it amazing what children learn by just watching?!) Now I give away additional monies in Lent. Another time I gave away old grievances and rebuilt some relationships. I’d never pledged to the church, so one year I said, “Shoot, I’ll make a 6-week Lenten pledge to the church and we’ll see how THAT works!” It worked. I can’t not pledge anymore. Giving draws me closer to God because I have to do without some of the material things of this life that I love. And when I move them out of the way, God moves in.
We are here as God’s stewards. You and I are called to learn generosity by giving. We are called to model it for children.
Carolyn Moomaw Chilton writes and blogs as a spiritual discipline and an invitation to conversation with others. She is currently on staff at Grace and Holy Trinity Episcopal Church in Richmond, Virginia as the Assistant for Evangelism and Stewardship.
Week 3: Afraid of the Dark
BY THE REV. SARAH FISHER
When I was a young child, I was afraid of the dark. I had a Winnie the Pooh nightlight, and at bedtime we would turn it on, keeping my fear at bay as the darkness of the world settled around me for the night. As adults, we trade in our fear of the dark for adult fears, those places of fear and brokenness that can, at times, infiltrate our lives.
Recently I was reminded that often when we feel alone and afraid, like we are stumbling in the dark, we imagine that God is hidden and that Grace has gone away. But the deeper truth of our faith is that it is in the very darkness, in the unknown of the tomb, in the deep of the earth that God dwells and grace goes to be reborn. Nowhere is that more clear than in the mystery that stands between Good Friday and Easter Day. While we know death and resurrection in a different way than Jesus did, being human means that most of us will experience that space of walking in the darkness, unsure of where Grace has gone. The promise, the hope that undergirds us, is that Grace is never gone, but rather is being transformed, being reborn in the deep darkness.
For many of us, one of the greatest spiritual crises we face is our relationship with money. We wonder if we will be able to retire, how we will send our children to college, and even how we will pay our monthly bills. Sometimes it feels easier to ignore these fears. But what if, in this season of Lent, we were willing to face the wilderness of our fear, to wade into the darkness of that space and invite God into that place of anxiety? Perhaps, if we took an honest assessment of where we are spiritually, as well as financially, we might discover seeds of peace growing, and the grace of hope beginning to bloom.
The Rev. Sarah Fisher is rector of St. Catherine’s, Marietta, Georgia.
Week 2: Making Room for New Life
BY PATRIC AND MARSHA DAWE
As children, we saw Lent in a way that matched the simplicity of our young lives. We had to choose giving up something we would miss — 40 days without our favorite jelly beans was really asking a lot of us. We didn’t see that gesture as tapping into the source of strength to do the things that need doing in the world or making room for anything more fulfilling — it just took something away that we couldn’t wait to get back.
As adults we have grown in our faith and desire to deepen our discipleship. Each Bible and Lenten study affords us the opportunity to take our faith to another level and create our lives anew. Forty days provides all of us the chance to more intensively work together on internal cleanout, decluttering and reorganizing. We emerge breathing new life into our covenants with God, our neighbors, ourselves and the Earth.
Isaiah 58:1-12 describes the phenomenon of fasting with the goal of strengthening one’s self to mend so many places in the broken world — and the resulting power that grows in us to make our aspirations reality. We become the change we wish to see.
Lent’s great gift to us is this activation of our God-given resources, as we conduct our work within ourselves, making room for new life. This is not possible unless we untie the bonds of many external superficialities. During this time as a couple we are guided to new life by the meditation prayer of our longtime rector George Regas at All Saints Church Pasadena:
“Help us, O God, to be masters of ourselves that we may become the servants of others. Take our minds and think through them; our lips and speak through them; take our hearts and set them on fire for Christ’s sake.”
Patric and Marsha Dawe married in June 1965. Pat is a retired architect; Marsha is a retired higher-education fundraiser, and both serve on various community boards. After a time in Colorado they relocated back to Pasadena and All Saints Church in November 2017.
Week 1: Give up or give back?
BY CATHY CLEMENT
From childhood I remember the run-up to Lent being framed with the question, “What are you giving up for Lent?” As an adult, I recall the priest in charge of children’s ministries saying from the pulpit that he had given up jelly beans for Lent. Surely the kids could relate to that sacrifice. But then he quickly added that barely had Lent begun before he amended his discipline to exclude only black and purple jelly beans.
A couple of years ago I gave up alcohol for Lent. Being the designated driver one evening for four emotional adults in my cozy Prius was both no fun and funny. The next year I decided to address a matter of the soul by giving up something that agitated me on a daily basis – Facebook. I was out of it socially but more peaceful emotionally.
Then I considered reframing my Lenten discipline from not what I give up to what I give back. This change in direction brought me to today’s scripture.
In the gospel lesson for Ash Wednesday Jesus instructs us on what “acts of righteousness” look like. He examines three acts of righteousness: giving (vv. 2-4), praying (vv. 5-15) and fasting (vv. 16-18). He uses the same word to describe how each is to be practiced. Give in secret. Pray in secret. Fast in secret.
How satisfying is it to see someone’s need and address it without getting credit? How rewarding to pray – even for those we oppose – without telling? How blessed to fast without drawing attention?
This year Lent will be for me a spiritual practice of generosity – in giving, praying and fasting. And that won’t feel like giving something up but giving back.
Cathy Clement is the retired Director of Philanthropy at Five Acres, a child-abuse prevention, treatment, and education center in Altadena, California. She is a member of All Saints Church, Pasadena, and the president of the TENS board of directors. Original article source here.