Lent Archives - Laurie Klein, Scribe

Wholehearted . . .

What does this word mean to you at the beginning of Lent?

Many of you know my husband’s latest cognitive test revealed impairment, and that he started medication for dementia. This week Dreamer enrolled in a rigorous, six-month health coaching program that will radically alter our way of living, starting with nutrition.

We’re in, wholeheartedly.

But many foods and beverages he loves must go—not just for Lent, but for life.

Our immersion feels like a sacred, slow-motion launch. Oh, may it culminate in better brain health! Dare I say, a measure of resurrection?

Spiritually and practically — for believers across Christendom — wholehearted surrender often means taking personal inventory.

Where have we been?
How are we doing now?
What does God want to initiate in the days ahead?

This week, around our world, Lent kicked off with three observances:
Clean Monday is an Eastern Orthodox practice, which includes spring cleaning and purging one’s kitchen of foods to be avoided, especially leaven.
Shrove Tuesday — in our case, featuring gluten-free pancakes—concerns confession, repentance, forgiveness.
Ash Wednesday invites us to ask: Lord, where have I missed the mark? We consider our mortality, acknowledge sin, pray for renewal.

Might these threefold responses suggest a gentle symmetry with Lent’s culmination: Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, Easter?

This may seem quirky, but a surprising commonality strikes me. During leaven-free Monday, Pancake Tuesday, and the Last Supper, spoons are involved.

To this day, these utensils for celebrating Passover are cleansed, then koshered by boiling them in water. In ancient times, on Passover Eve, women laboriously swept their homes clean of every trace of leaven with a feather, a wooden spoon as receptacle, and a bag to dispose of all.

The Hebrew word for spoon is kap. But it is also variously translated throughout the Bible.

It refers to the ancient, angelic fire-spoon holding the live coal, touched to Isaiah’s lips: a means of purification.
Kap also denotes the twelve golden spoons for burning incense in the tabernacle: a means of worship.
Yet another translation refers to that which humanly cups and holds: literally, “the palm of the hand”: a means of receiving, as well as serving.

Picture God’s hands, pierced for us. The prophet Isaiah reminds us our names are engraved on the palms of our Savior.

Talk about wholehearted surrender!

Perhaps you have a favorite spoon. You might want to picture it now as you continue to read, or hold it in your hand. What is it made of?
Consider the shape, and weight, the warmth or coolness, color(s), decoration, and texture.
Does it feel well-balanced?
Is there a scent?
Do you see tarnish, patina, scratches, shine?
How much can your spoon hold?

Using the spoon as a sacred launch point, here are a few personal inventory questions you might consider.

What feels mixed up in my life?
What do I crave?
Which fruit of the Spirit is God nudging me to savor?
What is being stirred up in me?
How might I serve others in this season?
Whom, specifically, does God hope I will nourish?
What new recipe might Jesus invite me to wholeheartedly create with him?

Friends, for the rest of this day, what if you turn every encounter with a spoon into a spontaneous prayer?

And if you prefer a written one, you might try this:

Beloved Lord, conform us to your image.
In your mercy, cull from our lives
what harms and disrupts our responsiveness.
Teach us to serve you well.
May we hunger for your presence,
thirst for your Word.
Deliver us from anemic faith,
indifference, and discouragement.
Forgive our greed,
our conditional hospitality,
our need to control others.
Draw us into humility,
patience, and wholehearted living. Amen.

כַּף, Hebrew, kap

kPhoto by Lex Sirikiat on Unsplash

Photo by Burkard Meyendriesch on Unsplash

Lilt: Stepping Gently toward Easter via Lent

“Lilt” in Lent? Well yes, the word’s synonyms suggest faith on the upswing: spirited, buoyant, springy.

How on earth can I consider those words next to these concerns from the friend of my friend? She’s scared sleepless over her cousins in Ukraine, young mothers whose husbands must enlist. Do they need money? How can she send it? How will grandparents and nieces and nephews safely escape with banks closed, airports occupied, gas stations emptied?

How can I allow weightiness once again to enlarge my heart, carve room for deepening mercy? Those wiser than I claim prayers of lament will, in time, bring transfiguration: glint by glimmer, a luminous trail, the sparks flying upward.

But what in heaven’s name can “lilt” mean in relation to war? I am fed, sheltered, privileged. I am safe. For now.

When the heart is wracked, how do we navigate dissonance?

Faith, we know, watches for holy rescues. Keeps vigils. Fasts and prays. Celebrates God’s provisions, seen and unseen.

This Lent especially calls me to lament and repentance. Can this also invite me toward heart-lightening remembrance?

Here’s what I say to my soul:

Spend time on those knees—in between time spent listening, at His.
Offer up small surrenders in sober reverence and quiet joy.
Engage more deeply with the reality of the Passion so as to embody compassion.
Grab the children and tell them the truest stories—that we are made for God. That we are called toward binding up wounds as well as abounding in grace. Help them understand this:

Dear Lent, you are ashes and daffodils,
fasting and feasting,
foot washing and footloose, resurrection-bound praise cutting a rug.

Here is my Lenten List (I hope you’ll add to it):

Write yourself a note. Tuck it inside your fridge, silverware drawer, medicine cabinet—wherever you’ll come upon it: Hello there, you agent of whimsy. What will you and Perfect Love do next?

Peel a tangerine. Pray over a different country as you savor each segment. Lick your fingers to say Amen.

Talk things over with a local bird, or use this captivating video close-up of a mourning dove: And may the dove who descended upon Christ at the Jordan alight near you and those you love today.

Make a lap. Now remember the lap of someone who held you. Let your Bible fall open, right there on your knees. Read out a fitting word, phrase, or verse(s) in blessing. Then improvise, perhaps sensing you and your someone welcomed anew into God’s embrace.

Do you collect quotes? If not, you could start here: “During the night everything has been remade for you. Merely to breathe is a happy adventure.” —J. B. Priestly, Delight

When rampant darkness between people overwhelms you, browse Photo Ark Wonders, by the “Modern-day Noah,” Joel Sartore, for National Geographic.

I consider “lilt” a relative term. This morning I hobbled around waving a long scarf over my head, like one of those small but undaunted gymnasts armed with banners. In Christ, my soul is a secret Olympian.

Bet yours is too.

What would you add to the list?

P.S. Invite scent to trigger memory. Before making your bed, mist your pillowcase with a scent you enjoy (or tuck a dryer sheet inside it). Anticipate Spirit-led time travel when you tuck yourself in tonight. Then again, the fact of shelter, the bed, and a warm room is already grace, and more than enough.

You might also enjoy Kyrie Eleison: Seeking Mercy

Lilt is a song, a movement, a stance of the spirit — Mourning Dove

Mourning Dove Photo by Joshua J. Cotten on Unsplash