Lent day 33: Holy week with little people

 I've had a hard time getting the little ones to church during holy week.  Not only because it is hard to get them dressed and ready for church after a day of school and homework (which is true) but also holy week services are a special type of reverent.  There is a quiet people need when absorbing this week and I've struggled with the balance of exposing my crew to these special services while honoring the quiet and stillness needed for worship (which is usually not present when we are there).

Last year, there was a magical thing of zoom being new and doing church in our living room felt like a treat that the boys settled down and participated in all the services remotely. 

But this year... they have zoom fatigue.  They haven't done nearly as much as other kids but I can feel it Sunday mornings.  They are much more wiggly. They are trying... but they,  like the rest of us, are tired.  

But they gave up electronics for Lent and I wanted them to experience the fullness of holy week. We talked all together and the kids decided to hold a single service in the backyard.  Everyone had jobs. 

Miles,  the youngest,  did physical things.  Lighting candles. Pouring water.  Passing out stones. 

Philip read the bare minimum passion story from our children's Bible starting with the last supper and reading in sections through the crucifixion. 

Andrew gave the "Maundy Thursday" sermon. He talked about how giving things up for so long helps you to pay attention to God and other people.  

Eddie gave the "Good Friday" sermon.  He talked about how Jesus died so we should express our gratitude by caring for each other. 

We washed each other's feet and set rocks next to the cross.  

Like the baptism and most things involving children,  it was tough around the edges. Starts and stops.  Lighting and blowing out candles. Spilling water.  Messages that were brief and filled with stutters and non-sequidors. But those boys were learning the symbols of faith.... water, fire, bread, wine, the cross,  stones. They were learning the elements of liturgy. I was helping them connect the dots from the story to the practices of the church. 

It's not entirely easy,  I found,  to explain the cross in simple words. They, like me,  have begun a struggle with the cross. Why the cross? We talked about baptism at Easter and how joining God's family means being part of the sad and hard parts of Good Friday but also being part of the resurrection on Easter Sunday. 

The service was messy, simple and ordinary,  but profound.  And, as we were gathered, so God was there among us.  (I'm so glad God is used to messes.)

 My little guys, like me,  have a long road of faith ahead of them.  I know that however their lives unfold God will be walking in front of, behind, beside and within them. 

Lent day 32: who am in the passion story?

 I had to come up with a sermon for Good Friday service.  All last weekend I wrestled with the passion story... which is part of why I'm behind on blogging.

One activity that I did that felt worth sharing on this blog was imagining myself as each character in the story.  Not just the "good" guys,  those at least somewhat aligned with Jesus - his friends and disciples.  But also judas, the crowd, pilot, herod, the high priest.  It is easy to dismiss these people as someone I'd never be... but how would I know. I needed to walk in their shoes for a while to see how the shoes fit.  

I can start with the crowd shouting "crucify him!"  I feel like I wouldn't have so quickly changed my stance on Jesus.  Celebrating him as he rode in on a donkey only to throw him under the bus a week later.  I'd be more thoughtful on something as important as the messiah. Or would I? How easily am I swayed by popular opinion? Do I weigh in on stuff that I know very little about? Do I get emotionally riled up?

 What about the high priest. They never really got to know Jesus.  I mean,  they came and questioned him a lot but they never got past the agenda. They were too busy with the status quo.  They had responsibilities. If I were in a position of power, would I silence inconvenient rabble rausers? Would I listen, truly listen without putting what I'm going to say next? Would I silent a voice for what I thought was the benefit of the whole?  

At the surface,  I don't find any way to relate to Judas.  I'm not really a sell my friends for a few pieces of silver kind of girl. But again,  it's good Friday.  I have to be honest,  do I ever put material comfort ahead of my call to pick up a cross and follow Jesus. Do l trust the power of the world over the power of God?

It's easier to see myself as one of the disciples. Dining with Jesus.  Hanging on his words.  He washed my feet.  We went to the garden.   But then,  out of no where things got dangerous.  Swords were drawn and I booked it to safety.  I was afraid.  I ran away. Totally see myself doing that. 

Or, maybe I was close enough to Jesus to stay with him. Maybe I was Peter. Carrying my own sword, ready to protect Jesus.  But then,  he didn't want a fight.  I got confused.  I followed by I grew fearful as I watched it unfold.  No one would blame me for that, or would they... tell the story across the ages how I denied Jesus. Too afraid to follow him to the cross. 

Maybe the hardest of all was Mary,  standing at the foot of my son's cross. Holding vigil. Watching that miracle baby groaning as the life drained away. Unable to turn away.  Holding up Memories of a life as his mother.  The angel. His birth in Bethlehem.  Running away in the night to save his newborn life from herod, only to see it nailed to this dreadful cross. Wondering why it has to be this way.  

No matter who I choose to be my failure, my fear, my inability to follow Jesus became clear in the reflection of the cross. I am a broken human, like every single person who witnessed the passion... I ran away,  I denied Jesus,  I silenced him and nailed him to the cross.  It was a hard meditation but thankfully, the story doesn't end on Good Friday.

Lent day 31: Cringe worthy moments in motherhood

Motherhood is full of moments that make me cringe.... like when you are walking down a street and your little boy pulls down his pants to pee on a street or walks up to a stranger and say "hey,  I said hi, why didn't you say hi to me. " 

Licking things off the floor

Sharing an ice cream with the dog

And the list goes on...

And on

And on... 

But the worst cringe moment for me is when I hear my voice coming out of their mouths. I'm in the kitchen cleaning up and they are playing and get into a dispute.  I then hear some sharp thing I would say come out of one of their mouths.  They totally got that from me.  

My heart sinks. 

I feel as condemned as Peter hearing the cock crow. 

My moments of weakness and stress reflected right back at me in the innocent mouths of those babies. 

It's easy enough to hide from myself in the hallway mirror where I know how to look at my good side, but what about those department store mirrors.  

EVERY

SINGLE

IMPERFECTION. 

How do they even sell clothes anyways?

Children are like having department store mirrors following me around reminding me of every character flaw. The times I let anger get the best of me. The way I judge them unfairly. My need to control things.  Uuuuggg. So unflattering. 

But accepting what's really there. Taking the truth and owning it, repenting for it and allowing grace to flow in over it, I can allow the Spirit to mold me anew.  I can let my spirit be broken and allow God to shine through the cracks.  I can find a way to teach my children a better way.

It is holy week. We are all broken vessels and jars of clay. May this week, this season open our hearts to grace ever allowing us to be remade by the one who loves perfectly.