Ashes to Ashes, We All Fall Dead

I’m giving up social media for Lent.

There. I’ve said it.

Ash Wednesday, in two days, initiates the period of Lent, which culminates in Passion Week, and leads to Easter. In Lent, we remember and join Christ,

who though he existed in the form of God
did not regard equality with God
as something to be grasped,
but emptied himself
by taking on the form of a slave,
by looking like other men,
and by sharing in human nature.
He humbled himself,
by becoming obedient to the point of death
– even death on a cross!

The least I can give up his social media.

What this includes: facebook, twitter, and blogging.

Let me clarify one point up front: Lent is not about establishing good habits or giving up something you shouldn’t be participating in in everyday life. It’s about giving up something daily as a tangible reminder of what Christ gave for us and how we are to pick up our cross to follow him.

In other words, I’m not giving up social media because I think it’s a bad habit I need to break or because I need to get in shape or spend this time elsewhere. I’m giving it up because it is something meaningful to me that will daily remind me of my need for Christ. Every day, when I log in to my computer, my habits will want to direct me to facebook, to my blog, to twitter, to pop in and say hi to my friends. At that point every day, I will remember what Christ did for his kingdom and how I need him.

This is my way of participating in his story.

I don’t deny it will be hard (which is the point). I will miss my friends, whom I meet only through cyber interaction on a daily basis. I will miss talking about the books we’re reading or our knitting projects.

For example, yesterday, I started reading Brooklyn by Colm Toibin. (I started it during the Nordic Olympic run, because, let’s be honest, as much as I’m an Olympic fan, you don’t have to pay attention to the whole marathon-like run.) The story is about an Irish girl (we’re not given her age, but she seems to be around 18) who moves to America in the years following WWII in order to get work. She has to leave her family and suspects she will never see them again. She’s in a strange land, and knows not a soul. In the onset of her homesickness, the author says, "She was nobody here. It was not just that she had no friends and family; it was rather that she was a ghost in this room, in the streets on the way to work, on the shop floor . . . Nothing here was part of her." Haven’t we all experienced this, especially in a globalized society where we begin to lose sense of home? I want to talk about this, but alas, blogging will be gone for me. 

Or another example: this weekend, I had an unknitting project. I had started a scarf quite a while ago with three different strands of yarn, a ribbon-like yarn, a fluffy, sparkly yarn with this faux fur, and a thin string on which I had thread beads of blues and browns. But the scarf wasn’t working. The combo wasn’t working. This weekend, I unknit the piece to find myself tangled in a knot of the different strands. I spent hours, yes hours, working on this knot. I learned: A cord of three strands is not easily untangled.

Besides missing these conversations (and learning what is happening in your lives, as I won’t be reading blogs either), I have a fear. You will forget me. Out of sight, out of mind, don’t they say? Then who will I be? (In a way, this relates to the passage from Brooklyn.) And here, during this Lent season, I expect God will remind me my true identity: in Christ. Not in work, not in friends or family, not in blogging, though all these things are good. 





Tapestry: Forty Days and Forty Nights

I offer some Lenten thoughts on the Tapestry blog today.

A taste: "Lent is not an easy period. It’s a time of stripping. Our bellies
rumble. We miss our favorite foods or TV shows. We crave our morning
coffee. In our want, we turn to God. Cleanse us, Lord, we pray."

Read the rest.

Just another manic Monday

Some of the authors of the Bible used a writing technique called chiasm. It’s where the outside statements work in parallel to each other, coming together and pointing to the center statement as the crux of it all. Like a cross. A1, B1, C1, D, C2, B2, A2.

Or sometimes the middle will be two statements reflecting each other (a D1 or D2).

I like writing techniques.

***

I couldn’t sleep the other night, so I started thinking about the cruise Chris and I are going to take. Then I started thinking what if I fall off the side, and what if I’m saved but in the process am knocked unconscious and have amnesia.

Wouldn’t that be fun? If you have amnesia, you get to live each moment brand new. You wouldn’t know who to hold a grudge against, which regret to mourn, which foods you didn’t like.

But then I thought, no, I’d forget the good things like how much I love my husband’s arms around me, or how to dance, or I’d forget to have my afternoon tea. Wouldn’t it be much more fun to live as if I had amnesia with the bad stuff and a grudge’s memory with the good stuff?

***

We’ve had squirrels in our attic for a long, long time. Chris fills holes he finds where they sneak in. He sets up humane traps with all sorts of fun foods like popcorn with maple syrup. And I pray that God will guide the squrrel into the trap so that the squirrel won’t die but can be set free. But two weeks later, the trap is empty and noises fill the world above our heads. How could they be surviving with no food or water? Then we found a new hole.

One night, I braced myself for the squirrels to come crashing through our ceiling above our bed. They were nesting, I think.

Chris saw one once when he was checking the trap. They startled each other.

Chris keeps filling the holes, but they keep making new ones.

I think the squirrels are winning.

***

My church put together a devotional to go with the Lenten readings. Last Wednesday, we read Mark :29-45 where Jesus heals people like crazy–disease, demon-possession, handicaps. Everywhere he goes they follow. Just when he builds a congregation, he leaves for the next place. It’s a mad Billy Graham crusade. And then Jesus goes off in a monastic corner to pray. The commentary says:

  • "It appears Jesus could learn a thing or two about church growth. At a time of growing crowds and highly effective ministry, Jesus disappears. Rather than pressing forward with a building campaign or organizing small groups or making His sermons available on the Internet, Jesus seeks out solitude to pray."

That stuck with me.

***

Jesus told us to live in community with each other. Communities are messy. They mean mud tracked on your carpet, a glass bowl smashed, a hand printed on your wall.

But that can be lovely too.

***

I get in musical moods. Last week, I was in an 80s mood: Depeche Mode, Erasure, The Clash, The Cure, Guns N Roses, Poison. So I created a youtube playlist. 80s Rock Bands. Every so often, I’d click over to watch a snippet of the video. Guns N Roses had videos from their early days to present. It made me wonder, when did they get old?

***

Did you know that in Greek stauros means "cross" and staurao (with a long o at the last) means "to crucify"? Stauros for the Christians than came to mean specifically the cross of Jesus Christ and then "the suffering/death which believers endure in following the crucified Lord," which means that staurao meant not only "to fasten to a cross, or crucify" but also "destroy through connection with the crucifixion of Christ." As in, our passion for worldly things has been crucified (Romans 7:2). Someone wrote in my Greek lexicon, "the believer who is inseparably united to the Lord has died on the cross to the kind of life that belongs to this world" (c.f. Galatians 6:14).