Sabbath: Lenten Photo for March 9

I remember having to memorize Luther's Small Catechism as a child in Sunday School. "Remember the Sabbath Day by keeping it holy." I wasn't really sure what might be involved in Sabbath keeping. As far as I was concerned, it meant going to Sunday School, and then church, where the organist would play hymns that I would sing to, and the minister would speak while my eyes wandered over the stained glass windows and the painting of Jesus walking on water that rose above the alter. Organ music, singing, and listening to a speaker in a special building: that was the Sabbath.

So when I saw that the photo prompt for March 9 was Sabbath, and I realized I was attending a pipe organ concert the night before, I knew I had my image. There's something so special about classical organ music. It feels holy and sacred to me. I'm not sure if it's just because organs and churches are often paired, if it's just my childhood memories of organ music every Sunday, or because many of the most powerful organ pieces were written especially for church ceremonies. But the organ carries a little of the Sabbath with it for me.

Celebrate: Lenten Photo for March 8

A special event combined with beautiful architecture spells a celebration to me. My spirits soar as high as the light-studded dome. I look around at all the people in their suits and dresses, jewelry glittering, and I can't help but smile.

Celebrating is all about that feeling of joy and lightness of spirit. For me, it's very closely entwined with gratitude--I'm grateful for the moment, for the experience, for being alive and present at that particular time and place. 

So thank you, Lord! It's a celebration!

Speak: Lenten Photo for March 7

I don't like graffiti. My town moves quickly to paint over it, seeing it as a threat to public order and a criminal attack upon public or private property. I agree with that position.

Yet I am often struck by the messages someone has felt compelled to write. Speech in the visual mode. Words screamed out in huge swirls of spray paint, often angry, sometimes profane. But those words are someone's attempt to communicate to the wider world, to express their pain, their confusion, their anger in a way we can't ignore. I find myself stopping, staring, listening with my heart instead of my ears to what they've spoken with a can of paint.

Prayer can be like that--our needs and our fears and our pain bursting out in garbled words and broken phrases. No matter what we say, or how poorly we express it, God is listening. And God is speaking to us as well. Not in ALL CAPS RIGHT IN OUR FACES. But quietly. In our hearts. We need to listen as well as speak. Faith is a conversation.

Beloved: Lenten Photo for March 6

Whenever I'm out in the natural world, and I'm left breathless by its beauty, I feel as if I've been blessed. I feel beloved. I feel God's grace touching me. We are all his creation, the product of his love. I'm grateful to be here.

Follow: Lenten Photo for March 5

It's hard to forge your own path. So many doubts. So many fears. Is this the right way? What lies ahead? Should I turn back?

Following is easier most of the time. As long as the path is pleasant. As long as you feel confident in the wisdom of the person marching ahead of you. As long as you are convinced the destination is worth the trip.

Like in this photo, I tend to lag behind the pack. I bring up the rear, usually because I'm busy peering through a camera or studying a flower or an insect, but sometimes because I'm a little reluctant to follow the people ahead of me. I may not be looking forward to the destination. I may not feel like I belong with the group. The footprints may seem too big for me to fill.

It can be hard to follow in Christ's footsteps. Through his grace, we don't need to follow him to the cross, but even so the path isn't always the most pleasant one out there. But we can trust in his leadership. He won't lead us astray. And he doesn't mind if we lag along the way. All he wants is for us to keep following, to ask him to show us the way forward. Step by slow step.

Poor: Lenten Photo March 4

Poor me. "Never my way."

I had noticed this sad little graffiti some months ago. I felt a kinship with the "artist". We've all felt this way--that life just isn't going our way. Nothing is working out as we'd hoped or planned. The world is against us.

At the most basic level, being poor involves lack of money and/or lack of the necessities of life such as food, clothing and shelter. But there are other ways of being impoverished. Our lives can be missing other things that leave us feeling lost and less fortunate than others. We can lack friends or family or love. We can lack confidence and security. We can lack hope and the belief that the future will be better. All of those leave us feeling poor in comparison to others. 

As Christians, we should feel the need to reach out to the poor, to help with whatever the need may be. We don't need to be rich or happy or perfect to give to others. All that's required is to recognize a need, a sadness, a void in someone else and then to try to offer comfort and help in whatever way we can. Nothing grand, just food for a local food pantry, or comfort to someone grieving, or offering friendship to someone who is alone. And we'll probably discover there's a special magic about giving of ourselves. It often seems that the more we give, the less poor we feel.

Near: Lent Photo March 3

Our cat likes to get close to us--very close. He peers earnestly into my eyes, trying to communicate. When he gets this close, I get uncomfortable. I pull back, wanting to see him at a bit of a distance. I think I do the same thing when it comes to faith--I will draw near to God, then I feel exposed and vulnerable, and I pull away. I think God understands this little dance. It's part of the reason he sent his son in the first place: to appear in a form that we recognize, a form that doesn't appear so remote and abstract and different to mere humans. He wanted to draw near to us in a way that would encourage us to draw nearer to him as well.

Bless: Lent Photo March 2

Living in a land stricken by years of drought, rain and water are a blessing. I loved how this freesia seemed to delight in the rain--that top petal looks like eyes squinched shut in delight, with the orange center puckered in a kiss. Yup, I'm anthropormorphizing. But the yellow color, the raindrops, the beautiful March day--all of them make me happy, and make me feel blessed.

Powers: Lent Photo February 28

Power is something I always seem to have in short supply. If my phone isn't low on power, then my computer is warning me it's down to 6 percent, or my I-pod or Kindle is threatening to shut down unless I plug in. I'm always looking for a charger and an open power plug. I guess that explains why the first image for the word "powers" that popped into my head was a wall plug and devices busy sucking up energy.

It's really not a bad analogy for our relationship with God. We are really powerless unless we're connected with God. We need his strength, we rely on his power. Without faith, we're always in danger of shutting down.

Wait: Lent Photo for February 27

Farmers and gardeners are masters at the waiting game. They plant their seeds, monitor the weather with resignation, watch for the first little shoots to come up, and then water and feed and wait for months before they can reap their harvest of crops or vegetables or fruit or flowers. No instant gratification there.

Prayers are like that. God answers in his own way, and in his own time. Our job is to believe and wait. We know we should be patient, but it's hard sometimes. And our "harvest" may not be what we expected or dreamed about. But the harvest will come.

Place: Lent Photo for February 26

I wonder if everyone has a mental image of a place in their head that means "home" to them? A place that, as you are driving in a car and you see it, you feel that sense of recognition, that sense that you can relax because your drive is nearly over. I've always had one. Back in the rural area where I grew up, the water tower of the tiny town near our farm was visible for miles, rising above the corn and soybean fields. That was my "home" signal. And there was a certain curve in a two-lane road that told me I was nearly at my grandparents' home.

Now I use this grouping of trees. This small eucalyptus grove grows on the corner just before the turn into our neighborhood. Like that old water tower, it's visible a ways off, and tells me I'm home. I'm at my "place".

"Place" doesn't have to be impressive or old or elegant or beautiful. It just has to hold meaning for you, to resonate somewhere in your soul.

Remember: Lent Photo for Feb 25

I'm a very visual person, so photos serve as my door to memory. When I look at old photo albums, I almost relive the occasion. I remember how I felt when I took the photo. I remember the person or people as they were at that particular moment. I remember buying the clothes we're wearing and whether it was hot that day, and what had happened before the photo was taken, and what came afterward. I like to joke that like a computer, I have Random Access Memory, but mine is really, really random. Photos help me organize that randomness. 

But the best part of remembering with photos? They usually show the best moments in life, not the worst. And that's what we sometimes need to do:to remember the best, not just of our life experiences, but the best of ourselves, the "better angels of our natures" as Lincoln said. When life drags us down, and our minds are stuck in that coulda-shoulda rut of self-doubt, it's good to remember our successes, our triumphs, our moments of happiness. We can remind ourselves that the road won't always be rough and that we can and will survive the dark times. We can reassure ourselves that there will be new smiles and bright moments ahead of us.

Path: Lent Photo for February 24

This isn't the prettiest path. It leads downhill into the creek, and it's rough, studded with rocks and ridged with muddy footsteps, The first plants of spring are just coming up, and the shrubs and trees along it are just sending out their first tiny leaves, so they don't provide much beauty in the way of scenery. 

So why did I pick this photo? As far as I'm concerned, the path's unattractiveness is the point  Our path through life often seems like it's leading us downhill through some ugly real estate. The way is hard. We have to watch our step, and pick ourselves up when we stumble. But if we keep moving, and as long as we've picked the right path with the right destination at the end, our efforts will be rewarded.

Let's face it, if the right spiritual destination is at the end of the path, it's often the harder road to travel, with fewer pretty distractions along the way. But that end point? Definitely worth the trip.

Covenant: February 23 Lenten Photo

Cov-e-nant. Noun. An agreement. A contract.

According to lawyers, there are six elements to a legal contract. But for the layman, it really boils down to two small words: "if" and "then". If one party does "x", then the other party will do "y". It's a contract. A promise. A pinky swear. Cross your heart and hope to die.

If you believe, then you will be saved. A very simple contract. The new covenant.

When life gets difficult and frightening and bleak, it's hard to remember that covenant. But it's always there. We don't need a lawyer or a notary or forms or signatures to ensure the contract is binding. Belief will redeem.

This image reminds me that God's covenant is always there, waiting for us to enter into it. Just like the sun is always there, behind the clouds, ready to warm us and light our way.

Celebrate: February 22 Lenten Photo

What can this photo have to do with celebration? If you don't live in Southern California, you'd never understand. We're in our fourth straight year of severe drought. This area is nearly a desert at the best of times, with an average rainfall of only 13 inches per year. We've been getting half that. Half.

The flora and fauna are devastated. The deer are dying from lack of forage. The smaller mammals aren't reproducing--with so few mice and voles and rabbits, the hawks and owls aren't laying eggs and are disappearing from our skies. The trees are dying. Our natural world is desperate for water.

So anytime I need to turn on my windshield wipers, I'm dancing in my seat, a huge smile on my face. Rain is a tiny miracle here. A cause for celebration.

This is a reminder that we don't need to wait for a big event to celebrate. There are bright spots in our lives every day, and they should be appreciated. Celebrated. We should be grateful for them.

So it's a celebration! Who needs confetti? We've got raindrops!