That day, sitting in a small room not far from the well-known Hollywood sign, I saw something new and fresh.
By Tim Savaloja, Author of Thoughts of God: My Journey Toward the Heart of God
As a young boy, our family didn’t engage much in observing Lent. In much of my adult life, I was part of churches that didn’t observe it much either. Good Friday and Easter were important dates, but I recall thinking it was a bit comical to “give something up for Lent.” In the past several years, the practice of giving Lent some of my attention as we prepare for Holy Week has become meaningful.
Several years ago, I was consulting with my friend, Gary Stratton, in Hollywood. Gary was leading, Act One, an organization that brings the beauty of the gospel into several aspects of the entertainment world. I can’t remember if it was Ash Wednesday, but I think it was, and Gary gathered the small staff in their conference area and led us through a Lenten reading. It was simple, respectful, and peaceful.
I’m not sure where everyone was at from a faith perspective, but this gentle approach to sharing the deep truths of Jesus was received in a like manner – with gentleness and reverence. (A side note, one of the young women attending the reading later suffered a horrible assault and gunshot wound. As I later prayed for her, I always pictured her at the table, softly reading and participating in Gary’s writing. See, The Shield About Me: A Day of Thanksgiving for Rosario Rodriguez.)
My background led me to hold liturgy with a little disdain, and I regret that posture. That day, sitting in a small room not far from the well-known Hollywood sign, I saw something new and fresh.
A New Love for Liturgy
Recently, as my wife, Char, and I facilitated a small group in our Church, I brought a reading. To be honest, it didn’t seem that special but I wanted to honor the traditions of our church, and as a faithful servant, I opened our time with a responsive reading (it’s copied at the end of this writing; I didn’t write it!). I grew to love the reading, because the people in our group loved it. It meant something to them, and it began to mean something to me.
As I have been given an opportunity to preach at one church or another, I have often regularly prayed, “Lord, there are some coming today with hearts bursting with joyful news, and there are some coming with deep sorrow, some are hanging on by a thread and coming to church today took all the strength they could muster. Help me reach out to each one.” I realized that my regular prayer was also a “reading,” a “liturgy.”
The Withered Hand
With all that in mind, here are a few thoughts bouncing around in my head as I head into Lent and, eventually, Holy Week.
We come to a time like this as unique individuals – some with deep pain, some with anger, some feeling good about life, others worried, some carrying wounds and scars, some feeling rejected and forlorn, and some couldn’t be happier.
I think the beauty of Lent is that we should not feel a need to lay that all aside and come with a posture that doesn’t feel genuine. We need not come with our strengths. We are invited to come and to come with what we have, not with what we think would be an ideal picture of ourselves.
One of the passages that has been transformational for me is the story in Mark 3, where Jesus healed a man with a withered hand. I have pondered and meditated on that story for hours and hours, and it is never too far away from whatever I might be processing. I’ll forgo a lengthy exploration of the story, and suggest the reader may want to read the story found in Mark 3, starting with the 1st verse. Jesus heals but asks the man to hold out his withered hand. The hand that had likely brought shame and hardship; the hand he likely tried to conceal under a tunic; the hand that may have made life difficult in a thousand ways.
Jesus asks him to stretch out his hand. It strikes me that Jesus could have healed the man without having him extend his hand. It seems to me that Jesus was bringing healing and he wanted the man to “give” the hand. He wanted him to take his weakness and give it to Jesus. I don’t have a withered hand but have a hundred other weaknesses that I can extend.
Henri Nouwen wrote that we mistakenly identify ourselves by saying, “I am what I do, I am what I have, and I am what people say about me.” As I have written previously, I am what God made, I have what he gives me, and I am what He says about me. He calls me beloved. He calls you beloved.
I’ll spare you the details, but there have been countless times when Jesus has asked me to extend my withered hand, my weakness. As I have hesitated for one reason or another, I have heard him say, “Tim, aren’t you tired of carrying that?” That pierces me.
So, whether Lent is a thing for you or not, whether you observe Holy Week or not, I pray that God will meet you, with your own withered hands, and bring healing. Bring your weakness to him; He can accomplish some things through the use of our strengths, but I am convinced he accomplishes far more, and with much more beauty when he works through our weaknesses.
As promised, here is the reading that has come to mean a lot for our little group:
A Liturgy to Begin a Purposeful Gathering
(To be read responsively)
And so we are gathered here, uniquely in all of history, we particular people in this singular time and place.
Accomplish your purposes among us, God.
Tune our hearts to the voice of your Spirit.
Wake us to be present to you and to one another in these shared hours we are given.
For it is you, O Lord, who have gathered us from various places.
And you alone who know our hearts and our needs.
Among us are some who arrive anxious, some who are lonely, some who suffer pain or sorrow.
May we in our joys find grace to enter the sorrow of others.
Among us are some who arrive rejoicing, Hearts made light by good news, good health, glad anticipation.
May we in our sorrows find grace to embrace the joy of others.
Let us prize these moments and care for one another deeply – for each of us, and our relationships to one another, are precious and fleeting.
Amen
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