Lenten Writing Project Reboot 2020! Writers' Reflections in the Wilderness of Lent
Words of Faith
Spirit to Spirit Writing Project
The word Lentcomes from an old English word meaning lengthening of days. In Christianity, it refers to the time before Easter, traditionally observed through repentance and learning. It's a season to be intentional about changing and growing. Some people give up items to create space and time for new life and habits to grow. Instead of giving something up, I invite you to try to commit to answering these writing prompts each of the 40 days of Lent. The discipline it takes to set aside time each day to reflect and write about God and your relationship with spirituality is a journey that you will emerge from with a renewed spirit. Every writer has their own special voice to add to this project, whether poetry, prose, essay, thoughts, lists, or through comments, prayer, and encouragement.
How do I participate? Each day, a writing prompt will be posted. A prompt is a question or statement that is meant to inspire your thoughts in whatever genre you feel moved to write. Post your reflections as a comment under each day's prompt (for further instructions, see 'How To Post' on the right side of the page). It is up to you if you write, read, or pray along with us each of the 40 days of Lent or just drop in from time to time when the spirit moves you to participate. Writing regularly is a discipline that many writers struggle with and this is a way to involve that discipline as a Lenten practice. Through writing and leaving encouraging words for others in this project, we become a supportive spiritual writing community
Monday, March 30, 2015
Raise your Palm!
Lenten Writing Prompt #32
Do you have any traditions, thoughts or insights on Palm Sunday? Do you see it as a happy or sad service (or both). How do you see the essence and attitude of Palm Sunday reflected today?
I'm reading Zealot again just now, and arrived on Palm Sunday in the book just as Palm Sunday arrived in this year. Taking the frustrations with which I woke, I ended up writing a sermon. It was a rather caustic one, but it left me desiring a courageous sermon at church. And I pondered most of the day what it would look like if, instead of palm branches, we each carried huge placards, decrying injustice, calling for a new way to live. I began to think of it as Protest Sunday, and realized with new eyes that the church often refers to it as Passion Sunday. That is good.
This year I didn't make it to church. My 16 year old came down, and we watched a TED talk about the Bangladeshi man who was clerking at a mini mart after 9/11 and was shot. He survived, and after reaching the bottom of what America has to offer, began to achieve his dreams. His assailant ended up on death row. The immigrant ended up suing the state and the state's governor to prevent his death. He had committed himself, during pilgrimage to Mecca, to work to improve the relationship between Muslims and the western world.
We spent a fair amount of time in silence after that talk, but also spent time pondering what it means to be a person of privilege. We watched a second talk about a potter who is working to revive his gutted and abandoned neighborhood in Chicago. More silence, but also more talk, this time about how an artist might make a living without selling out to wealth and privilege.
Monday I came across an article in Image magazine about beauty, in which the author mentioned a homeless shelter whose director made a choice to spend money for stained glass windows and commissioned doors and an expensive vase, knowing that the surroundings in which we put people speak volumes to them about their worth. And I was reminded of Mary's ointment.
Passion Sunday. Indeed. What path will I choose this week?
Gloria, I want to take some time to say that I always read your pieces and I always enjoy them more than I can say. Your inclinations and observations are insightful and I really appreciate them! Right on, Sister! (*hand raised in the sign of a cross with a pencil stuck in it somewhere* + ; )
Palm Sunday- Missed message- Doug Millar I don’t know when it struck me, but it hit me hard. We were doing the wrong thing. After nearly the whole span of Lent spent in reflection and repentance, we have this one Sunday before Easter when we “whoop it up”. I realized that by having a Palm Sunday full of palms and happy hymns celebrating Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem we are siding with the people who did not, and would not understand him. They wanted a political messiah. He tried to warn them by riding in on a donkey instead of borrowing a Roman Chariot. The purpose of Palm Sunday is to challenge us to examine our beliefs. Do we believe in Jesus or who we think Jesus ought to be? It was an excellent question then and is equally good now. The person I identify with in a different role is Jesus. After getting rave reviews at Lazarus’ house being recognized for what seemed the right reasons, he is about to go into Jerusalem out of step and in danger. Just as a person, he would know that- he was going to be very misunderstood. I can’t imagine the conflict he must have been feeling, culminating in his prayers of worry in the garden on Thursday night. As a pastor, I had a lot of palm Sundays. What should be a cautionary tale about not letting your assumptions run away with your enthusiasm, we traditionally do exactly that on Palm Sunday. We lose the sense of foreboding, our one last chance to repent and change our ways before the die is cast for the week. If we side with the palm wavers, Friday will be a day of crushed expectations and disbelief. If we side with Jesus, Friday will be a day of deep piety, gratitude and revelation. If we do not celebrate Palm Sunday with reflection, then Easter Sunday will only be a celebration of our Assumptions, not a spiritual renewal.
When we, on the Worship, Art and Music Committee, started discussing visual displays for Palm Sunday, the idea of having some huge palm branches near the altar, I mentioned that I had some in my yard of the type that grew out of the top center of the tree and bent into a large arch that covered a large portion of our small yard. (I don't know the official palm tree language) It seemed like a great idea to donate some of these to enhance the service, so I promised I would bring some to the church the Saturday before Palm Sunday. I went out early to cut them off the tree which required a saw and was not as easy and pleasant a task as I had hoped.. Off the tree, the four fronds covered my whole yard which made dragging them to the car a challenge. That and the fact my care was a small Chevy Chevette. I got them to the car and realized they were longer than my car. But I'm not one to give up, especially since I had made a commitment. So, I poked them in through the passenger window diagonally toward the back seat behind the driver and let what didn't fit hang out the window, which portion hung out to the front of the hood. They didn't obscure my vision, but they were a prickly load. Down the streets of Campbell and through the Willow Glen neighborhood of San Jose I drove in my own solitary palm procession to the church to the stares of drivers along the way. Those at church who helped me unload were amazed that I got them there as I was myself. I wasn't yelling and singing Hosanna along the way, but I was repeating the English version "Help us." And He did get me there without crashing into anything or being stopped by the police for not having a comedy parade permit, probably laughing all the way. Thank you Jesus! After that, I volunteered the palm branches, to be picked up by someone with a truck, in which they still preened out over the top of the cab.
I'm reading Zealot again just now, and arrived on Palm Sunday in the book just as Palm Sunday arrived in this year. Taking the frustrations with which I woke, I ended up writing a sermon. It was a rather caustic one, but it left me desiring a courageous sermon at church. And I pondered most of the day what it would look like if, instead of palm branches, we each carried huge placards, decrying injustice, calling for a new way to live. I began to think of it as Protest Sunday, and realized with new eyes that the church often refers to it as Passion Sunday. That is good.
ReplyDeleteThis year I didn't make it to church. My 16 year old came down, and we watched a TED talk about the Bangladeshi man who was clerking at a mini mart after 9/11 and was shot. He survived, and after reaching the bottom of what America has to offer, began to achieve his dreams. His assailant ended up on death row. The immigrant ended up suing the state and the state's governor to prevent his death. He had committed himself, during pilgrimage to Mecca, to work to improve the relationship between Muslims and the western world.
We spent a fair amount of time in silence after that talk, but also spent time pondering what it means to be a person of privilege. We watched a second talk about a potter who is working to revive his gutted and abandoned neighborhood in Chicago. More silence, but also more talk, this time about how an artist might make a living without selling out to wealth and privilege.
Monday I came across an article in Image magazine about beauty, in which the author mentioned a homeless shelter whose director made a choice to spend money for stained glass windows and commissioned doors and an expensive vase, knowing that the surroundings in which we put people speak volumes to them about their worth. And I was reminded of Mary's ointment.
Passion Sunday. Indeed. What path will I choose this week?
Gloria, I want to take some time to say that I always read your pieces and I always enjoy them more than I can say. Your inclinations and observations are insightful and I really appreciate them! Right on, Sister! (*hand raised in the sign of a cross with a pencil stuck in it somewhere* + ; )
DeleteThanks, Ruth. I've really appreciated this opportunity and the exercises.
DeletePalm Sunday- Missed message- Doug Millar
ReplyDeleteI don’t know when it struck me, but it hit me hard. We were doing the wrong thing. After nearly the whole span of Lent spent in reflection and repentance, we have this one Sunday before Easter when we “whoop it up”. I realized that by having a Palm Sunday full of palms and happy hymns celebrating Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem we are siding with the people who did not, and would not understand him. They wanted a political messiah. He tried to warn them by riding in on a donkey instead of borrowing a Roman Chariot. The purpose of Palm Sunday is to challenge us to examine our beliefs. Do we believe in Jesus or who we think Jesus ought to be? It was an excellent question then and is equally good now.
The person I identify with in a different role is Jesus. After getting rave reviews at Lazarus’ house being recognized for what seemed the right reasons, he is about to go into Jerusalem out of step and in danger. Just as a person, he would know that- he was going to be very misunderstood. I can’t imagine the conflict he must have been feeling, culminating in his prayers of worry in the garden on Thursday night. As a pastor, I had a lot of palm Sundays.
What should be a cautionary tale about not letting your assumptions run away with your enthusiasm, we traditionally do exactly that on Palm Sunday. We lose the sense of foreboding, our one last chance to repent and change our ways before the die is cast for the week. If we side with the palm wavers, Friday will be a day of crushed expectations and disbelief. If we side with Jesus, Friday will be a day of deep piety, gratitude and revelation. If we do not celebrate Palm Sunday with reflection, then Easter Sunday will only be a celebration of our Assumptions, not a spiritual renewal.
Palms Coming Through
ReplyDeleteWhen we, on the Worship, Art and Music Committee, started discussing visual displays for Palm Sunday, the idea of having some huge palm branches near the altar, I mentioned that I had some in my yard of the type that grew out of the top center of the tree and bent into a large arch that covered a large portion of our small yard. (I don't know the official palm tree language) It seemed like a great idea to donate some of these to enhance the service, so I promised I would bring some to the church the Saturday before Palm Sunday. I went out early to cut them off the tree which required a saw and was not as easy and pleasant a task as I had hoped.. Off the tree, the four fronds covered my whole yard which made dragging them to the car a challenge. That and the fact my care was a small Chevy Chevette. I got them to the car and realized they were longer than my car. But I'm not one to give up, especially since I had made a commitment. So, I poked them in through the passenger window diagonally toward the back seat behind the driver and let what didn't fit hang out the window, which portion hung out to the front of the hood. They didn't obscure my vision, but they were a prickly load. Down the streets of Campbell and through the Willow Glen neighborhood of San Jose I drove in my own solitary palm procession to the church to the stares of drivers along the way. Those at church who helped me unload were amazed that I got them there as I was myself. I wasn't yelling and singing Hosanna along the way, but I was repeating the English version "Help us."
And He did get me there without crashing into anything or being stopped by the police for not having a comedy parade permit, probably laughing all the way. Thank you Jesus!
After that, I volunteered the palm branches, to be picked up by someone with a truck, in which they still preened out over the top of the cab.