Lent for the Not-so-Liturgical Soul
A few months ago I got to talk with the high school and
middle school students from my church, GraceFellowship, about fasting.
The church had entered a time of fasting and prayer. An
intentional time of listening to Holy Spirit. The kids were tolerant, but weren’t
exactly tracking with the idea of “giving up” chocolate or pizza or Instagram. For
some, it seemed like another example of “if you like it, it must be bad”
thinking. Does it make God happy to know I’m not eating pizza? What, exactly
does chocolate have to do with Jesus?
Good question.
I remembered hearing somebody, sometime use the phrase
“going fast after God.”
And I’m returning to that image now, on the second day of
Lent.
How exactly, is the walk of Lenten liturgy, with its
scripted prayers and fasting, supposed to connect with my not-so-liturgical
soul?
Now, I enjoy but do not love liturgy. I enjoy the poetic and imagery filled
words – in limited quantity and time. But, to be honest, I’d rather attend one
of those wild worship conferences with flags and dancing and folks who shout
and laugh and lift their hands and keep singing after the band stops.
And yet, I DO want to run fast after God.
How we run fast depends on the race. I’m thinking of relay
races and Cross Country runners. The Cross-country folks are like those wild
worship conferences. Fast and slow together. Champions and freshmen. All
starting the race at the same time. One glorious, chaotic crowd.
One of my daughters ran cross-country in college. She
described the team as, “The Kenyans…they are so fast and they win.” Then, “the Europeans…they’re not
quite as fast but they’re really determined.” At last, “the Azerbijanis…they
just want to have a good time and are happy just to finish.” She loved being an
Azerbijani and, when a “Kenyan” coach was hired the following year, she chose
the more joyful option of running through Boston with her friend, Katie.
Liturgical worship reminds me more of relay races. Like a scripted
dialogue or a choreographed dance. First, the baton-holder runs as fast as she
can to her individual finish line. But, within a set and short space, she MUST
hand off the baton to the next runner – or the whole team will forfeit.
In a matter of seconds, both runners position themselves in
the same lane – one to hand off and the other to receive. A waltz of pace and
position. With a bit of breath-holding, folks in the stands wait for that
“slap” of the baton in the palm of the new runner.
Only then can the new runner hit top speed and finish the
race.
Pace and position.
If I want to go fast after God, I need to pace myself and
position myself to receive the baton of presence
and intimacy.
The presence of
Lent of course, is the connecting. Positioning myself to receive Jesus. Pacing
my life and priorities to spend intentional time with God. Slowing to make
space for that connection when the baton of His presence hits the palm of my
soul.
He will make the
connection if I just position myself to receive.
And intimacy…sometimes
described as “into me I let you see” also positions me to receive. Positioning
my heart to be vulnerable and honest with my Jesus. And with myself. Pacing my
days so they aren’t so crammed with doing and “form” that I miss the being and
substance of letting Jesus see into me – and receiving the same from him in
return.
So, what, exactly does this have to do with Lent? Is all
this talk about intimacy and presence more of the metaphor and imagery that can
seem scripted and out-of-position for my more charismatic nature?
The answer? I don’t know. But, the Lenten “journey to the
cross” has shaped and been shaped by Liturgy for millennia. Many people I
admire hugely are great lovers of liturgical practice.
And, this year God is welcoming me into a more liturgical
season and community.
This means pacing and positioning myself to receive
something different. To see and experience with new eyes and openness.
I have no sense that God is asking me to change my “holy
spirit dancing lady” nature. And yet, I am hearing an invitation to try a new
race.
To position myself to receive by setting aside space and
place. By adjusting my pace so my schedule is less hectic and spontaneous. And
more restful…trusting that Jesus will meet me in the scripted prayers and
fasting.
So, this year, it looks like “going fast after God” means
going more slowly. And, if the
metaphor of the relay runner holds true, the result – after the baton of
presence and intimacy is passed – will be a renewed capacity to run.
