Lent for the Not-so-Liturgical Soul

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.