As I write this, it is early January. Christmas is over and the tree is gone but the chalk marks over my door are fresh and the magi are still adoring the baby Jesus in the nativity scene. Things are quiet as everyone takes a deep breath and turns away from the holiday and back to what passes for regular life these days. My son is back at school and my spouse is back at work – at the kitchen table and in the basement office, respectively. My monthly rotation of meetings is back in motion and worship swings back to the routine after the special celebrations for Advent, Christmas, and Epiphany. All of which is the cue for church leaders to start thinking about Lent.
This cycle of the liturgical year has been a particular blessing this year, when so many other markers of time have been disrupted. Days and weeks have a way of blurring together without the rhythms of commutes and coffee shop runs, lunch dates and dinner parties, weekends away and summer vacations, choir rehearsals, sports practices, and so on.
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Through it all, the liturgical year has kept me grounded in time and focused on eternity.
Our worship and community life left our buildings in Lent 2020, which made it the last liturgical season that we didn’t plan with an eye to the pandemic. Our parish abandoned the interactive prayer stations we were using each Sunday. The Lenten Quiet Day and Holy Week service plans – all tossed out and reimagined in something of an adrenaline rush. In the midst of that madness, Lent continued. Day by day and week by week, we were called to turn back to God; to remember that God is where all our strength and all our hope actually rests. Our whole lives became something of a Lenten fast, whether we wanted them to or not.
When Easter came, it felt like Lent had lasted twice its usual 40 days but that Easter couldn’t possibly come, either. And yet, Easter came so we celebrated the resurrection of Jesus and declared death defeated even in the face of the pandemic…and we kept celebrating for 50 days, insisting on a truth that is bigger and more powerful than any force on earth.
We rejoiced at the coming of the Spirit on Pentecost and observed the long growing Green season. We welcomed the promises of Advent and the joy of Christ’s birth at Christmas and the wonder of God’s self-revelation in Epiphany.
And now we’re back (or we will be by the time you read this). A full liturgical cycle observed during a pandemic. We learned that our needs – for repentance, sorrow, and resurrection; for peace and power and sustenance; for hope and expectation; for God-with-us and God-around-us – our needs don’t change and God’s faithfulness in meeting them doesn’t change.
As much as I’m dreading the coming COVID anniversaries (and do be gentle with yourselves as those weeks approach), I can also feel the rhythm of faith drawing me towards a season of simplicity and self-reflection. I am ready to be reminded that I am only human, a sinner in need of saving and a beloved child of God. I am ready to lay the mess that is me and the mess that is our world at the foot of the cross and pray: Lord, have mercy. Christ, have mercy. Lord, have mercy.
Finding solace in the rhythm of faith and liturgy
As I write this, it is early January. Christmas is over and the tree is gone but the chalk marks over my door are fresh and the magi are still adoring the baby Jesus in the nativity scene. Things are quiet as everyone takes a deep breath and turns away from the holiday and back to what passes for regular life these days. My son is back at school and my spouse is back at work – at the kitchen table and in the basement office, respectively. My monthly rotation of meetings is back in motion and worship swings back to the routine after the special celebrations for Advent, Christmas, and Epiphany. All of which is the cue for church leaders to start thinking about Lent.
This cycle of the liturgical year has been a particular blessing this year, when so many other markers of time have been disrupted. Days and weeks have a way of blurring together without the rhythms of commutes and coffee shop runs, lunch dates and dinner parties, weekends away and summer vacations, choir rehearsals, sports practices, and so on.
Through it all, the liturgical year has kept me grounded in time and focused on eternity.
Our worship and community life left our buildings in Lent 2020, which made it the last liturgical season that we didn’t plan with an eye to the pandemic. Our parish abandoned the interactive prayer stations we were using each Sunday. The Lenten Quiet Day and Holy Week service plans – all tossed out and reimagined in something of an adrenaline rush. In the midst of that madness, Lent continued. Day by day and week by week, we were called to turn back to God; to remember that God is where all our strength and all our hope actually rests. Our whole lives became something of a Lenten fast, whether we wanted them to or not.
When Easter came, it felt like Lent had lasted twice its usual 40 days but that Easter couldn’t possibly come, either. And yet, Easter came so we celebrated the resurrection of Jesus and declared death defeated even in the face of the pandemic…and we kept celebrating for 50 days, insisting on a truth that is bigger and more powerful than any force on earth.
We rejoiced at the coming of the Spirit on Pentecost and observed the long growing Green season. We welcomed the promises of Advent and the joy of Christ’s birth at Christmas and the wonder of God’s self-revelation in Epiphany.
And now we’re back (or we will be by the time you read this). A full liturgical cycle observed during a pandemic. We learned that our needs – for repentance, sorrow, and resurrection; for peace and power and sustenance; for hope and expectation; for God-with-us and God-around-us – our needs don’t change and God’s faithfulness in meeting them doesn’t change.
As much as I’m dreading the coming COVID anniversaries (and do be gentle with yourselves as those weeks approach), I can also feel the rhythm of faith drawing me towards a season of simplicity and self-reflection. I am ready to be reminded that I am only human, a sinner in need of saving and a beloved child of God. I am ready to lay the mess that is me and the mess that is our world at the foot of the cross and pray: Lord, have mercy. Christ, have mercy. Lord, have mercy.
The Rev. Rhonda Waters is Incumbent at Church of the Ascension, Ottawa
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