It is a dark moment. Moments before death and fixed to the cross, Jesus cries out,

“Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?” that is, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” ~ Matt. 27:46

The creator is in the hands of his creation, facing de-creation. The righteous judge is undergoing judgment. The bringer of life is now subject to death. Relying on words he was intimately familiar with, Jesus cries with a shout. He prays.

The name of God is: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Jesus’ experience of estrangement and his prayer are the signal that God has not abandoned us.

Recognizing that many of the earliest Christians were not just great pray-ers, but poets, Scott Cairns (you can see his poems here), has translated their words into English verse in his book Endless Life. This little book is filled with gems from Paul the Apostle, Ephraim of Syria, Augustine, Julian of Norwich, and St. Thérèse of Lisieux, along with many others.

The words below are from St. John of the Ladder, a 7th-century monk on Mt. Sinai. He is famous for The Ladder of Divine Ascent, a set of instructions for his fellow monks. (The Ladder, the building where we meet for morning prayer, is named in his honor. It has multiple ladders holding books and light fixtures.)

All our prayers are poetry, and St. John brings to our attention some of the glorious, but often overlooked, effects of prayer. Enjoy!

Jesus’ raising of Lazarus is a story that never fails to produce new insights and encouragement. Kelly Chewning does both when she takes us through the story of Jesus’ friend who died, but was made alive again by the miraculous love of God in Christ.

Here’s a quote shared by Kelly from Fleming Rutledge,

When Jesus Christ the Son of God steps forward to the door of Lazarus’ tomb and speaks, it is the same voice that was heard at creation: ‘Let there be light’ and there was light… in the words that open John’s gospel we see with perfect plainness how the Incarnate Son is One with the Creator and the Spirit invoked at the beginning of the book of Genesis.

Lent is the season of self-denial. It echoes the 40 days Jesus spent in the wilderness fasting and serves as preparation for Christians as we move toward the celebration of Jesus’ resurrection.

Yet some of us chafe at the call to self-denial. We are out of practice. We are not used to saying no to ourselves. But for others of us, self-denial is more complicated. It just feels wrong. It feels like we are giving in to coercion. Our stories are complicated, and some include figures in our past who used the religious language of self-denial to control us. In such cases, self-denial is a loss of freedom, something taken from us, not something we freely do.

A passage like this one may have been deployed against you.

He called the crowd with his disciples, and said to them, ‘If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it. - Mark 8:34-35 NRSVA

Chris E.W. Green presents the phenomenon of self-denial in a positive light. In a Lenten sermon on Mark 8, he affirms that Jesus invites us to self-denial, but does not coerce it. Self-denial does not violate our freedom but emerges from it. The following quote is from his sermon, “Transfiguring Identity” in his book, Being Transfigured: Lenten Homilies.

Yes, those who want to save their life will lose it, and only those who lose their life for his sake, and for the sake of the Gospel, will save it. But that “losing” is ours, a movement of love made possible by love, our freedom gracefully answering God’s.

Nothing good is taken from us or kept from us. All that is lost in this “losing” is what we truly long to be free of—everything false, foul, vicious, cruel, diseased. The truth hurts, to be sure; but it never harms. In fact, it hurts only because it reveals how we have been harmed. God humbles, but never humiliates us, never desires our shame.

As we heal, we become more fully ourselves, not less. We increase as Christ increases in us.

Rick Bartlett did a masterful job this weekend preaching to us from all of the assigned lectionary readings. This is no small feat! Well done, Rick.

In addition, Rick’s message takes us from David’s anointing, to Jesus healing the man born blind (and his claim that he was the light of the world), and then to the table of the LORD.

Bob Mueller did a splendid job this weekend, leading us in a deep reflection on Psalm 95, AKA, The Venite. Wheatland frequently prays Psalm 95 as our call to worship. Bob makes a great point, we read the pretty part of the Psalm, not the part that warns us.

O that today you would listen to his voice!
Do not harden your hearts. - v. 10

Like Israel, there are reason why we may harden our hearts. But praying the Psalms may be the perfect antidote to hard hearts. Old Testament scholar, John Walton, helps us wee this reality,

We often grapple with affirming God’s attributes, not because we have philosophical reservations, but because our experience leads us to question his attributes. The true affirmation of his attributes comes through acknowledging them even when our life experiences do not seem to support them . . . That is the long-term effect that Psalms should have on us . . . This process prepares us for or sustains us through trial and loss. It likewise keeps God in focus and everything in perspective when life goes smoothly.

Bob sums up the way the Psalms work on us best when he said,

I understand the problem of evil probably less now than I did before, but I’ve been given a bigger picture of God.

We follow the living WORD because we have been born from above. Being born-again, breach or otherwise, means always being born again. Faithful Christian living, is a constant conversion.

“This is why Jesus answers Nicodemus’ questions as he does, forcing a necessary confusion. As with him, so with us: “discipleship” names a process of continued unlearning, a movement into instructed, instructive, ignorance. Thus, Nicodemus’ perplexity serves as a warning to us, and a promise, reminding us that not matter who we are or what we’ve accomplished, the truth in its fullness is too lively for us. Grace cannot save us without first losing us, which means grace always makes things awkward.” - Chris E.W. Green, Being Transfigured

FTLOL is an occasional collection of internet goodness. Some of it is educational, some edifying, and some entertaining. And some of it, well … … … …

We’ve observed Lent, to varying degrees, for the entire life of Wheatland. Here is a great post asking a question some of us may have — What’s the Point of Lent?

In addition, enjoy this brief history, this less brief history, and this look at the spiritual disciplines of the earliest Christians.

Enjoy this brief article on the Prayer of St. Ephrem. Here is the version that Wheatland uses.

It is religious. Motion, speed, and activity all tell us we are alive and that we matter. Lent is a season in the slow lane. Reflections like this one may help us take the deep breath of slowing, stilling, and sitting with God and one another. — The Theology of Remaining

… ellipses. I was gently informed that when these show up in my texts and emails, it reveals something about my age. — Why Do Old People Love Ellipses So Much?

It’s not just sour grapes. Richard Beck is on to something here. — If It’s Popular It’s Not Christian

Ken Tanner is one of those rare voices from the internet that teach us how to live deeply in the love of Christ. Let us attend.

We may be a third into the Church Year, but it’s never too late to read a good book. This list from Claude Atcho is intriguing. — Novels for the Church Year

Requiescat In Pace: Catherine O’Hara, Eric Dane, Robert Carradine, Robert Duvall, and Jesse Jackson.

RIP Reverend Jackson. Would that we all had such a good sense of humor.

RIP Robert Duvall. Robert Duvall said that Gus in Lonesome Dove was his favorite acting assignment. He also suggested that Gus McRae was America’s answer to Hamlet. We all have a lot to learn from Gus and Woodrow.

Lent begins with Jesus’ going into the wilderness to be tempted by the “tempter,” slandered by the “devil (slanderer),” and accused by “Satan (accuser).” His only sustenance was the promise of God’s love. We follow him, and find ourselves sustained by the love of God in Christ.

Malcolm Guite has two Lenten poems that speak to this wilderness. The first describes Jesus path into the wilderness and the second describes our own.

He walks into the wilderness and leaves
Behind him everything but love, as once
His watchful mother did, the day she fled
The massacre of every innocence
And headed to the desert, past the graves
Of those who didn't make it. There was bread
And water then, but only just enough
To get them through. What really got them through
Was Love. Now he returns to lean again
On nothing else but love. As once he leant
On Mary's breast, so now, hungry and faint
He leans into his Father's love for us
Becomes his Father's Word that nourishes
And feeds us too, become Love's broken bread.

Jesus’ encounter with the “Tempter” in the desert is easy to imagine. Jesus is haggard and famished when the devil walks beside him, offering to meet all his physical and emotional needs. Jesus is human, after all. Why wouldn’t he struggle with the same temptations all of us do? Of course, Jesus knew, as many of us do, that temptation comes strongest from within not without.