Do Not Be Afraid- It Is Well

Mark 4:35-41

On that day, when evening had come, he said to them, ‘Let us go across to the other side.’ And leaving the crowd behind, they took him with them in the boat, just as he was. Other boats were with him. A great gale arose, and the waves beat into the boat, so that the boat was already being swamped. But he was in the stern, asleep on the cushion; and they woke him up and said to him, ‘Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?’ He woke up and rebuked the wind, and said to the sea, ‘Peace! Be still!’ Then the wind ceased, and there was a dead calm. He said to them, ‘Why are you afraid? Have you still no faith?’ And they were filled with great awe and said to one another, ‘Who then is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him?’

Once upon a time there was an upstanding, Christian man who appeared to have everything. He was married to a wonderful woman. He had five beautiful children- one boy and four girls. He had a successful legal practice, and firm investments in property along Lake Michigan in Chicago. His life was like a calm sea-- sure there were a few waves here and there, but for the most part it was smooth sailing.

But then, the storm clouds gathered. First his boat was rocked by the death of his son. Then waves crashed against his boat as the great Chicago Fire of 1871 destroyed his rental property and he lost everything overnight. Seeking solace from the storm, he planned a trip to Europe in 1873 for his wife and four daughters to rest and recover, with the plan of joining renowned evangelist Dwight Moody and his musician Ira Swankey on their tour through Great Britain. “In November of that year, due to unexpected last-minute business developments, he had to remain in Chicago, but sent his wife and four daughters on ahead as scheduled on the S.S. Ville du Havre. He expected to follow in a few days.

“On November 22 the ship was struck by the Lochearn, an English vessel, and sank in twelve minutes. Several days later the survivors were finally landed at Cardiff, Wales, and Mrs. Spafford cabled her husband, ‘Saved alone.’”(1)

He quickly crossed the deep waters to join his grieving wife in Wales. As his own ship approached the spot it was believed the Ville du Havre sank, Horatio Spafford wrote the now famous words: When peace like a river attendeth my way, and sorrows like sea billows roll; whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say, it is well, it is well with my soul. In the midst of the storm of life, somehow Spafford felt the peace of the one who can calm all storms: the peace of Christ.

Our Gospel lesson this morning is a familiar one, as Jesus calms the mighty seas with a simple word. Jesus and his disciples have spent the last few days preaching, teaching, and healing along the shore of the Sea of Galilee when Jesus declares that it is time to go to the other side of the sea. It is time to expand their ministry beyond the region of Galilee, and his first stop is to the land of the Gerasenes, who live across the sea. The quickest way was to get there was to sail across the sea, so Jesus and his disciples get into a boat and set sail. When they begin their journey the waters are calm, but as they get further and further out upon the water things begin to change. The water becomes rough and choppy. The winds pick up. Their boat is tossed up and down, side to side, as water begins to slap against the sides of the boat and crash down upon the deck. The disciples, who -remember- are well-seasoned fishermen, are terrified. They look to their leader, the carpenter who they are discovering is so much more, is fast asleep at the wheel. And they are terrified. They rouse him from his slumber, shouting, “Teacher! Don’t you care that we are perishing?” Don’t you care that we are perishing?

Jesus wakes from his sleep- how could he sleep at a time like this, really- and I imagine with arms spread wide he stands in the stern and commands the wind and the waves: Peace. Be still. And they obey. Then he turns to his disciples and asks, Why are you afraid? Have you still no faith? Our reading today tells us that the disciples were filled with awe, but this is really a mistranslation. The Greek words that are used are kai ephobethesan phobon megan which means, and they feared with great fear, wondering, who is this man, that he holds the power to command the sea and the sea obeys him?

They have not fully realized, until this point, the extent of Jesus’ power, and now they fear with a great fear. No longer afraid of perishing in the storm on the Sea of Galilee, they fear the divine power that they have just witnessed. And like a parent, who is comforting their frightened child Jesus asks, why are you afraid?

We’ve all been there. We’ve all had moments when we are afraid. I’m sure we have all had nightmares as children, or have gone into our children’s rooms to find them crying because something in their dreams has frightened them. And as we were comforted or did the comforting I’m sure most of us heard the words: there’s nothing to be afraid of.

If only it were so simple. If only these words were true. Shhh, there’s nothing to be afraid of, we croon, because it’s the truth we so desperately want to believe but what we should really be saying is this: Do not be afraid. Not because there is nothing to be afraid of, but because Jesus is in our boat, God is with us, so no matter how our boats get tossed about on the sea of life we do not need to be afraid.

Because there is plenty to be afraid of.

Why are you afraid? Jesus asks his disciples, and us. We are afraid because we live in a world where there is not enough: not enough food, not enough shelter, not enough oil, not enough money. We are afraid because we live in a world where it is not safe to be a woman and to walk alone at night. We are afraid because we live in a world where it is dangerous to be a man or woman of color. We are afraid because we live in a world where acts of terror happen everyday- in the Middle East and in a small AME church in Charleston, South Carolina. We are afraid, and angry, and heartbroken because our brothers and sisters gathered in a place that should have provided safe harbor from the storms of life and instead they encountered fear and death at the hands of a stranger they welcomed with warmth and hospitality. These are the stormy seas on which our boat sails, this is our response when Jesus asks, Why are you afraid?

And yet, despite all this, we can find the peace of Christ that is strong enough to calm the seas and gentle enough to comfort a child. We see the peace of Christ in the response of the family and congregation of the church in Charleston, as they have responded with grace and forgiveness instead of anger and hate. We see the peace of Christ in those who continue to have conversations about race, and justice, and peace. We see the peace of Christ in simple acts of hospitality and love. We can be the peace of Christ by welcoming the stranger and loving the unlovable. We experience the peace of Christ when we can live into the truth that we do not need to be afraid, even though there is much to fear, because Jesus is with us in the boat.

We are told over and over in scripture: do not be afraid. It has been said that these are both the first and last words of the gospel. They are the words spoken by the angel Gabriel to the young Mary, and spoken to the women at the tomb. Do not be afraid. Even when the waves are crashing. Even when it feels like we are drowning. When the world is tossing us about and we feel as if we are perishing, we do not need to be afraid. Because Christ is with us. May the words written so long ago be true for me and you- even so, it is well with my soul.

Benediction:

As we leave this place of safe harbor to return to the seas of life let us not be afraid, because God who created the waters is with us. Christ who stills the waters is with us. The Spirit who moves across the waters is with us. May the peace of Christ who calms the storms be with you this day and everyday.

1- http://www.umcdiscipleship.org/resources/history-of-hymns-it-is-well-with-my-soul

The Parable of the Mustard Seed

Mark 4:26-34

He also said, ‘The kingdom of God is as if someone would scatter seed on the ground, and would sleep and rise night and day, and the seed would sprout and grow, he does not know how. The earth produces of itself, first the stalk, then the head, then the full grain in the head. But when the grain is ripe, at once he goes in with his sickle, because the harvest has come.’

He also said, ‘With what can we compare the kingdom of God, or what parable will we use for it? It is like a mustard seed, which, when sown upon the ground, is the smallest of all the seeds on earth; yet when it is sown it grows up and becomes the greatest of all shrubs, and puts forth large branches, so that the birds of the air can make nests in its shade.’

With many such parables he spoke the word to them, as they were able to hear it; he did not speak to them except in parables, but he explained everything in private to his disciples. 

“With what can we compare the kingdom of God, or what parable will we use for it?” These are the words Jesus puts before the crowds and his disciples in our gospel lesson today, words that serve as both a challenge and an invitation for the original audience and those who hear them today to exercise the imagination in the ongoing journey of discovery of the kingdom of God. In this relatively short chapter Jesus tells four different parables. The first is the parable of the sower, which we uncovered last week. To refresh your memory, a sower went out to sow, scattering seed far and wide, on the path, on shallow soil, among thorns and thistles, and on good soil. The birds ate what fell on the path, the plants in the shallow soil withered in the sun because they did not have deep roots, the sprouts among the thorns were choked out. But the seed that fell on good soil- that seed produced a bountiful harvest. The second parable got skipped over in our reading, but we just sang it: you are the light for the world, not to be hidden under a bushel, but to be put upon a lamp stand to shed light in the darkness, so that all might see. This morning we read the final two parables found in this chapter, parables that, like the parable of the sower, find themselves in an agrarian setting, with farmers and birds and most importantly: seeds.

Before we can dig into the parables today, or begin to answer Jesus’ question- with what can we compare the kingdom of God, or what parable will we use for it- we must first understand what a parable is. So what is a parable? The short and simple answer is that a parable is a short story that uses everyday items or experiences to relay some sort of instruction or deeper meaning to the listener. While this working definition is true, it makes a parable sound very similar to a fable.

We are all familiar with fables, aren’t we? Particularly Aesop’s fables, which we probably learned as children and later taught to our own children. Such fables include the story of the tortoise and hare, which teaches “slow and steady wins the race” or the story of the boy who cried wolf, which teaches the importance of not telling lies. “a fable is primarily didactic, a clever story meant to offer some insight into and instruction about life.”(1)

The word parable comes from the Greek paraballo. Para means beside, like parallel. They share that same root- para. Ballo means to throw. Parables, then, are “stories thrown alongside our lives”(2), They are “intended to be disruptive, to interrupt what you thought you knew and not just teach you something but actually to confront you with a surprising and often unwanted truth.”(3)

So what lesson is Jesus trying to teach us in these parables? What does he have to say that could potentially disrupt or confront us with an unwanted truth?

The first parable that we heard today is the story of the seed that grows in secret. Jesus uses common knowledge about the life cycle of a seed to teach the people about the nature of the kingdom of God. It teaches the listener about who and what does the work of bringing about the kingdom. A farmer plants a seed, and then goes about their everyday lives. It says nothing about watering or tilling, weeding or tending. The farmer does nothing special after planting the seed. Instead, it is God who causes the seed to grow and bear fruit. This, Jesus says, is how it is with the kingdom of God. “The kingdom of God is dependent upon God’s grace and upon human initiative” (4). The farmer takes the initiative to plant the seed, but it is God who finishes the work. Thank goodness the coming of the kingdom does not rely solely on us!

Last week I mentioned that we have a garden at our house. What I failed to mention is that I do my best to stay as far away from it as possible because I have a tendency of accidentally killing any and all plants entrusted in my care. I like gardening- in theory. I can plant the seeds, but then I forget to water them. Then, when the soil is bone dry, I remember I didn’t water them and then I over water them. I put off weeding way too long, saying, “I’ll do it tomorrow,” until the weeds grow up and I can’t tell the sprouts from the weeds. I am so bad at taking care of plants that I have killed bamboo. Twice! That’s pretty impossible! Thank God the coming of the kingdom is not dependent upon gardeners like me!

The second parable is the well-known story of the mustard seed. Now, a mustard seed was the tiniest of seeds, but could grow into a huge tree or bush. It wasn’t planted on purpose- in fact, it was considered a weed. It took over the place where it was planted and was difficult to contain, even difficult to kill.

Sort of like bamboo.

Now, I have another bamboo story. Once upon a time I lived in my grandparent’s house in Timonium, Maryland. I was looking after things while they were no longer living there. In the spring I decided I wanted to putter around in my grandfather’s garden beds, and I discovered a very interesting shoot. It was bamboo, that had travelled from my neighbor’s yard into mine. I tried pulling it up- that didn’t work. I tried chopping it down- that didn’t work. I tried not watering it- that didn’t work. I tried over watering- that didn’t work. Finally I asked my neighbor if he knew of a way to kill the bamboo. He suggested pouring gasoline on it, but I didn’t want gasoline to seep into my soil, so I learned to live with the bamboo.

Maybe the kingdom of heaven is like that bamboo. It crosses borders and fences. It refuses to be contained. It is indestructible. It provides nourishment for those that eat it leaves, and shade for those who sit under it. Maybe this is the story that was thrown alongside my life at that time. Maybe this is the parable I can use to describe the kingdom of heaven.

But let us return to the mustard seed, because our story today takes place in ancient Palestine, not Timonium, Maryland.

“The mustard seed was a common metaphor in Palestine for ‘the smallest thing’... Like the mustard seed, the followers of Jesus are a bunch of ragged folk, full of doubts, full of fears, unable to comprehend much of what Jesus says or does. The reign of God bursting into history rests on these kinds of folk?” (5) “Jesus emphasizes, ‘Yes, this is the scruffy seed from which the reign of God will be proclaimed’” (6).

The followers of Jesus are the mustard seed.

YOU are the seed. Each one of us has been planted, like a seed, so that God can work in and through our lives, causing us to grow in faith and love. You have been planted, like a seed, so that you might be a safe space for the lost and broken in the world. You have been planted, like a seed, to provide nourishment to those who are hungry, filling bellies with good food and spirits with the truth of God’s love. You have been planted, like a seed, so that the kingdom of God might dwell here on earth.

“With what can we compare the kingdom of God, or what parable will we use for it?”

May the grace of God help you to grow from a scruffy seed, the smallest thing, into a strong and bountiful tree, a sign of God’s presence in the world this day and everyday.

1- http://www.davidlose.net/2015/06/pentecost-3-b-preach-the-truth-slant/

2- Nibs Strouse

3- http://www.davidlose.net/2015/06/pentecost-3-b-preach-the-truth-slant/

4- Nibs Strouse

5- Nibs Strouse

6- Nibs Strouse

Blessing of the Backpacks Litany

The following is a litany that I wrote for our Blessing of the Backpacks service at North Hunterdon UMC on Sunday, August 24, 2014. The parts that are listed in bold indicate the congregation's response as the leader holds up the item to be blessed.

Enjoy!

-Pastor Amanda

Dear God, you are our Teacher, Creator, and Guide through life’s classroom.

As we prepare for the beginning of a new school year, we ask your blessings on our students, parents, and teachers.

We thank you for pens and pencils that are held by big and little fingers as they learn to write their names, their thoughts, and their stories. Bless the words that flow from these pens, and bless the ones that write with them.

We thank you for crayons and markers, for all the bright colors in the world around us. May they be used to create beautiful pieces of art that show the wonder of creation and each child’s imagination. Bless the art that they create, and the ones who draw and color with them.

We thank you for calculators and rulers, that help us to add and subtract, multiply and divide as we learn to work with numbers, shapes, and how the world works. Bless the ones who help us understand these things and more.

We thank you for notebooks, folders and binders, for handouts that teach us our letters and numbers, and blank pages we can fill with our own thoughts and stories. Bless these things that help keep our thoughts and work together and from getting lost, and bless the ones who fill them with writing and drawings.

We thank you for the books we read, for the books that teach us our history, the books that teach us who we are, and the books that open up magical worlds of possibility. Bless these books and the stories they tell, and bless the ones who read them.

We thank you for our lunch boxes, filled with food to help our bodies and minds grow strong and mighty. We know that there are children whose lunch boxes are empty, and we pray that their lunchboxes might be filled with good food from caring people. Bless these lunchboxes and the bodies they feed.

We thank you for our backpacks that carry everything we need. Although they may be heavy with school supplies, may the children that wear them be unburdened. May the children who do not have backpacks or the supplies receive the things they need, so that they can get off to a good start this school year. Bless these backpacks, and bless the ones who wear them.

We thank you for our teachers, who fill our children’s minds with knowledge, who nurture their spirits, and who protect them while in their care. We thank you for our principals, counselors, custodians, nurses, cafeteria workers and bus drivers who take care of our students. May they receive the support they need and the honor they deserve as they live into their calling to educate this generation. Bless our teachers in their sacred work.

We thank you for our parents, grandparents, and other childcare providers who support and encourage their students in all that they do. Who spend countless hours helping with homework, volunteering in classrooms, driving the carpools. Bless our parents in their sacred work.

We thank you for our students, for the blessing that they are to us. Strengthen their bodies, minds and spirits throughout this school year, that their knowledge might grow and their imaginations soar with new thoughts, new achievements, and new dreams. Bless our students in all that they do, work and play, for it is all sacred work.

In the name of Jesus, the Great Teacher, we pray. And all God’s children said, Amen.

John 20: a modern re-telling of the Easter story

**This piece was written and originally posted on my old blog 

as part of a class on the Gospel of John.**

The rain poured down from the dark sky in torrents as Mary pulled up to the funeral home. She did not know if they would be open or not, but she knew she had to see him. She needed some time alone with him, alone with his body... she glanced at her reflection in the rear-view mirror, making sure that her eyeliner and mascara had not smeared as she had rubbed her eyes.

Water-proof mascara was a wonderful thing.

With trembling hands she unfastened her seat-belt and opened the car door, wondering if her legs would support her as she crossed the parking lot to the sterile funeral home that was trying so hard to look inviting. She dashed across the parking lot, covering her head with her coat, regretting that she had not thought to bring an umbrella. Then again, when your beloved friend has been murdered, umbrellas are the last thing on your mind.

Thankfully the door was unlocked and Mary let herself in, immediately assaulted by the smell of flowers that permeated the air. Her coat dripped on the plush carpet, and she looked around for someplace to hang it to dry. Finding nothing, she nervously draped it over the back of a chair, then proceeded to the viewing room that had been reserved for his body. There were only several, very small bouquets in the room, but she was not surprised. Many of his friends could not afford the expensive floral arrangements that filled the other viewing rooms. He wouldn’t have wanted their money wasted on frivolities in the first place, even if they could afford it. It took Mary a moment to notice that something was wrong, but when her eyes finally fell on the empty casket, her knees went out from under and she collapsed to the ground, her hand flying to her mouth. His body was gone. Choking back a sob, she struggled to her feet and wobbled over to the casket to be sure that what she saw was true. The casket was completely empty. Panicking, she bolted out of the funeral home, forgetting her coat, running through the pouring rain. Adrenaline pumped through her veins as she put the car into drive and peeled out of the parking lot. She didn’t know who to go to... she would have always gone to him!

She found herself driving on autopilot, and arrived at Peter’s home without even planning on going to him. Of all the people to go to, Peter was far from the top of her list, and yet here she was, banging on his door as her hair lay plastered against her face, rivulets of rainwater mixing with the tears on her cheeks.

“Peter!” she cried, as her knocking left the door unanswered. At the sound of his name he finally opened the door, his face haggard, dark circles under his eyes.

“Whaddya want?” he croaked, his voice raspy from his tears and cigarettes he had been smoking undoubtedly nonstop since Thursday night...

“Peter, please,” she begged, “let me in.”

Wordlessly he moved aside and motioned for her to enter. She stepped into the stale foyer and wiped the water from her face. Silently another figure appeared, handing her a towel, and she nodded to their other friend to thank him.

“What’s going on?” he asked, his arms crossed tightly against his chest as if he were trying to hold himself together.

“He- he’s gone!” They both looked at her skeptically.

“What do you mean he’s gone?” Peter said mockingly, taking a long drag from the cigarette smoldering in his hand.

“I mean I went to the funeral home, and the casket... it’s empty. Someone must have taken his body.”

The words came out more calmly than she could have ever imagined; suddenly she felt exhausted. She had no more energy to put into her grief; her well had seemingly run empty. Now a look of concern flashed through the men’s eyes, and they glanced at each other uneasily.

“Are you sure Mary? Were you in the right room?” Mary sighed.

“Of course I was in the right room, I’m not an idiot. Never mind; I just thought you guys might care...” She turned to let herself out, and it wasn’t until she was in her car that she realized it had stopped raining.

“Wait Mary, hold on!” Peter yelled, running down the steps after her, the storm door banging noisily behind him as he followed their friend to his car.

Once again Mary pulled into the parking lot of the funeral home; she watched as their friend jumped out of the car before Peter had even turned off the engine, leaving Peter behind as he dashed through the doors. Peter took off after him, his jacket flapping behind him as he ran through the puddles, kicking up water. Mary slowly climbed out of her car, unsure if she could bear to walk into that building again, but she forced herself to move forward; she had to see if the casket was still empty.

She silently let herself into the building and made her way to the viewing room. Their friend was standing in the doorway with his hands in his pockets, his jaw set grimly.

“I believe you,” he murmured as she stood beside him, his eyes unwavering as he stared at the empty casket.

“Where is Peter?” she asked softly, not knowing if she should touch him or leave him be.

“He went downstairs to see if he could find an attendant.” They stood perfectly still, the only sound the tick-tick-tick of the clock, until their silence was broken by the sound of a door slamming. Peter stormed into the room, his face flushed with anger.

“I can’t believe there isn’t a bloody soul working here!” he exploded, his fists clenched tightly by his side.

“There was nobody downstairs?” Mary asked, frightened.

“No! And there weren’t any fucking bodies down there either!”

“Peter,” their friend scolded gently, but returned to being silent at the look Peter sent his way.

“I gotta get out of here,” Peter muttered, storming out of the viewing room and banging the outer doors open. Their friend sighed, and followed after him; Mary did not envy him and the ensuing conversation he would have with the hotheaded Peter.

Finding herself once again very much alone, Mary reverently walked to the casket and knelt on the kneeling rail. She tried to pray; it was what Jesus would have wanted her to do. Instead of words puppy-like whimpers came forth from her body, and once again she found herself crying. No longer caring if anyone saw her, so consumed was she with grief, that she found herself curled up into a tight ball on the floor, rocking back and forth as sobs wracked her body. She didn’t hear the man enter the room; the carpet cushioned his footsteps. Through her moans came the sound of a gentle voice;

“Woman, why are you weeping?” It seemed an odd question, seeing as how they were in a funeral home, and Mary turned to see who would voice such a ridiculous query. A man stood in the doorway, and from the looks of him he worked at the funeral home. He was dressed in a well-cut, black suit, with a necktie tied sharply in a double-Windsor knot. His face was clean-shaven, and his dark hair was slicked back professionally. He was well-poised and polished, with his fingers interlocked together as his hands rested against his belt.

“May I help you?” he asked smoothly at the sight of her puzzled face. “Perhaps you are searching for someone?” Mary turned her face away, mouth gaping, speechless. She sniffed deeply and cleared her throat, then stiffly rose to her feet. She turned to him slowly, trying to keep her cool.

“Sir,” she began, and she noticed how her voice trembled, but how underneath there was a dangerous edge. “If you have moved him somewhere else, tell me where you have put him, and I will take him away. Tell me!” Unable to look at his perfectly composed face in the midst of her anguish she had to look away, clenching her jaw tensely as she waited for his reply.

“Mary...” At the sound of her name she jerked around, nearly losing her balance. How did he know her name!? She took several steps towards him, and then saw it. There were his eyes; there was the familiar lift of a brow.

“Teacher?” she gasped incredulously, and was rewarded with a slight nod and small smile. She laughed at the impossibility of it, and reached out to him, but he took a step back, unlacing his fingers to hold his palms out in front of him, keeping her at bay. She needed to hold him! To feel the warmth of his body, to smell his scent- why wouldn’t he let her touch him? He must have seen the pain in her eyes, because he smiled at her gently.

“Mary, my dear Mary,” he murmured lovingly. “You cannot hold onto me. I have not yet ascended to the Father. But go, to my brothers, and give them this message for me.” She nodded, listening carefully. “Tell them, ‘I am ascending to my Father and to your Father, to my God and your God.’”

Mary repeated the words silently to herself, committing them to memory. He gave her one last smile, then turned and walked away. With speed and energy she no longer thought she possessed, Mary gathered her things and ran to her car to go and tell the others.

As she sped through a stop sign on her way back to Peter’s, the sun came out.

They Could Come on Friday: Good Friday pregnancy reflection

These words came to me as I have been preparing my heart, mind, and body 

for the pre-term delivery of my twin daughters in the next week or two.

Imaga Christa:
This crucifix was given to me by my spiritual director:
the figure on the cross is woman, holding a baby.

They could come on Friday...

People will gather for vigils at noon

or in dimly lit churches

filled with soft candlelight to hear the story

of long ago.

Of thorns and crowns,

nails and wooden beams.

There will be no tenebrae for me

as I enter a room of strangers,

surrounded by metal instruments yielded

not by the hands of Roman soldiers as

implements of torture

but as tools of

healing.

But the fear is still there.

It won’t be under the noonday sun,

or a sky that suddenly turned black.

Instead it will be under

cold

fluorescent

lights

that betray no sense of time where

my arms will be stretched

wide,

as far as they can reach:

I love you this much.

I may cry that I thirst,

but there is no water,

or wine,

or vinegar

for my parched, dry mouth.

No sword will pierce my side

but

there will be water

and blood.

They will lay his body in the depths of a tomb

and from the dark recesses of my womb,

where only God and modern science can see

they will pull out

new life.

And my daughters will breathe their first breaths,

and cry their first cries,

and I will remember that in him was

LIFE.

That the life was the light of the people,

and the darkness did not overcome it.

Then Friday will be truly,

remarkably,

miraculously

GOOD.

Written Words

What better way to begin Lent, the season of repentance and preparation, than with a confession?

I have not felt like writing in quite some time. And I haven't actually written in quite some time.

That second part isn't entirely true- I've written when it has been required of me.
I scraped together mediocre papers in the fall semester, with a few extensions along the way.
I have written sermons, although I admit I've done my fair share of searching through my personal archives to find an older pice that will suffice, rather than creating something new.
I have written call to worships, opening prayers, and communion liturgies, although my heart has not truly been in it.

There has been no creative writing, no jotting down of ideas, no work done on my thesis.
My journal entries consist of "To Do" lists instead of reflections on my day and my heart.

You may be thinking: this is not necessarily a bad thing. Motivation comes and goes, we all go through dry spells. You may not think even counts as a confession.

And you would be right.

My confession is not so much that I haven't felt like writing, but rather why I have been unable and unwilling to pick up my pen.

My confession is that I have not written because I have been afraid.

I have let fear keep me from doing one of the things I love most.  let fear take the upper hand, let fear silence my voice, let fear cause my spirit to build up walls so that I've spent most of these past months living in my head and not my heart.

I always thought that when I was blessed with the gift of bearing new life I would write about it.
Poems.
Prayers.
Reflections.
Letters to the baby.
I thought I would fill journals and sketchbooks with creative outpourings of joy.

The day I found out I was pregnant was a flurry of shock, surprise, and joy. In all the excitement I forgot to pick up my pen to memorialize the words I had so longed to cry out:
I'm pregnant!
I didn't write.

We had our first ultrasound very early- at only six weeks -where we discovered there was not one, but two little beings growing inside me! I laughed, and cried, and gasped then laughed some more...
but I didn't write.
There was a chance, the doctor said, that one of them would get "absorbed." We would have to come back, at eight weeks, to see if there were still two.

I could not commit those words to paper. Even though the words were written on my heart, I couldn't bear to have them written in ink, to be returned to days, months, even years later if we lost one of our babies.
So I didn't. write. anything.

All is well, and has been well, and our two little girls are growing like weeds, their movements in my belly a constant reminder: We are here!

But still I've been afraid. Afraid that this is all too good to be true. Afraid something will go wrong. Afraid of making myself vulnerable to potential hurt by recording these moments of joy and wonder, in case something doesn't work out.

The words of our mouths are like ether. They float in the air and then dissipate into nothingness. The hope or sorrow they convey is truth, but it is fleeting, and can easily be forgotten.

The written word is different.
Once is has been written it cannot be undone.
It can be scratched or rubbed out, even written over, but a remnant will always remain.
It is there to be returned to, over and over again.
The written word is REAL.

So I confess I have allowed my fear to keep me from living fully into this incredible experience happening inside me. I confess it, and I ask forgiveness and freedom from this fear, trusting the words that appear again and again in our holy, written words: do not be afraid, I am with you.

I finally sat down the other day, opened my journal, picked up my pen, and took a deep breath.

"Oh my darlings," I began, and then a miraculous thing happened. The words flowed. Nothing flowery, nothing heart wrenching or particularly warming. But the words came. It was easier than I thought it would be, and as I wrote I breathed a sigh of relief, because I was no longer afraid.

And finally, I got up the courage to say what's been on my heart these last six months:

"I love you both so much.

I can't wait to meet you.

Love, 

Mommy"

I think my Lent began with a kind of resurrection.
Thanks be to God.