there is a season
(Written for the church newsletter)
To everything (turn, turn, turn)
There is a season (turn, turn, turn…)
The Byrds weren’t dumb. If you’re going to plagiarize, make use of a good source. (And if you’re in my class, don’t bother even then. I WILL figure it out… mwah ha-ha-ha…)
The author of Ecclesiastes was privy to several insights that resonate with especially significant truth for me, and one of them has to do with this recognition that we are programmed for seasons.
Not everybody “does” Lent. Only in the more liturgical traditions do we observe seasons of the church year such as this one. I’d imagine many of you have shared the experience of attempting to explain what “Lent” means to someone who professes a Christian faith but comes from outside a liturgical tradition.
Humans are endlessly diverse, and given this reality it makes sense to me that there will be different ways of “doing” church. Even so, I find myself thankful for seasons, and I suspect one important way we might perform the outreach and evangelism to which we are called would be to share the blessings of these seasons with others.
This is the time of year when we start to become antsy. We’re tired of wet sneakers. We’re sick of our winter wardrobes. Our windshield wipers are getting squeaky, and while coziness is fine and all we’re ready to be done with the throw blankets, already.
Just when we think we can’t take it any more (and in Oregon, perhaps a few weeks after that)… sun. Puffy white clouds in a soaring blue sky. WARMTH.
Having lived four years in Los Angeles, I speak from firsthand experience when I say that it takes the gloom and the wet of the winter to truly appreciate the warmth of spring. Sixty degrees in L.A. is scarf weather; around here, my classroom fills with happy, giddy, flip-flop wearing students itching to head outside for a game of Frisbee.
It goes without saying that the promises of Lent are much deeper than the promise of spring—but that only serves to heighten the significance of these seasons of the church year. Without the dark, how can we fully appreciate the light? Without spending our forty days in the contemplation and consideration Lent brings, we run the risk of missing the depth and significance of Easter.
As we enter the joy and exultation of the Easter season, I hope we have opportunities to share with others the journey that has brought us to this time of celebration. There are so many who are seeking a life of authenticity and rhythm, of order within the mystery that is our existence. When we heed the seasons of our lives, liturgical and otherwise, God’s patterns can impress themselves upon our hearts. Sometimes this will be easier than others, but life is not a continuous chorus of “Hallelujahs”—so why would we expect our Christian walk to be? Our seasons remind us there is hope in the midst of struggle, joy in the wake of suffering. After Lent and Holy Week… Easter.
Praise be to the One who ensured that spring will always follow winter.
To everything (turn, turn, turn)
There is a season (turn, turn, turn…)
The Byrds weren’t dumb. If you’re going to plagiarize, make use of a good source. (And if you’re in my class, don’t bother even then. I WILL figure it out… mwah ha-ha-ha…)
The author of Ecclesiastes was privy to several insights that resonate with especially significant truth for me, and one of them has to do with this recognition that we are programmed for seasons.
Not everybody “does” Lent. Only in the more liturgical traditions do we observe seasons of the church year such as this one. I’d imagine many of you have shared the experience of attempting to explain what “Lent” means to someone who professes a Christian faith but comes from outside a liturgical tradition.
Humans are endlessly diverse, and given this reality it makes sense to me that there will be different ways of “doing” church. Even so, I find myself thankful for seasons, and I suspect one important way we might perform the outreach and evangelism to which we are called would be to share the blessings of these seasons with others.
This is the time of year when we start to become antsy. We’re tired of wet sneakers. We’re sick of our winter wardrobes. Our windshield wipers are getting squeaky, and while coziness is fine and all we’re ready to be done with the throw blankets, already.
Just when we think we can’t take it any more (and in Oregon, perhaps a few weeks after that)… sun. Puffy white clouds in a soaring blue sky. WARMTH.
Having lived four years in Los Angeles, I speak from firsthand experience when I say that it takes the gloom and the wet of the winter to truly appreciate the warmth of spring. Sixty degrees in L.A. is scarf weather; around here, my classroom fills with happy, giddy, flip-flop wearing students itching to head outside for a game of Frisbee.
It goes without saying that the promises of Lent are much deeper than the promise of spring—but that only serves to heighten the significance of these seasons of the church year. Without the dark, how can we fully appreciate the light? Without spending our forty days in the contemplation and consideration Lent brings, we run the risk of missing the depth and significance of Easter.
As we enter the joy and exultation of the Easter season, I hope we have opportunities to share with others the journey that has brought us to this time of celebration. There are so many who are seeking a life of authenticity and rhythm, of order within the mystery that is our existence. When we heed the seasons of our lives, liturgical and otherwise, God’s patterns can impress themselves upon our hearts. Sometimes this will be easier than others, but life is not a continuous chorus of “Hallelujahs”—so why would we expect our Christian walk to be? Our seasons remind us there is hope in the midst of struggle, joy in the wake of suffering. After Lent and Holy Week… Easter.
Praise be to the One who ensured that spring will always follow winter.
Yes, Spring will come. Thanks for the reminder.
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