I took twice as long to write my sermon this week, than I usually do. That’s a big deal. I tend to be a multitask-er and sermons seemingly write themselves, as I walk with them, drive with them (and sometimes even vacuum with them.)
This week my sermon invited me to sit and stay with it awhile, of all of the things that deserved and needed my time, my sermon spoke loudest. So I listened, I took it out for coffee, and stayed mindful all week, of its burden and hope, of the need to not rush to finish it, but let it stay unsettled for much of the week.
In this coming holy week, I invite you to do the same. To sit and stay awhile with the stories of faith, the remembrance of loss, and the cost of love, the reality of a violent and unjust world. To walk with it, ponder it anew over coffee, sunsets and sunrises, to stay with it, to let it disturb you, and invite you in. It deserves your time.
I will pray for you as you do so. I will pray for you if you overwhelmed, if you are lost, if you are frantic and behind in your Holy Week and Easter preparations. If you are in a place where the joy and hope of Easter is far away, and still feels like something to far fetched to believe in, know that you are being held in prayer. It’s ok to be the one who walks away dejected. That’s part of our story too, to be the one in doubt, afraid, ready to run, ready to give up your friends for your own survival. It’s ok to be in need the forgiveness, and to feel the pain. It’s ok to not get it, and to not get it right. It’s ok to fear for the end and the unknown.
May you live in the sacred holiness of this week. May it call upon you like mist rolling in from the sea, and may you be open to its invitation to sit and stay in the darkness and uncertainty awhile, until the job and surprise of Easter dawns for you.