For many of us, the word Lent doesn’t bring any real thoughts or impressions. We know it’s a religious word. It seems to have something to do with fasting. And if that’s all you know about it, that’s just fine. We want, as a church, to give this time of year – the 40 days between Ash Wednesday and Easter – a touch and feel and smell that we can remember. We want this time to invite us into a deeper and richer life with our God.

To do this, we need a process of bringing our fears, failures and suffering out in the open that allows them to be healed and transformed. Our inward and sometimes dark journeys, prompted by the suffering and death of Jesus, have a way of bearing fruit as they leave the grave with him on Easter. The two are necessarily linked together. Only digging up the ground for burial can open up a space for the dead to rise in life with Him.

Walter Brueggemann spent much time thinking about the path of the Christian. He considered its ups and downs, the way that our journeys can often seem pointless and confused. He saw here not the futility of our lives with God but the abundance of God’s plans. In particular, he saw that God had written a book to guide us through these winding journeys, and that the Psalms, of all the books, gave voice to this the best. He said, “The Psalms, then, are for those who know that they spend much of their life hiding secrets; they are also for those who know that standing in the presence of God is the one place where such secrets cannot and must not be hidden.”

There is such a mystery in these words of his. He mentions aspects of our lives which make us uncomfortable. He speaks of shameful secrets and hiding from God. And yet, we immediately know what these experiences feel like. If we are honest, we know that our lives are full of hidden secrets, sacred sins, heart-binding desires, shortcomings, terrors and self-centered ambitions. But the real mystery here is not their presence in hearts, but their welcome from our God. God seems to not only know of our weakness, but to have paved a road upon which to travel to Him. He wrote the Psalms to give us words to pray, to sing, to wail, to fury. He speaks for us. No, he shouts for our souls. God has seen fit to create us and to know us, heart to heart, in love.

This particular journey into the soil, full of both pain and hope, has often been characterized by the word disorientation. It is a boat spun about upon the waters at night, a traveler lost between roads, a trail that vanishes in the forest. The word disorientation is no synonym for Lent, and yet it seems to contain its purpose. For some of us, this word might feel like a rope thrown into a well, something to give us purchase and rescue. For others it might seem like the clues left behind that lead to some unknown treasure. And yet, for another, it might be the unintelligible writing of a foreign land. Our hope is that this series of reflections from our own community of faith will give clarity and insight to all about this portion of the Christian life.

We often speak of the hope of Christianity, of the overcoming faith of Jesus’ followers. We are less comfortable with the reality that Jesus says will await his disciples. If we are to follow him, we must pick up and carry a cross. We must begin to dig, to unearth, to descend. This process cannot happen without losing sight of the land above. But it is in the disorientation that we can best call out for a God who knows the tomb, for a Savior who has overcome death and sin and hell. It is not the path toward death that leads us forward in disorientation, it is life everlasting which calls us forth in faith, in hope and most of all, in love. Our prayer is that this time of Lent, full of disorientation and confusion, will also be full of the tender and patient love of God. We pray that sharing our care-worn stories, our hurts, and our longings will help carry us along the way. 

Father, we pray that you would come to our church during this time of Lent. Give us the courage to look within, to face ourselves. Meet us with your love, not in theory, but in our chests. Let us feel your presence even as we descend. Let us see your face in suffering and in death. Let us see your eyes in resurrection. Meet us and bring healing. Amen. 

Editor’s Note: We invite you to check the Travelogue every Monday and Thursday during Lent for new posts from Sojourn East members about their own seasons of disorientation and what they’ve learned about the language of lament in the Psalms. There will be opportunities for you to contemplate and write your own reflections as you bring your prayers “out in the open” before God.