Findings: the Church, the Pancakes, and the birds
“If I had never joined a church
till I had found one that was perfect,
I should never have joined one at all;
and the moment I did join it, if I had found one,
I should have spoiled it,
for it would not have been a perfect church
after I had become a member of it.
Still, imperfect as it is,
it is the dearest place on earth to us.”
Every week I learn something new about the Anglicans. This week I learned that they (we) eat pancakes for Fat Tuesday and call it Shrove Tuesday. I don’t know what a shrove is and don’t care to look it up just yet. I just know I loved the bacon and being at that long table with my friends.
When we got home, Titus put both hands to his chest and declared his love for Jacy. We finally figured out he was talking about Chase, a man who makes our children feel like honored guests.
Lent is speaking quiet things. Make space, it says.
Yesterday pink spilled up over the hill as a cloud of black birds descended like a net thrown at a catch in the yard. There was a mystery beneath their pecking blanket, life in the rising mud, white ground receding to the edges. The bulbs are reaching their arms up through the snow. Resurrection is happening.
I wish you could have heard these two birds singing. People are singing everywhere. How can we not? But, too, we are brought low this week. Is the same Spirit who carried 21 martyrs to glory going to carry us into our own brave unknowns? Shhhh.
A mystery is happening. Are you listening?
Let it be so. Let’s live into this terribly holy amen.
Please join us with your church in prayer tomorrow: 21 Martyrs.