Quiet Times
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There are days when I walk on the beach and greet everyone I pass with a smile, a nod, and a brief “Hello!”, Other days, like today, I feel cocooned in my own thoughts, almost oblivious of others as they pass me. Like the sea itself, our energies and thoughts sometimes ebb and flow, focused inward or outward, depending on the day’s needs. I ask you, dear Father, to make both perspectives profitable. May I have quiet time when I can turn my thoughts inward to touch your face and feel close to the Christ who lives within me. But may I never lose balance—may I also remember to turn my energies outward, reaching for the Christ who resides in others. Help me, like the sea itself, to maintain a measured balance.Related Post
Prayer for Palm SundayPrayer for Palm Sunday
Prayer for Palm Sunday
Dear Heavenly Father—I wonder what it was like for Jesus on that Palm Sunday so very long ago. All the crowds cheering and praising him. Streets crowded with followers, shouting his name, some trying to out-yell the others, so caught up in the frenzy of adoration. The donkey, just as Jesus predicted, found and brought to him so he could ride into Jerusalem as a hero. The scent of crushed palm branches heavy in the air.
And yet, Jesus must have scanned the crowd, looking at individual faces and wondering. “Perhaps that woman waving her palm branch and shouting my name—will she soon be among those shouting “Barabbas—free Barabbas—we’d rather free a robber-murderer than Jesus”? Or that man, so impressed to be near me, so full of adoration, will he be part of the crowd that screams “Crucify him! Crucify him!”. And the disciples, caught up in the scene, basking as part of Jesus’ entourage. “We know him,” they may have shouted back at the crowd, eager for Jesus’ reflected glory. “We know him well! We’re his followers!” How excited everyone was, the weather perfect, the crowds lining the street all of one mind, all intent on acknowledging Jesus and his power, his miracles, his authority.
I’ve had days like that, Lord, days when everything seemed to go so well. Praise ringing in my ears from people I cared about. “Good job!” they said, or “Sandy you scored higher than anyone else!” Or even, “No one but you could have done so well!” Words that stroked my ego, words that wrapped themselves around me and made me feel important, valued loved. But unlike you, Lord, I had no idea of what lay ahead. I never anticipated hearing, from the same people, “We’re disappointed in you, Sandy, we thought you would have done better” or “You surely let us down with that performance”. I tried, in my own mind, to question their authority or their validity, their judgment. Sometimes I took away my love, feeling they no longer earned it.
That palm strewn Sunday, with all its hoopla, all of its celebration, would lead within a few days to a dark afternoon on a hill named Golgotha. And you knew it Lord, you were perfectly aware of the events awaiting you—events that would erase this sunny day and its crowds and its adoration. You knew the agony of torture, dragging through town the very cross on which you would hang. You knew the denials and betrayals and fear that would turn the crowds against you and make them kill you.
The difference between you and me, Lord, is that you knew all of this and, with an intensity beyond my comprehension, continued to love. Continued to love those who shouted loudest and were equally intense spitting on you that same week. Loving those disciples who couldn’t stay awake and watch with you on an agonizing night of pain and fear. Loving those who claimed not to know you because they were afraid they’d suffer your fate. Loving each of us despite our failures and our on/off again relationship with you. Loved us when we didn’t love you back. If there is a message to be gained from that sunny entry into Jerusalem, a celebration like that given to Super Bowl heroes, it is love. Unrequited, undeserved, unwarranted love. Wave a palm branch and scream “Hosanna” or scream equally loud, “Crucify Him!” It’s still love.
And so, Dear Lord, I come to you on this Palm Sunday. Forgive me for the times I betray you, forgive me for my tepid love, and most of all please forgive me for failing to forgive. Remind me always your response to all the crowds—those who come to praise you and those who come to crucify you, your response is the same, “I love you”. That’s all we need to know.
ChangeChange
I received a letter from an old friend today. Her health is not good, and I worry about her future. I don’t want things to change! Living on an island I have grown accustomed to change, difficult as that may be. The beach itself varies from day to day, widening and narrowing the places I walk, removing vegetation or depositing new seedlings. And yet I want to hold unto the known and the familiar, reluctant to release what I have come to love. O Lord, please help me see that change is the essence of our earthly lives. I need to appreciate with more open awareness the beauty of the moment so I can recall its absence with love and happiness. Forgive me for holding too fiercely to the past, blinding myself to the future joys prepared for me by you. I pray that you would open my clenched fists—may they be hands stretched wide to embrace each moment of my life—hands open to reach out for your hand. Amen.
I received a letter from an old friend today. Her health is not good, and I worry about her future. I don’t want things to change! Living on an island I have grown accustomed to change, difficult as that may be. The beach itself varies from day to day, widening and narrowing the places I walk, removing vegetation or depositing new seedlings. And yet I want to hold unto the known and the familiar, reluctant to release what I have come to love. O Lord, please help me see that change is the essence of our earthly lives. I need to appreciate with more open awareness the beauty of the moment so I can recall its absence with love and happiness. Forgive me for holding too fiercely to the past, blinding myself to the future joys prepared for me by you. I pray that you would open my clenched fists—may they be hands stretched wide to embrace each moment of my life—hands open to reach out for your hand. Amen.
What a beautiful day! A cool wind blowing in from the north flattened the waves and made their meeting with the shore a subdued union. Despite the cool breeze (I in my jacket, naturally), I watched people in shorts and bathing suits enjoying the sun and the sand, throwing Frisbees, jumping in the wet sand, and fishing at the ocean’s edge. I love to watch families or individuals at play it lets me witness something simultaneously private and public. Surely our laughter is part of the godliness that resides in us, a gift Adam and Eve took with them even as they left the Garden. I believe we share God’s delight in His world when we laugh with one another over something as wholesome as the water and the shore. I can’t help but smile just watching His children celebrating. I think you, Dear Father, for reminding me that sun, wind, sand and ocean are reason enough to laugh, even when small ills trouble me. Thank you for the wonderful gift of laughter to celebrate!