Wednesday, February 25, 2009
A Brief Note on Lent
Lent is an interesting period in the church calendar. Originally intended to symbolize Christ's temptation in the desert, it has become one of the largest celebrated seasons in the World. As today is Ash Wednesday, the first day of lent, I thought it might be appropriate to discuss what I'm doing for Lent, and why so many people get it wrong.
Lent is more about having a right heart than it is about sacrificing something. Many people wrongly decide to observe Lent as an exercise of their will power, not understanding the greater significance of their fast. This year, as the first year I will observe Lent, I have both given up a couple of things and added something to my life. I will be drinking one gallon of water everyday, and will be giving up the majority of carbonated drinks. My goal is no more than 4x12oz cans a week. The one other thing I intend to do over this period of fasting is to eat out less, and eat with my family more. All of my "sacrifices" for Lent are directly related to two guiding principles of life that I am trying to stick with. First, that my body is not my own, but God's creation and thus I am expected to maintain it well. I have let my physical well-being slip in the last few years, and this "sacrifice" for Lent is an opportunity to love God with my body. The second driving principle of this concept relates to the biblical command to love my family. As the oldest son, and as one still living in my parents house, I have not obeyed that command well. I hope to be able to spend time with my parents, while living at home, so that when I go over-seas, they will not feel abandoned.
So then, thats my plan for Lent. I'm going to try to Love God and Love my Family.
The Vision?
The vision is Jesus: obsessively, dangerously, undeniably Jesus.
The vision is an army of young people.
You see bones? They are an army.
And they are free from materialism. They laugh at the markets.
They hardly care! They wear clothes like costumes:
to show and to tell, but never to hide.
They know the meaning of the Matrix; the way the West was won.
They are mobile like the wind; they belong to the nations.
They need no passport.
People write their addresses in pencil and wonder at their strange existence.
They are free, yet they are slaves of the hurting and dirty and dying.
What is the vision?
The vision is holiness that hurts the eyes.
It makes children laugh and adults break and cry.
It scorns the good and strains for the best. It is dangerously pure.
This is an army that will lay down its life for the cause.
A million times a day its soldiers choose to lose that they might win, one day
the great "Well done" of faithful sons and daughters.
Such heroes are as radical on Monday morning as Sunday night.
They don't need fame from names. Instead they grin quietly upwards
and hear the crowds chanting again and again: "COME ON!"
And this is the sound of the underground
The whisper of history shaping
Foundations shaking
Revolutionaries dreaming once again
Mystery is screaming in whispers
Conspiracy is breathing...
This is the sound of the underground.
And the army is disciplined.
Young people who beat their bodies into submission.
Every soldier would take a bullet for his comrades at arms.
The tattoo on their backs boasts "For me to live is Christ and to die is gain."
Sacrifice fuels the fire of victory in their eyes.
Winners. Martyrs. Who can stop them?
Can failure succeed? Can fear scare them or death kill them?
And this generation prays like a dying man with groans beyond
talking, with warrior cries, sulphuric tears
Waiting. Watching: 24 - 7 - 365.
Whatever it takes they will give: Breaking the rules.
Shaking mediocrity from its cozy little hide.
Laying down their rights and their precious little wrongs,
laughing at labels, fasting essentials.
The advertisers cannot mold them.
Hollywood cannot hold them.
Peer-pressure is powerless
to shake their resolve
Material clothes matter not
Would they surrender their image or their popularity?
They would lay down their very lives,
swap seats with the man on death row;
guilty as hell.
A throne for an electric chair.
With blood and sweat and many tears,
with sleepless nights and fruitless days,
they pray as if it all depends on God
and live as if it all depends on them.
Their words make demons scream in shopping malls.
Don't you hear them coming?
Here come the frightened and forgotten, with fire in their eyes.
Their prayers summon the hounds of heaven and invoke the ancient dream of Eden.
And this is the sound of the underground
The whisper of history shaping
Foundations shaking
Revolutionaries dreaming once again
Mystery is screaming in whispers
Conspiracy is breathing...
This is the sound of the underground.
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