HOLY WEEK: Choices

for Holy Saturday

What way is there left to choose
after what’s been done 
to who we’ve chosen? 

This is not what I expected, Abba— 
you said come, costly, 
but all I could see was a new road
to the tree of life on a far hill,
those thousands of desperate feet 
leaping like deer and 
I didn’t believe you. 

Now you tell me wait, joy,
but all I can see is a shorn tree, 
ivory bones the only moon in 
noonday darkness, 
what’s left of the garden 
from knives and scattering feet
and I still don’t believe you.

But these coals and hillside skin
I do remember, and the fire 
that lived low in your eyes 
when you said Abba, 

when you asked your questions too 
when the sun had dipped 
so bloody low and
you chose.

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“CAN YOU TAKE 30 MINUTES OF YOUR DAY TODAY TO SIMPLY SIT AND WAIT IN JOYFUL ANTICIPATION? NOTICE WHAT COMES UP IN THIS TIME OF STILLNESS.”

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Fran Westwood is an emerging Canadian poet writing from Toronto. She writes poems that help her pay attention, often on finding belonging and bridges in diverse landscapes.

Fran’s work has been published by Contemporary Verse 2, the Poetry Pub and For Women Who Roar. She has pieces forthcoming in Prairie Fire, Inanna's Canadian Women Studies journal and in a 2021 collection by Flying Ketchup Press.

HOLY WEEK: RAPHA; A MOVING MEDITATION

Rapha is a visual experience that meditates on the crucifixion death of Christ. The video engages the physical senses through sound, sight and the kinesthetic. The viewer is invited in to experience the strips of linen, in which they describe binding Jesus’ wounds with in John 19:40 - which says, "Taking Jesus' body, the two of them wrapped it with the spices in strips of linen, in accordance with Jewish burial customs." 

Jesus embodied suffering through his death and resurrection. With the same strips of linen they bound his wounded body, our wounds are bound as well. It takes great care and intention to care for another's wound. John 19:38-40 tells the story of two of the most unlikely men, in the covering of the night, who took Jesus' body down from the cross and wrapped it with oils and strips of linen. They had loved him and cared for him even in his death. With all their hope now darkened there was nothing else they could do, so they cared for him with this tender act of the binding. In Psalm 147:3, the Hebrew word for "bind" is "RAPHA" which means “to heal.”

As you watch the video, consider the following prompts for reflection:
The dancer embodies the surrender we must have to allow Christ’s death to become our healing as we offer our own wounds to be bound. The loosening of the cloth represents the freedom that comes with healing. 
What might you need to surrender in order to allow your wounds to be bound by the linen? 

What/how does the visual experience of the strips of cloth make you feel? 

When else in Jesus’ life is he wrapped in linen for the sake of the world? 

Along with his, our wounds can be wrapped and encircled by the strips of linen and laid in a grave to be healed and resurrected as new life. However, surrender must precede the binding. Just as Jesus surrendered all on the cross, we must surrender and allow him to see our wounds. Many of us go through life too scared to face our pain, and our wounds are left unattended. That's when they can fester and manifest in ways such as anger, rejection, disappointment, loneliness, depression, numbness, inadequacy or anxiousness. These feelings will eventually manifest themselves through the body in some way. We are physical beings meant to experience all things through our body, which Christ showed us with his time on earth. The very foundation of our faith is built upon the death and resurrection of Christ’s physical body.

I created this meditative video to engage with the binding up of our wounds in a tactile, vivid way to not only engage spiritually but also physically with the healing presence of God.

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Libby John holds a BS from the U of MN with an emphasis in dance. She’s been teaching dance technique for 15+ years and also does freelance choreography for local schools, universities and churches. Her work has been performed at the MN Fringe Festival, Project Dance NYC and YWAM School of Dance Studies. Also a singer/songwriter, Libby has released two albums of original music since 2017. She created and hosts the podcast “Art & Faith Conversations” to highlight more voices of professional artists of faith and encourage others in their search for deeper meaning in their creative identity. She resides in Minnesota with her 3 daughters and husband of 18 years.

HOLY WEEK: ON THE BRINK OF A BARREN LAND

here i stand on the edge
of wildness
on the cusp
of wilderness
on the brink
of a barren land
eyes straining
sight searching
for a road through

Repent, for the Kingdom of Heaven
is near!

finally i spot it
a silver sliver
snaking, winding
’round rocky outcrops
through thistle thickets
down deep, dark defiles
this is the way You’ve
made for me?

Repent, for the Kingdom of Heaven
is at hand!

surely this
is not the way —
this wasted world
these waterless clouds
that riddling route —
surely this wanting road
is not
the way home
and yet …

Repent, for the Kingdom of Heaven
is near you!

here i stand on the edge
of wildness
on the cusp
of wilderness
on the brink
of a barren land
waiting
dreading
longing
to take
the first step

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“THERE IS A LOT GOING ON IN THE WORLD RIGHT NOW. IS THERE ANYTHING PREVENTING YOU FROM FULLY ENGAGING IN HOLY WEEK THIS YEAR? A SPECIFIC EMOTION, A FEAR, A NUMBNESS? WHAT IS HOLDING YOU AT THE EDGE OF WILDNESS AND WILDERNESS?”

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Amelia Freidline has been writing poems since she was 8 and telling stories since she could talk. She is a member of The Poetry Pub and also has six collections of poems, prose, and pictures about the seasons of Advent, Lent, and ordinary life. She lives in her childhood home in Kansas City.

LENT: VIRIDITAS

How will they hear is your concern,
Romans has been asking for years.
My concern is where it grows from and how it grows—
your sculpted maps, lips white with practice.

The Good News. You clean it out from under your fingernails, 
wash your baby of its food art mess before pictures.
Put lined boots on at first frost and walk past the weakest bodies of it.
In your pocket will good turn to grey? If songs become grey and paper fades,
if the maidenhair fern is silenced and in the rainbow you see only grey stripes.

If the vine and cloth age grey and the lettered olive shell clutches 
against a grey riverbank. If you miss the saw whet owl for the greying sky.
If butter yellow husked fields and the Greenbelt become grey
and stories remain only in Northern stone—

how will you hear
if your eyes close down to green leaf, the reddest of red wines, 
the living page, the colours of a hand?

*Reference: Romans 10:14, the Bible.

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“WHAT COLORS ARE YOU (YOUR VISION, YOUR SPIRIT, YOUR ATTITUDE) REVEALING TO OTHERS?”

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Fran Westwood is an emerging Canadian poet writing from Toronto. She writes poems that help her pay attention, often on finding belonging and bridges in diverse landscapes.

Fran’s work has been published by Contemporary Verse 2, the Poetry Pub and For Women Who Roar. She has pieces forthcoming in Prairie Fire, Inanna's Canadian Women Studies journal and in a 2021 collection by Flying Ketchup Press.

LENT: WHEN I'M NOT FRANTIC

For lent
I gave up caffeine—
my drug of choice.

Somewhere
I had decided that life was
too hard
to live without caffeine,
so I kept slurping it down.

Oh God, now I have to feel!
Now I know when I’m tired.
now I can’t blame my heart racing,
my body aching,
on caffeine.

Survival had become easy.
Two hours of sharp brain function
to four hours of survival.
How blunt everything feels now,
how dull and commonplace.

How dirty the floor,
how gusty the wind,
how hot the sun,
how slow the day crawls
when I’m not frantic.

Slow. Slower. Slowly
the pace of my life returns
to humanity.

Shorn, my prayers are angrier,
my meditation melancholy.
My laughter lavish.
My emotions acute.

A sharp brain for two hours a day
trapped my senses
in a cage of survival.

Why do I hate being human
so much?

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“IN WHAT WAYS DO YOU FEEL ‘TRAPPED IN A CAGE OF SURVIVAL?’ WHAT ARE YOU USING TO NUMB OR DISTRACT? CAN YOU ALLOW YOURSELF TO FEEL WHAT’S REALLY THERE?”

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Sara Cassidy is a wife, mother, college student, and writer from Oklahoma.

LENT: WHERE THE LIGHT GETS IN

Lent was always my season in the Liturgical calendar. While all those around me seemed to celebrate the divine nature of Christ and celebrate His resurrection every week, I felt that the Lenten season was when I found Christ’s humanity on display. As he spent forty days in the desert being tempted until his crucifixion and resurrection, my sometimes-melancholy nature could relate.  

As I got older, I often still found myself surrounded by many who focused on who we are post-resurrection. This is not to say that the glory and the triumph of Christ over sin and death is to be made light of, but to say, I always wondered why the truly human moments leading up to the death, resurrection and ascension meant so little to them.  

Over the past couple weeks, I have been able to ponder and dwell on this forty-day season. I have been reminded of the poignant moments and what we can take from them. I look at this season when many give something up and accept the challenge of being tempted as an opportunity to see what it means to live a kingdom life in the here and now. Through prayer, and patience, I offer the following model (or continuum) of change, that we can discover through Lent. 

THE OPPOSITION
Just as Christ went into the desert for forty days; we too will walk toward struggle in this life. We are going to recognize parts of our nature that need to change, and we know these changes do not happen overnight. During this season, many of us willingly open ourselves up to the challenge to change, welcoming the struggle to be better by giving up something that we enjoy or distracts (chocolate, television, etc.). We acknowledge that much of what we have is excess, and that, at some point, it must be rejeced. But as Christ did during His time being tempted, we can rely on the words of God to push back against complacency. We can stand on our faith to resist.  

THE BREAKING
We also might have a Gethsemane moment. It might be due to our commitment to fasting, or just a moment of awareness on what we need to do for that little mustard seed of change to be planted. If we are blessed enough to have this moment, no matter how much we desire the cup to pass from us, we can also respond, “your will be done.”. We can hope that an angel will appear to strengthen us too. In Gethsemane is my human Jesus, a man scared about what is to come, a man that knows what breaking will mean and is willing to endure it.   

During this season or any season, we can and will have these moments of internal struggle. We will want to give up or throw in the towel on our personal betterment. It can be the challenges we face as parents, spouses, or just being a believer in the world struggling to make the Kingdom known to a deaf world. We know changes or personal growth (patience, unconditional love, kindness) are good, but we do not believe that we are up to the task - we just do not have the will power to persist. We return to find our support network asleep. We might break a little, but we also strive to be faithful and get by with a little help from our friends, even the ones who fall asleep when we need them the most.

DEATH
Then, a part of us must die. For our forty-day journey through Lent to be purposeful (or meaningful), we must die so that we can be changed into something new. We will not be the same person on day forty that we were on day one. It is our sincerest hope that some barrier to growth in our life will be gone. We will see the death of pride, envy, jealousy, materialism or our cynicism. But no matter how big or small the change, the old person is dead and a new one, even if only different in the slimmest of ways, is alive.

THE RENEWAL
A new season arrives. A new man appears. The slightest changing of the heart has occurred. Maybe someone has been forgiven, or forgiveness has been sought and received. A new person stands where the old one was, but our scars remain. The scars remain and we often feel that these are the things that hurt our story, our truth. We are afraid that if someone knows about our past, our story of change loses its power. If we confess that we used to struggle with any vice, our ability to share the way of Jesus is destroyed. The truth is that our scars are the story. The scars are the revelation of who Christ is. One of the first things Jesus did after the resurrection was let a disciple touch His scars. Even someone who was close to Jesus needed the scars to believe.  

The scars show that damage was done, but the wounds have healed. The story of the healing is where Christ comes through - reminding us “the wound is where the light gets in.”*

*Walter Wangerin, Jr.

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“TAKE TIME THIS WEEK TO STOP AND REFLECT ON THE HUMANNESS OF JESUS.”

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GREG DIETZ lives in Texas with his family. He works for the local university during the day and helps where he can with his wife’s business. He is currently working on a fantasy novel for each of his kids and hopes they never lose their sense of wonder and amazement. He loves the journey he is on with his family.

LENT: PROPHET I & II

PROPHET I

it’s steep scree
a quick journey back down 
to dry plains
to a desperate mind—

this soul opened,
is starving

where is there raw grains
and heat

a clear river and 
new wine as the 
ancient words say?

this heart stood,
bared its courage—

spoke fire
shattering muddied glass
and marble walls 
so bodies could 
breathe

now where is Presence
with mighty wings

where is a Mother’s beak
that knows exactly how 
to feed?

PROPHET II

a small wing
sandy cries, suspended
echoes in endless air—

until, after sleep
feathers of grace

a beaded beak stoops low
to touch my mouth,

quick to fill
fresh loaves over new fire

singing brooks to 
my desert soil 
and skin—

earth and belly
still enough
to receive

the feast of
closer than
breath

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“IN WHAT WAYS DO YOU LONG FOR THE SPIRIT TO HEAL AND NOURISH YOUR “DESERT SOIL AND SKIN?””

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Fran Westwood is an emerging Canadian poet writing from Toronto. She writes poems that help her pay attention, often on finding belonging and bridges in diverse landscapes.

Fran’s work has been published by Contemporary Verse 2, the Poetry Pub and For Women Who Roar. She has pieces forthcoming in Prairie Fire, Inanna's Canadian Women Studies journal and in a 2021 collection by Flying Ketchup Press.

LENT: THE COLOR PURPLE

I did not grow up in a liturgical tradition, but I can still recall the purple cloth draped over the wooden cross on a church near my childhood home. In the final months of winter as spring beckoned, the richness of the dyed fabric, in all its majesty and sorrow, elicited curiosity in my young mind. Why was this regal relic braving the cold, only to be cast off at Easter and replaced with a flowing white alternative?

In recent years, I have become more acquainted with the liturgical seasons of the Church and their accompanying colors, as my husband is now what Jane Austen would call, a “Clergyman.” I still have a great deal to learn about leaning into the richness and rhythm the Church calendar offers, but the more I enter in, the more I see it as a gift.  

It is a gift to the Church, to all of us - a reminder that we live in the Kingdom of God, governed not by man, but by God; ordered not by anxiety, but by the Prince of Peace; mitigated not by false hope, but by Hope himself.

The season of Lent is part of this gift.  

The duality of purpose in the color purple during the season of Lent is as beautiful and juxtaposed as the fasting that accompanies it and the feasting that follows. On the one hand the Church is draped in purple because it signifies mourning. We mourn for the day we know is coming, when we remember Christ crucified, the perfect one who suffered under the weight of our sin. And yet, even in our mourning, we know our story does not end with Christ crucified, but with death conquered and Christ risen. Only the sovereign King of the universe can do such a thing; and thus, we also clothe our Church in purple to signify Christ’s royalty as King and his coming resurrection at Easter.

The color purple, in its complexity of meaning, reflects something of the complexity we face in this season of Lent. As we lean into Christ, mourning over sin and clearing the clutter of our hearts, we also anticipate the coming feast.

Have you ever attended a dinner party in which it is exceptionally clear that the host put their heart into preparing this place for you?  The atmosphere, the food, the warmth of fellowship so rich that you know unequivocally the host has gone to great lengths to make ready your seat at the table? The host’s gladness at your presence assures you that you are wholly welcomed.

What would it be like to engage in Lent as though we are preparing to attend this meal? What would it be like to engage in Lent as intentional preparation to dine with the King? Perhaps, we would get a taste of the coming Kingdom, and the Kingdom come.  

To encounter the mercy of the suffering servant, to fast in the presence of the decadent one, to pray in a posture of expectation, these are the invitations of the season of Lent. These are the precepts of the purple cloth.

This Lenten season as we lay a purple cloth across our wooden tables and wait for the coming feast of Easter, may we taste and see that the Lord is good.  As we mourn, may we also prepare to rejoice. As we anticipate the Easter feast, may we remember that the table has been set with great care, and at great cost, by the Host himself, the coming King.

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“THE COLOR PURPLE OFFERS AN INVITATION TO MOURN, AND AN INVITATION TO THE COMING EASTER FEAST. HOW MIGHT YOU RESPOND TO THESE INVITATIONS THIS SEASON?”

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Katie Setterberg is a mother of three, licensed professional counselor, and children’s book author. She enjoys good coffee, bookshops, and the extraordinary beauty of ordinary days. Katie is married to a priest, the Anglican kind, and has been befriended by the liturgical Church in all of its beauty and quirks. Katie seeks to write meaningful words for adults as well as children, but is primarily immersed in the world of Children’s books as she expects to release her first picture book, From Your Head to Your Toes, sometime this year.

LENT: dust

It's on the days
it flashes by in feeds
that someone else has left us;
on the days
we remember 
all those woven into eternity,
a tapestry of the never-forgotten,
the always-loved;
on the days 
we debate over
who's lives really matter;
on the days
we forget it all
or cannot stifle the 
memory,
so we suffocate silently
beneath our coffin lids.

The end is always present
in my flesh and in my blood,
like the burgeoning beginning
behind each closing eye - 
a familiar tingle up the spine
when silence falls
around me -

but it's ever-presence 
doesn't make each passage
any purer.
No, it's all just slowly staining
like the wine within the glass,
licking up the sides
until it spills.

So I grieve again,
I grieve. For what is earth
except to teach us
how to grieve?

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“LAY OUT BEFORE GOD A LIST OF THINGS THAT BURDEN YOU, AND GIVE YOURSELF THE SPACE YOU NEED TO GRIEVE WITH HIM OVER THEM.”

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Simone Bailey Campbell is a Jamaican born, New Jersey-based artist and product designer. Her creative practice is influenced by the bright colors, flora and fauna of her Caribbean upbringing and the urban life and fashion of her life in Miami, Florida, New York City and New Jersey. Although her formal training is in design, her visual art grew from self-development and a need for a more fluid and looser form of expression. It has carried her through many difficult periods of her life. It is Simone’s intention to use her artwork to do the same for others, that is to uplift, soothe and add joy to your life.

She currently uses watercolor, acrylic and latex paint, ink, wood, found objects and beeswax to create mixed media, works on paper and sculptural candles. Murals have become a natural extension of her creative practice. It's an opportunity to expand all the things she loves about creating art as well as interacting and implementing community ideas.

In addition to artwork and murals, Simone co-owns and runs Mahogany Blu Design with her spouse, Campbell.

Chris Wheeler is a poet and storyteller from northwest Indiana. He receives inspiration from the rural landscape of Indiana, his experiences as a father, and his faith. His work has found a home at Barren Magazine, Fathom, Kingdoms in the Wild, The Rabbit Room, and Foundling House, among others. He recently released his first full-length book of poetry, SOLACE: POEMS FOR THE BROKEN SEASON, and posts micropoetry regularly on Instagram @solace_poems and other writing on www.chriswheelerwrites.com.

WELCOME TO LENT | SOME THOUGHTS AS WE ENTER

I love Lent. I don’t know if this is normal, but I do. 

The only thing I can really remember about it growing up is the face of my childhood best friend, a devout catholic, who wasn’t allowed to eat meat on Fridays. I can also envision her mother, warmly inviting me in to their practice while gently alleviating the pressure by passing it off as “just something we silly Catholics do.” 

At home, I wondered what God had to do with my eating habits as I slowly ate the chicken that was served to me, feeing a little further from God with each bite. Surely, I was doomed.

Even though I was also raised in a church that followed the liturgical year, we didn’t talk about it at home. I heard the word often, but mostly associated the season with changing the cords on my acolyte garments from green to purple. As I walked down the aisle on those Sundays when it was my turn to light the altar candles, the purple sanctuary always reminded me of the frilly colors of spring soon to come. Reverent in my childhood duties, I felt as though I belonged to a greater mystery. After all, I was carrying the presence of the Lord. My little mind was always trying to connect the dots. There was so much I didn’t understand.

Soon, I would leave this liturgical church for an experiment in evangelicalism, academia, and pretty much every other denomination. In many of these worlds, practicing Lent doesn’t really exist. After all, we’ve been saved! What do we need to enter back into our sin and brokenness? What do we need with liturgy or ritual?

I still didn’t understand, so I ignored the season.

Then along came a college assignment. I was in a Spiritual Formation class, and (for extra credit, mind you) we were assigned a 7 week media fast, which also fell over the season of Lent. This was half the semester. I’m not talking shut off your social media for a little while, I’m talking literally ALL media. No TV or Netflix, no movies, no music, no internet, certainly no social media. Not even texting! The only thing that was allowed was reading books or magazines and using the internet and e-mail for school related purposes only. If we needed to contact someone, we could call them in a phone call that could not exceed 10 minutes. We had to journal through our experience. 

My faith was maturing, I was learning the way I always related to God was actually a thing (oh, the contemplative life!), and I had never really fasted from anything before, so I was all in. How hard could it be? 

Let me tell you, some serious chains and habits I didn’t even know bound me were broken. Within the first week, I started experiencing horrific nightmares. I would wake up every night in a sweaty panic. A few of those nights, I could have sworn there was a physical weight being pressed down on me, luring me out of sleep into anxiety. One night, I woke up and was sure something else was in the room. 

For the first time, probably ever, I was left alone with only God and those around to get me though the days. I became extremely acquainted with the demon of distraction. I began to see what it was I was constantly reaching for (and it wasn’t God). Oh, how quick I am to numb! I began to see the lies that subtly bombard our society. 

In all of this, something really clicked for me. I recognized the meaning in fasting, the purpose of the season. I understood, finally, that Lent is not some archaic, masochistic ritual. It is a beautiful spiritual practice of the ancients. 

Since this experience, Lent has looked different to me each year. Sometimes, I know exactly what needs to be removed from my eyes or my heart or my mind. Others, I am fumbling for something to “give up”. It feels forced, so I don’t. There were a few years where I could not even bear the thought of having to let go of one more thing.

Yet no matter what’s going on in my life, I come to the ashes always the same - a broken human being, capable of both joy and sorrow, of both endless giggles and salty tears, an amalgam of highs and lows, sin and glory.

I love Lent because I am dirty and desperately human. On Ash Wednesday, we marked our heads with ash not because we are without hope, but because we know for sure we will be made clean again. We must first feel the grit in our hands.

We walk with it on our head for a while as we draw near to God in the wilderness of Ash Wednesday to Holy Week - until Maundy Thursday - where our friends, our neighbors, our savior will wash our feet, our hands, our face, comfort us, and tell us that we're beautiful.

What a relief it is to be reminded that we are human and broken, and that God was, too; human and broken. 

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“AS EACH YEAR PASSES, HOW HAVE YOUR LIFE EXPERIENCES INFLUENCED YOUR VIEW OR UNDERSTANDING OF LENT?”