Hope is still there
This year, Ash Wednesday looked like parking in a 12-minute spot on the corner of Bay and Montecito and walking up to the front step of our church building.
This year, Ash Wednesday looked like parking in a 12-minute spot on the corner of Bay and Montecito and walking up to the front step of our church building.
When I worked with youth, one of my favorite events was an agape meal. It started as a Seder and I eventually started calling it “What Would Jesus Eat” which I found hilarious.
Apparently, there are different kinds of ‘alone.’
As this article is being written, I am on the 20th day being home with my husband, two small children, and my mother.
I live in Austin, Texas, where, along with much of the country, I expect to remain under a “Shelter in Place” order during Palm Sunday. What a strange contradiction on a Sunday in which we would ordinarily march around the streets of the church, waving palm branches, and loudly singing, “Hosanna in the highest!”
Howard Thurman writes, “In the stillness of the quiet, if we listen, we can hear the whisper of the heart giving strength to weakness, courage to fear, hope to despair.”
Growing up, I remember the season of Lent as one of reflection and contemplation. Somewhere in young adulthood, the season lost its peacefulness for me.
We have “wittingly” exposed our children to the lyrics and notes of the musical Hamilton.
My very first Ash Wednesday as a baptized member of the Episcopal Church was February 13, 2013. My husband was at home that evening with our infant son, John Paul, and I was at church alone. I
This year Episcopal Relief & Development partnered with Grow Christians for their annual Lenten Meditation book.