Friday, February 12, 2016

Hello there, friend,

When I was a child, my father took my brother and me to a Presbyterian church. He was a deacon there, despite never being baptized and having recently divorced. We attended that church for years and somehow never grasped the concept of the liturgical year. No fuss was made over Epiphany or Lent or ordinary time, which may not be uncommon. I don't really know.

Before we moved back to New York, my husband and I attended a Presbyterian church that was steeped in liturgy. It was there that we first learned what it meant to be part of a church family, part of the body as it was meant to be. And every Wednesday during Lent the church would serve a dinner of bread and broth (though, usually, the soup was hearty) before an evening service. It was a weekly reminder that we are not just giving up something just because, but that we are showing up for the same God who showed up for us.

I liked it, the marking of time in this way, the return to the root of it all. And so, going into this weekend, I am contemplating how I might bring that sense of rhythm into our Lenten weeks. Perhaps it will be with bread and broth. That sounds good.