Sound of Music
Read: Colossians 3:16
Since my junior choir days, I have loved to sing. I'm glad I belong
to a church where worship services are filled with singing—in hymns,
liturgy, and choir anthems. I'm happy I grew up in a church with a
beautiful pipe organ, an organist who played J.S. Bach preludes, and a
choir director who taught us many kinds of religious music.
Over the years, I have sometimes become complacent about hymn
singing. I never could have guessed how that would change, surrounded
today by a congregation that is a family of singers! We sing everything
enthusiastically. Though small—about 140 worshipers each Sunday—we
boast five choirs and an inspiring range of songs, from familiar hymns
and spirituals to Gospel songs and music by G.F. Handel. We sing through
Holy Communion, when even the heartiest of singers usually straggle off.
When learning a new hymn, we sing with gusto.
There is something extraordinary about belonging to a singing
congregation. It fills my heart with joy to be surrounded by a church
family that lifts every voice and sings praises to our Lord and Savior,
Jesus Christ.
During Lent, the hymns of the church reflect the somber Passion of
our Lord. For our church, this is another opportunity to raise our
voices and sing with the prophet Isaiah: "The LORD is my strength
and my song; He has become my salvation" (Isaiah 12:2).
Prayer: Come, let us sing for joy to the Lord; Let us shout
aloud to the Rock of our salvation. Amen.
Response: Sing with joy! 
Trust
Read: Mark 4:38-39
As a child, I took swimming lessons at the local YMCA and spent
summers at the lake. I earned my lifeguard certification as a camp
counselor, so I was confident taking children from my Mississippi
neighborhood swimming at a local lake. The children, not good swimmers,
played happily near the shore. Then we linked arms and ventured out, me
leading. We happily splashed through waist-high water until I stepped
down to find no ground under me. We must have been near the drop-off and
I had taken one wrong step.
Suddenly all four of us were flailing in water over our heads. The
children panicked and grabbed me, forcing me down every time I came up
for air. No one could help us—I was the best swimmer in our group—and
any rescue attempt would have been dangerous. Finally, with unexplained
strength, I pushed the children toward shore and we got our footing. All
was well. Since then I've learned to use life preservers.
I've also learned that too often my "trust" in God is
really trust in my own ability or in shallow water. Martin Luther said
the same of disciples' trust: They thought they trusted Jesus, but they
really trusted the calm water, clear sky, and their own competence with
boats. "They were unaware that their faith was founded on what they
could see," he wrote. During Lent our trust is turned heavenward.
We turn a blind eye to the world and open our eyes of faith to Jesus,
Calmer of storms, Saver of souls.
Prayer: Fix my eyes on You, O Jesus, Author and Perfecter of
my faith. Amen.
Response: Trust in the Lord and lean not on yourself!
Invisible
Read: Luke 13:10-12
My first volunteer job in rural Mississippi was as janitor at the small
Christian school where my husband taught. I was sure this humble position
would teach me true servanthood.
When I visited the school, the teachers always said "hello" and
shared stories about the kids. But when I showed up to clean, no one
acknowledged me. With a mop in my hand and a scarf on my head, I became
invisible. My invisibility opened my eyes to people in my own neighborhood
who were "invisible": A child who wandered the streets without
supervision, a man who lived in a shack, an elderly woman with bad feet.
Jesus saw the bent woman, someone who was invisible to many around her.
When He healed her, none of the church leaders rejoiced. Instead, they
criticized Him for healing on the Sabbath. Jesus sees us all, daughters and
sons of Abraham, with an eye especially on the poor, the crippled, the
imprisoned. His eye sees me, no matter how invisible I am to those around
me. Through His redeeming love, I see the invisible people in my
neighborhood.
Prayer: Keep my eyes ever on You, LORD, for only You can release
my feet from the snare. Amen.
Response: Pray that God will help open your eyes and heart to
someone invisible.
Without Water
Read: Psalm 63:1
Mary buys water for her three children—ages 5, 6, and 8—bucket-by-bucket
from her neighbor. The plumbing at her house is broken and her landlord
won't fix it. Willie Lee, 83, whose arthritic knees swell up twice their
size, gets her water from a spigot in her front yard. Her house doesn't have
plumbing. The year is 2004, and Mary and Willie Lee are my neighbors in
rural Alabama. Families and the vulnerable elderly in my own community are
living without one of life's essentials—water.
I take water for granted. A flick of the knob and it's plentiful, safe,
and cheap. But I rarely drink it if I have a choice. In the same way, I too
often take my Living Water—my Savior Jesus Christ—for granted. In sin, I
rely on my own abilities and choose my own way.
During Lent, I confess my self-centeredness and ask for Christ's
forgiveness. I pray for the desire to drink deeply of the wells of
salvation. My Lenten journey reminds me that I cannot live one day without
the Water of Life He offers in His sacrificial death and victorious
resurrection. I long to be one of the blessed who "hunger and thirst
for righteousness" (Matthew 5:6).
Water lines to all homes are not a reality in rural Alabama. But I can
take Christ's Living Water to Mary, Willie Lee, and everyone I meet.
Prayer: Come to Calvary's holy mountain, sinners, ruined by the
fall; here a pure and healing fountain flows for you, for me for all. In
Jesus we pray. Amen
Response: Thank Jesus every time you use water today.
Lessons from a Three-Year-Old
Read: Isaiah 30:19
My friend's three-year-old and I were at the park, playing on the swings
and slides. When it was time to leave, he didn't want to go. This he
communicated with an ear-piercing, hair-raising scream. I was surprised as
he is an amazingly articulate child with nearly perfect manners.
I know that part of the scream was exhaustion and hunger. We had been
playing for two hours and he was too excited to eat the lunch we had
brought. While he thought he wanted to play longer, he really needed to
rest. And eat. Both he repeatedly refused.
After I took him home, I reflected on the surprising jolt. How does a
tiny guy communicate with big people? He had something to say, his words
weren't having the desired effect, so it was time to increase the volume. I
thought about my own conversations with God: How often do my silent prayers
seem to melt into empty air? Aren't there times I feel I need to shout to
get God's attention?
My Lenten journey, full of bumps and bruises, can be a time to pick up
the volume. Too often my disappointments are masked in silence. I know there
is nothing God can't hear, even feelings too full to speak (see Romans
8:26). But He also listens to my walloping wails. In Christ, who cried out
to God in His suffering, I hear the passion God so richly deserves. In
Christ, I cry out, knowing He hears and He answers (see Psalm 34:17).
Prayer: Hear my prayer, O Lord, and let my cry come unto You.
Amen.
Response: Cry out loud to God!
Humility
Read: Philippians 2:3-4
When Samuel, a fourth grader, walked onto the stage at the end of the
school year, I wished for drum roll, cymbals, and fireworks. Though there
wasn't even lukewarm applause as he received his perfect attendance award,
his achievement was worthy of a standing ovation.
Samuel is one of seven children who look after themselves nights while
their mom works at a chicken factory. He scrounges for clothes to wear and
often doesn't even have a pencil. Schoolwork does not come easy and he is
too shy to ask for help. In February, his family moved out of their house
after a fire.
For me, getting to school meant my parents, who did not work in a factory
all night, woke me. They provided clean clothes and breakfast. If I missed
the bus, my dad took me. We were never homeless from a fire.
Samuel humbled me. Every day he competed in the "Olympics" of
hurdle-jumping to get to school. Every day—rain, shine … or fire—he
made it.
God calls us to humbly look out for the interests of others, I believe,
so that we can learn from them how to "make a way out of no way"
through Jesus, the Way, the Truth, and the Life.
Prayer: Humble me, Almighty God, so I might look always up to
Thee! In Jesus name. Amen.
Response: Whose interests can you look after today?
Opposites
Read: 1 John 2:15-17
One of the games the young children love playing was the opposite game.
They turn their shirts inside out or backwards and say the opposite of
what they mean. "We'll have ice cream for dinner and tuna for
dessert," says one six-year-old. "I LOVE to do homework!"
says a seven-year-old. "I'm rich and the banks have no money!"
exclaims another. Kids love the flip-flop silliness of the game. On
opposite day, adult "logic" gets stood on its head.
Some days I feel like I'm still playing the opposite game. Our world
seems topsy-turvy. Sports heroes and movie stars make millions;
missionaries struggle for support. We are measured by how we look, where
we live, what we own. People with beautiful spirits are often ignored.
Our families, people who should love and care for us, can neglect and
abuse us.
Looking at the cross, we see the absolute opposite world: Jesus
Christ, perfect Son of God, is crucified by the crowd of sinners,
including me.
During Lent, we remember that Christ redeems us out of our sin and
selfishness to forgiveness and discipleship. Through the cross, He gives
us power to live "opposite" the world.
Prayer: What is the world to me, with all its vaunted
pleasure, when You and You alone, Lord Jesus, are my treasure! Amen.
Response: Help send a missionary into the world with the Word!
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