Lighting Our Lamps

Now that the days are shorter, I take Cooper, our little Brittany, outside in the dark, morning and evening. My flashlight is a necessity. So, it was appropriate that my Gospel reading for today told the story of the virgins and their lamps waiting for the bridegroom.

In my devotional, Living Faith, author Patricia Livingston suggested a new twist. She used the imagery of faith. We can run out of oil, wearied by too much responsibility and not enough quiet time. Rather than being selfish, it replenishes, allowing our light to burn brighter.

Streams in the Desert, also had an excellent example. Our spiritual life is like a garden. The more we tend it, the more beautiful it becomes. Perhaps our neighbor will decide to improve his own. Frantic busyness doesn’t accomplish anything other than to prevent refilling our spirits.

As I walked out in the country dark this morning, the stars were a brilliant canopy of light. I even saw a meteor. Later, while back inside my warm house, dawn shimmered along the eastern mountains, first in hues of rose, then gold. The wind stilled, and so did my racing thoughts.

God doesn’t need my constant chatter. Sometimes, a quiet silence offers as much praise as a litany of prayers. Done often enough, it will take root and grow, keeping my lamp lit regardless of how long the bridegroom tarries.

Easter Will Never Be the Same

I watched the movie, The Passion, for the first time this week. I had been warned it was brutal and was prepared for the graphic content. The viciousness with which Jesus was tortured was well portrayed by the actors. They laughed at His  agony, obviously getting great pleasure from His suffering. The old pun certainly applied: they added insults to His injuries. I couldn't help but think how He could have humbled them in an instant, but that wasn't His purpose. Not only was he atoning for our sins, He was setting an example of what true love is: how we are to love our enemies. 

At His death, the earthquake shook the ground, and thunder and lightening rent the sky. His tormentors were no longer laughing. I laughed. "Ah ha! You aren't laughing now, are you? Serves you right!"  The moment I uttered those words, I remembered His words, "Father forgive them, for they know not what they do."

Jesus forgave the men who took pleasure in torturing Him, laughing as He lay in agony.  His words of forgiveness must have astounded those standing close enough to hear. Tortured beyond what was humanly possible to endure, and yet asking God to forgive those responsible. In a culture conditioned to an eye for an eye it must have seemed unthinkable. Even in our kinder, gentler society this is hard.

Imagine a Holocaust survivor forgiving the camp commandant and their guards. And what about the men who tortured Daniel Pearl in such a horrific manner? Forgive them as well? I struggle with the idea, yet, this is exactly what Jesus has done. As for myself, I forgave my ex-husband for those years of abuse - and meant it - but I did not ask God to forgive him, nor have I prayed for him. I fell two steps short of God's example.


Easter will never be the same. I can no longer just pass off the mental idea of  they mocked Him, or deny the other reality: had He had died in any other way, it would not have been so life changing, thought provoking, heartrending. It leaves me with no other choice than to work harder at truly living my Christian faith.