The Painted Prayerbook

“The Lord is my portion,” says my soul,
“therefore I will hope in God.”
—Lamentations 3.24

From a lectionary reading for Holy Saturday: Lamentations 3.1-9, 19-24

Reflection for Saturday, April 7 (Holy Saturday/Day 40 of Lent)

I’m so taken with the way that, like those who composed the book of Psalms, the author of Lamentations—which tradition held to be the prophet Jeremiah—is able to hold seemingly conflicting emotions at once. Today’s reading consists primarily of—well, you can tell from the title of the book—a lamentation, stunning and suffocating in the way it describes the author’s sense of affliction and imprisonment. God has driven and brought me into darkness without any light, he wails; against me alone God turns a hand, again and again, all day long….God has made me sit in darkness like the dead of long ago. God has walled me about so that I cannot escape.

Though afflicted by destruction, the author of the lament cannot manage to sustain his despair for long. But this I call to mind, he cries out as the lament turns just before its end; and therefore I have hope: The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases, God’s mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning.

Though composed as a lament for the destruction of the Temple and the city of Jerusalem in 586 BCE, one can well imagine why these words came to be associated with Christ in the tomb. Christ, who referred to himself as the Temple, now brought to death and seeming destruction; Christ in the darkness without any light.

In another lectionary passage for Holy Saturday, we read of how, after Joseph of Arimathea places Jesus’ body in the tomb and rolls a stone across the entrance, “Mary Magdalene and the other Mary were there, sitting opposite the tomb” (Matthew 27.61). I wonder if these words from Lamentations came to them in their waiting. In the darkness, in their sorrow, with no evident cause for rejoicing, did they, like the author of Lamentations, yet find cause for hope?

On this day—this last, final day of Lent—it may be tempting to skip ahead to what awaits us on Sunday, without giving Holy Saturday its due. We know the rest of the story. Yet how might it be to linger with these words of lamentation, as if we did not know? What if we sat ourselves down with the women opposite the tomb, and listened to their grief and longing, and waited with them? When times of darkness come in our own lives, and we don’t know the rest of the story, how does what God has done for us in the past give us cause to hope for what God will yet do?

Therefore I Will Hope
A Blessing for Holy Saturday

I have no cause
to linger beside
this place of death,

no reason
to keep vigil
where life has left,

and yet I cannot go,
cannot bring myself
to cleave myself
from here,

can only pray
that this waiting
might yet be a blessing
and this grieving
yet a blessing
and this stone
yet a blessing
and this silence
yet a blessing
still.

—Jan Richardson

2016 update: The blessing “Therefore I Will Hope” appears in my new book, Circle of Grace: A Book of Blessings for the Seasons.

This reflection is part of the series Teach Me Your Paths: A Pilgrimage into Lent.

For previous reflections for Holy Saturday, click the images or titles below.

Holy Saturday: The Art of Enduring

Holy Saturday: A Day Between

[To use the image “Therefore I Will Hope,” please visit this page at janrichardsonimages.com. Your use of janrichardsonimages.com helps make the ministry of The Painted Prayerbook possible. Thank you!]

He will not grow faint or be crushed until he has established justice in the earth; and the coastlands wait for his teaching.
—Isaiah 42.4

From a lectionary reading for Monday of Holy Week: Isaiah 42.1-9

Reflection for Monday, April 2 (Day 35 of Lent)

Today is one of those days that remind me how much the path through Lent resembles the path through Advent. Waiting, preparation, anticipation; the invitation to live both in the now and the not yet; the call to recognize God in the present even as we yearn for a time when God will appear in fullness and bring healing to all creation: these themes that draw us into the season of Christ’s birth draw us also into this season in which we enter into the story of his death and resurrection.

And here, in this passage from Isaiah that contains the first Servant Song, these themes are at full play. The God who fashioned all things—”who created the heavens and stretched them out,” this passage tells us, “who spread out the earth and what comes from it, who gives breath to the people upon it and spirit to those who walk in it”—draws our vision toward a time when creation will be restored, when the servant will bring justice upon the earth, and even the coastlands will wait for his teaching. This passage, stunning in its beauty and in the way it evokes a hope that pervades the entire earth, puts me in mind of Paul’s words in Romans 8.22-25, where he writes of how the whole creation groans in labor pains, crying out for redemption.

For now, we wait. With hope. With longing. With a patience that is not passive but that enables us to perceive where God may be calling us to act for the healing of the world. “See, the former things have come to pass,” today’s passage from Isaiah tells us at its close, “and new things I now declare; before they spring forth, I tell you of them.” On this Holy Monday, what new thing do you yearn for? What will you do to help prepare a way for it to appear upon the earth?

Blessing for Holy Monday

May the path
that Christ walks
to bring justice
upon the earth,
to bring light
to those who sit
in darkness,
to bring out those
who live in bondage,
to bring new things
to all creation:

may this path
run through our life.
May we be
the road Christ takes.

[To use the image “The Coastlands Wait for His Teaching,” please visit this page at janrichardsonimages.com. Your use of janrichardsonimages.com helps make the ministry of The Painted Prayerbook possible. Thank you!]

She has done what she could;
she has anointed my body beforehand for its burial.
—Mark 14.8

From a lectionary reading for Passion/Palm Sunday: Mark 14.1-15.47

Reflection for Saturday, March 31 (Day 34 of Lent)

She comes to the table. She comes from beyond the boundaries. She comes as if she belongs. She comes as if her whole life has been distilled into this one gesture that she offers: lifting, breaking, pouring. She comes with no words, yet with her entire being she proclaims a message both prophetic and priestly as she ministers to Jesus just days before his death.

Several nights ago, at a Lenten service at my home church of Trinity United Methodist Church in Gainesville, Florida, I preached about this woman who offers her extravagant gift to Christ. As we reflected on this story, I shared with the congregation about what a significant companion and teacher this woman has been for me, particularly in my ministry as an artist in the church. We in the church often think of acts of beauty and grace as somehow separate from—and less important than—acts of justice and caring for others. Like Jesus’ dining companions that day, we tend to think of what is creative and artful as a luxury, as tangential, as wasteful.

Yet this woman’s graceful gesture—and Jesus’ grateful receiving of it—dispels such a notion. This story impresses upon us how beauty and justice are not separate from one another but are each part of our response to the Christ who offers himself to us with extravagant love and grace, and who calls us to offer bread and beauty from the same hand.

As we reflected on this woman’s lavish gift that ministered to Jesus’ deepest need, I shared  a question I want to share with you. It’s a question inspired by Macrina Wiederkehr’s reflection on this story in her book Seasons of Your Heart:

What are you willing to waste on Jesus?

Blessing of Balm

When we see
the body of Christ
still broken in this world,
may we meet it
with lavish grace
and pour ourselves out
with extravagant love.

—Jan Richardson

[To use the image “Anointed,” please visit this page at janrichardsonimages.com. Your use of janrichardsonimages.com helps make the ministry of The Painted Prayerbook possible. Thank you!]

Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself.
—Philippians 2.5-7

From a lectionary reading for Palm/Passion Sunday: Philippians 2.5-11

Reflection for Friday, March 30 (Day 33 of Lent)

Blessing that Becomes Empty
as It Goes

This blessing
keeps nothing
for itself.
You can find it
by following the path
of what it has let go,
of what it has learned
it can live without.

Say this blessing out loud
a few times
and you will hear
the hollow places
within it,
how it echoes
in a way
that gives your voice
back to you
as if you had never
heard it before.

Yet this blessing
would not be mistaken
for any other,
as if,
in its emptying,
it had lost
what makes it
most itself.

It simply desires
to have room enough
to welcome
what comes.

Today,
it’s you.

So come and sit
in this place
made holy
by its hollows.
You think you have
too much to do,
too little time,
too great a weight
of responsibility
that none but you
can carry.

I tell you,
lay it down.
Just for a moment,
if that’s what you
can manage at first.
Five minutes.
Lift up your voice—
in laughter,
in weeping,
it does not matter—
and let it ring against
these spacious walls.

Do this
until you can hear
the spaces within
your own breathing.
Do this
until you can feel
the hollow in your heart
where something
is letting go,
where something
is making way.

—Jan Richardson

2016 update: “Blessing That Becomes Empty as It Goes” appears in my new book Circle of Grace: A Book of Blessings for the Seasons.

[To use the image “Emptied,” please visit this page at janrichardsonimages.com. Your use of janrichardsonimages.com helps make the ministry of The Painted Prayerbook possible. Thank you!]

I have passed out of mind like one who is dead;
I have become like a broken vessel.
—Psalm 31.12

From a lectionary reading for Palm/Passion Sunday: Psalm 31.9-16

Reflection for Thursday, March 29 (Day 32 of Lent)

In her book Everyday Sacred, Sue Bender tells of seeing a beautiful Japanese tea bowl that had been broken and put back together again. “The image of that bowl,” she writes, “made a lasting impression. Instead of trying to hide the flaws, the cracks were emphasized—filled with silver. The bowl was even more precious after it had been mended.”

For this Lenten day, I offer you this blessing:

Blessing for a Broken Vessel

Do not despair.
You hold the memory
of what it was
to be whole.

It lives deep
in your bones.
It abides
in your heart
that has been torn
and mended
a hundred times.
It persists
in your lungs
that know the mystery
of what it means
to be full,
to be empty,
to be full again.

I am not asking you
to give up your grip
on the shards you clasp
so close to you

but to wonder
what it would be like
for those jagged edges
to meet each other
in some new pattern
that you have never imagined,
that you have never dared
to dream.

—Jan Richardson

2016 update: “Blessing for a Broken Vessel” appears in my new book Circle of Grace: A Book of Blessings for the Seasons. You can find the book here.

[To use the image “Like a Broken Vessel,” please visit this page at janrichardsonimages.com. Your use of janrichardsonimages.com helps make the ministry of The Painted Prayerbook possible. Thank you!]

Morning by morning God wakens—
wakens my ear to listen as those who are taught.
—Isaiah 50.4

From a lectionary reading for Palm/Passion Sunday: Isaiah 50.4-9a

Reflection for Wednesday, March 28 (Day 31 of Lent)

Even when in pain. Even when enduring insult and injury. Even when his attackers try to shame him and make him less than he is. Even then, the speaker in this passage—the third of what are known as the “Servant Songs”—does not turn away from God. The Servant, whom interpreters have variously identified as the nation of Israel or as a single individual (the Christian tradition often viewing the Servant as Jesus), continues to place his trust in God.

In the midst of suffering, it can be tempting to turn away from God. We may blame God for our pain. We may turn inward upon ourselves when the most important thing we can do is turn toward those who can help us, including the One who does not will our suffering but who, as the Servant sings, stands with us when others are arrayed against us.

I am struck by how, even as the Servant sets his face “like flint” (verse 7) and is resolute in his convictions, he begins each day—”morning by morning”—by listening to the God who “wakens my ear to listen” and who has “opened my ear.” I am intrigued by the Servant’s combination of willingness and strength, by his desire to turn his ear toward God in patient listening even as he stands his ground.

The poet e. e. cummings closes his poem “i thank You God for most this amazing day” with these words:

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

In these Lenten days, how do we listen in this way? How do we turn toward the God who, morning by morning, desires to open our ears, our eyes, ourselves, that we may be fully awake in this world, and offer a word that will sustain those who are weary?

Blessing to Open the Ear

That as we wake
we will listen.
That as we rise
we will listen.
That before our first words
of the day
we will listen.
That when we meet
we will listen.

That at noontime
we will listen.
That at dusk
we will listen.
That at the gathering
of night
we will listen.
That entering sleep
we will listen still.

—Jan Richardson

[To use the image “Wakens My Ear to Listen,” please visit this page at janrichardsonimages.com. Your use of janrichardsonimages.com helps make the ministry of The Painted Prayerbook possible. Thank you!]