Archive for the ‘The Psalms’ Category

Liturgy of the Passion: Awake, Awake

March 21, 2018

GethsemaneImage: Gethsemane © Jan Richardson

Readings for the Liturgy of the Passion, Year B:
Isaiah 50.4-9a, Psalm 31.9-16, Philippians 2.5-11,
Mark 14.1-15.47 or Mark 15:1-39, (40-47)

It’s no wonder the disciples sleep. It is hard work sometimes to remain present with Christ, to stay awake to him, to God’s longing for us, to the demands of resurrection.

—from Passion/Palm Sunday: A Place Called Gethsemane
The Painted Prayerbook, March 2012

Following on this week’s reflection for Palm Sunday, I wanted also to gather up some reflections I’ve written here for the Liturgy of the Passion. Deep peace to you as we move through these days.

Mark 14.1-15.47

Passion/Palm Sunday: A Place Called Gethsemane
Day 34: Anointed

Isaiah 50.4-9a

Day 31: Wakens My Ear to Listen

Psalm 31.9-16

Day 32: Like a Broken Vessel

Philippians 2.5-11

Day 33: Emptied


Using Jan’s artwork…
To use the image “Gethsemane,” please visit this page at janrichardsonimages.com. (This is also available as an art print. After clicking over to the image’s page on the Jan Richardson Images site, just scroll down to the “Purchase as an Art Print” section.) Your use of janrichardsonimages.com helps make the ministry of The Painted Prayerbook possible. Thank you!

Using Jan’s words…
For worship services and related settings, you are welcome to use Jan’s blessings or other words from this blog without requesting permission. All that’s needed is to acknowledge the source. Please include this info in a credit line: “© Jan Richardson. janrichardson.com.” For other uses, visit Copyright Permissions.

Lent 5: Testimony to the Mystery

March 12, 2018

Image: Into the Seed © Jan Richardson

Readings for Lent 5, Year B: Jeremiah 31.31-34, Psalm 51.1-12,
Hebrews 5.5-10, John 12.20-33

We work so very hard at letting go, sometimes, trying to train ourselves to release our grip on all that is not God. But what if it is not about giving up but giving in? Falling into dirt, as Jesus says here. Going where grain is supposed to go.

—from Lent 5: Into the Seed
The Painted Prayerbook, March 2009

A lot of life has happened since I wrote those words nine years ago, in a reflection on this week’s reading from John’s Gospel. A lot of life, and a death that alters how I read this passage now.

It goes against all reason—that what falls into earth could live again. That letting go could enable this living. It bears discernment, of course, so that we may know when we are being called to hold on fiercely, to refuse to let part of ourselves die, and when to release our hold in order to let new life rise up in us.

The discernment depends little on reason, though, and as I spiral back around the reflections I’ve written for this week’s lections across the past decade, it’s the presence of paradox in those reflections that still resonates so strongly for me. That tension and relationship between dying and rising, hiddenness and revelation, losing and finding, intention and surrender.

I am here to bear testimony to that paradox, that mystery, and to the presence of the God who seeks us out in the midst of it all: the God who, Jeremiah tells us this week, offers us a new covenant; the God who, the psalmist sings, releases us from the sin that has held us; the God who, Paul writes, saved Jesus from death and who, with love and mercy beyond reason, is ever at work to provide that same gift of life to us.

In this fifth week of Lent, what is the God of paradox and mystery up to in your life? How are Jesus’ words about dying and living sitting with you? Is there something you are sensing an invitation to let go of in order to enter more fully into the life God desires for you? What help do you need in order for this to happen?

For you, for this new week in our Lenten path, I’ve gathered up a collection of reflections I’ve written for this Sunday’s readings across the past ten years. I’m slipping them into your hands with gratitude for the ways you share this path, and with many blessings.

John 12.20-33

Lent 5: Into the Seed
5th Sunday in Lent: Unless a Grain of Wheat Falls

Jeremiah 31.31-34

Day 24: And Remember Their Sin No More

Psalm 51

Day 25: And Cleanse Me
Day 26: My Secret Heart
Day 27: Restore the Joy of Salvation

Hebrews 5.5-10

Day 28: With Loud Cries and Tears

Using Jan’s artwork…
To use the image “Into the Seed,” please visit this page at janrichardsonimages.com. (This is also available as an art print. After clicking over to the image’s page on the Jan Richardson Images site, just scroll down to the “Purchase as an Art Print” section.) Your use of janrichardsonimages.com helps make the ministry of The Painted Prayerbook possible. Thank you!

Using Jan’s words…
For worship services and related settings, you are welcome to use Jan’s blessings or other words from this blog without requesting permission. All that’s needed is to acknowledge the source. Please include this info in a credit line: “© Jan Richardson. janrichardson.com.” For other uses, visit Copyright Permissions.

Lent 4: Strange Remedies

March 5, 2018

Image: In the Wilderness © Jan Richardson

Readings for Lent 4, Year B:
Numbers 21.4-9; Psalm 107.1-3, 17-22; Ephesians 2.1-10;
John 3.14-21

Look on me and live, [Jesus] says. Turn your gaze, your attention,
your focus to me, and you will be saved by the hand of the God who
sent me, not for the punishment of the world but for the
utter love of it.

—from Lent 4: The Serpent in the Text
The Painted Prayerbook, March 2009

At the beginning of this season, I wrote about the wild language of Lent—the wilderness words that caught my attention as I spiraled back around a decade’s worth of reflections I had written here at The Painted Prayerbook for the first Sunday of Lent. I’ve continued to think about the language of Lent as this season has unfolded. This week, as I revisited the reflections I’ve written for Lent 4 across the years, the vocabulary that grabbed my attention was this: strange remedy.

Strange remedy came up in an early reflection I wrote on this week’s passage from John’s Gospel (“Lent 4: The Serpent in the Text”). In this passage, Jesus makes reference to a curious episode that happens to the people of Israel on their wilderness journey; this episode is described in Sunday’s lection from Numbers. In my reflection on the John passage, I explored the seeming strangeness of both these texts, along with the hope they hold out to us.

The point of the stories, after all, is that God is intent on providing healing for God’s people. God’s desire for healing persists not only when we are sick or broken because of circumstances beyond our control, but also in those times when our own choices have brought about what ails us. We see God’s bent toward healing in the other readings as well: They cried to the Lord in their trouble, and he saved them from their distress, we read in the psalm; he sent out his word and healed them (107.19-20). And to his friends in the church at Ephesus, Paul writes, God, who is rich in mercy, out of the great love with which he loved us even when we were dead through our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ (Eph. 2.4-5).

I am especially struck by Paul’s words here—that when our brokenness is so severe as to cause a kind of death, God’s pervasive mercy and love, made evident in Christ, can bring us back to life.

When new life comes, when healing arrives, it doesn’t always look like we hope. In the times when healing doesn’t equate with curing, or doesn’t fix the underlying cause of our pain, this can be bitter indeed. In the midst of this, these passages bear witness to a God who ceaselessly, stubbornly works to make a path to wholeness for us.

If there’s anything I have learned on my journey since Gary’s death, it’s that the path to healing often unfolds by weird, inexplicable turns, as the snakebitten people of Israel discovered. This makes some kind of convoluted sense. Because the brokenness that besets us can take such strange forms—be it grief, illness, accident, or any of the other ways that life can unexpectedly and senselessly clobber us—it should perhaps come as no surprise that the means of our healing can take strange forms as well.

Even so, I still can find myself surprised by the strange remedies that present themselves—the peculiar graces that visit, the unforeseen encounters that bring comfort or insight, the particular practices of solace that don’t always make logical sense and might not fit for someone else but offer the mending my heart most needs. I am learning to keep my eyes open for those strange and surprising remedies, to loosen my hold on my expectations of what mending and solace should look like, in hopes of recognizing the remedies when they show up.

Strange remedies. At this place in our Lenten path—which we cross the halfway point of this week—what does this stir for you? How do you keep your eyes and heart open for the healing and life that Christ brings, often in such unexpected ways? Is there a place of brokenness you are living with that might hold a particular invitation for you in this season—a step toward wholeness that might not make sense to others but helps open you to the healing God desires?

As we mark ten years at The Painted Prayerbook, I’ve gathered up a collection of reflections I’ve written for this week’s lectionary readings. I’m passing them along to you with deep gratitude and many blessings.

John 3.14-21

Lent 4: The Serpent in the Text
Day 22: Rather Than Light

Numbers 21.4-9

Day 17: In the Wilderness

Psalm 107.1-3, 17-22

Day 18: O Give Thanks
Day 19: And Saved Them from Their Distress

Ephesians 2.1-10

Day 20: Even When We Were Dead
Day 21: In the Heavenly Places

Using Jan’s artwork…
To use the image “In the Wilderness,” please visit this page at janrichardsonimages.com. (This is also available as an art print. After clicking over to the image’s page on the Jan Richardson Images site, just scroll down to the “Purchase as an Art Print” section.) Your use of janrichardsonimages.com helps make the ministry of The Painted Prayerbook possible. Thank you!

Using Jan’s words…
For worship services and related settings, you are welcome to use Jan’s blessings or other words from this blog without requesting permission. All that’s needed is to acknowledge the source. Please include this info in a credit line: “© Jan Richardson. janrichardson.com.” For other uses, visit Copyright Permissions.

Lent 3: What We Know in the Bones

February 26, 2018

The Temple in His BonesImage: The Temple in His Bones © Jan Richardson

Readings for Lent 2, Year B: Exodus 20.1-17, Psalm 19,
1 Corinthians 1.18-25, John 2.13-22

Christ’s deep desire, so evident on that day in the temple, is that
we pursue the congruence he embodied in himself: that as his body,
as his living temple in the world, we take on the forms that will
most clearly welcome and mediate his presence.

—from Lent 3: The Temple in His Bones
The Painted Prayerbook, March 2009

If you were unfamiliar with the Christian story, and came across four scraps of paper with this week’s lectionary passages written on them, you would have good makings for a map of that story.

I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery (Exodus 20.2).

The heavens are telling the glory of God; and the firmament proclaims his handiwork (Psalm 19.1).

We proclaim Christ crucified…Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God (1 Corinthians 1.23-24).

Jesus answered them, “Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up” (John 2.19).

This week’s texts take us on a journey in which the God who created the stunning vastness of heaven and earth comes close up to meet us. The passage from John 2 underscores just how close. This gospel text tells us Christ has become a living temple where God and humanity meet in his own being, his own body: the body he lays down for us, the body that rises for us, the body he invites us to be part of so that we may know this God for ourselves.

This constellation of texts bears witness to a God who dwells in mystery but does not stand at an unbridgeable distance from us. Although our sight is decidedly partial for now (through a glass, darkly, as Paul writes in 1 Corinthians 13.12, KJV), this God desires to be known. Even when we reach the limits of our vision and press painfully against the boundaries of our understanding, this knowing finds its way within us: in our hearts, in our bones, in the spaces where we meet God within the mystery.

In this Lenten season, in the midst of the mystery, what do we know in our bones? How do we live in a way that is congruent with this knowing—that gives expression to what we know, and embodies it in this world?

From across the past decade, I’ve gathered up a collection of reflections I’ve written for this week’s readings. I offer them with many blessings as this part of our Lenten path unfolds.

John 2.13-22

3rd Sunday in Lent: Speaking of the Body
Lent 3: The Temple in His Bones

Exodus 20.1-17

Day 11: Who Brought You Out of Slavery
Day 12: Remember the Sabbath Day

Psalm 19

Day 13: The Heavens Are Telling
Day 14: Night to Night Declares
Day 15: A Tent for the Sun

1 Corinthians 1.18-25

Day 16: Christ the Power and Wisdom of God

Using Jan’s artwork…
To use the image “The Temple in His Bones,” please visit this page at janrichardsonimages.com. (This is also available as an art print. After clicking over to the image’s page on the Jan Richardson Images site, just scroll down to the “Purchase as an Art Print” section.) Your use of janrichardsonimages.com helps make the ministry of The Painted Prayerbook possible. Thank you!

Using Jan’s words…
For worship services and related settings, you are welcome to use Jan’s blessings or other words from this blog without requesting permission. All that’s needed is to acknowledge the source. Please include this info in a credit line: “© Jan Richardson. janrichardson.com.” For other uses, visit Copyright Permissions.

Epiphany 2: Known

January 12, 2015

You Have Known MeImage: You Have Known Me © Jan Richardson

Reading from the Psalms for Epiphany 2: Psalm 139:1-6, 13-18

O Lord, you have searched me and known me.
– Psalm 139.1

Over the past year, I have been thinking a lot about knowing. Gary’s death left enormous holes in so much of what I had known—about my life, about God, about who I am in this world. As I reckon with the rending of my known world, I am living with a constellation of questions such as these:

Who am I, when the person who has known me best is no longer in this world?

What does it mean to know and be known by someone who now belongs to eternity?

In the midst of my grief, how do I lean into the love of the God who holds us both and knows us beyond the limits of time?

Where does this knowing lead me and call me in this time, this life?

I don’t have many answers for these questions, but as we travel with the readings this week—all of which have to do, in some way, with being known—I have this blessing, offered in the hope that we will never cease to reckon with the challenge, the comfort, and the call of knowing and being known.

Peace to you.

Known
A Blessing

First
we will need grace.

Then
we will need courage.

Also
we will need
some strength.

We will need
to die a little
to what we have
always thought,
what we have allowed
ourselves to see
of ourselves,
what we have built
our beliefs upon.

We will need this
and more.

Then
we will need
to let it all go
to leave room enough
for the astonishment
that will come
should we be given
a glimpse
of what the Holy One sees
in seeing us,
knows
in knowing us,
intricate
and unhidden

no part of us
foreign
no piece of us
fashioned from other
than love

desired
discerned
beheld entirely
all our days.

– Jan Richardson

For previous reflections for Epiphany 2, click the images or titles below.

How Did You Come to Know Me?
Epiphany 2: How Did You Come to Know Me?


Between Heaven and Earth

Of Fig Trees and Angels

Coming soon!

Beloved Lenten Retreat

Beloved Retreat: Advent and Christmas are barely past, but Lent begins soon! I am looking forward to offering an all-new retreat for the season, and I would love for you to join us. Intertwining reflection, art, and music, the Beloved Retreat is a great way to journey toward Easter from anywhere you are, in the way that fits you best. Registration and more info coming this week. Individual, group, & congregational rates available.

Using Jan’s artwork…
To use the image “You Have Known Me,” please visit this page at janrichardsonimages.com. (This is also available as an art print. After clicking over to the image’s page on the Jan Richardson Images site, just scroll down to the “Purchase as an Art Print” section.) Your use of janrichardsonimages.com helps make the ministry of The Painted Prayerbook possible. Thank you!

Using Jan’s words…
For worship services and related settings, you are welcome to use Jan’s blessings or other words from this blog without requesting permission. All that’s needed is to acknowledge the source. Please include this info in a credit line: “© Jan Richardson. janrichardson.com.” For other uses, visit Copyright Permissions.

Where the Story Begins

November 4, 2014

Where the Story BeginsImage: Where the Story Begins © Jan Richardson

Reading from the Psalms, Year A, Proper 27/Ordinary 32/Pentecost +22: Psalm 78.1-7

I will open my mouth in a parable;
I will utter dark sayings from of old,

things that we have heard and known,
that our ancestors have told us.
– Psalm 78.2,3

Gary was a remarkable storyteller. In the Song Chapel concerts that he performed across the United States, song and spoken word wove together, inviting us to hear the story of God anew. Gary knew how to pare away the layers of familiarity in the stories of our faith—those layers that can lull us into thinking we know what a story is about. In his hands, a story became a sacred space of revelation, of transformation, of welcome.

Sometime after Gary’s death, the thought came to me: Now he is all story. Story is what remains of my beloved: the stories he told in song and spoken word; the stories by which he invited us to enter into the story of God; and the stories we tell now of who Gary was in this life.

The author of Psalm 78 understands the power of story, and the absolute necessity of it. He understands that we cannot know God without stories; that we cannot know ourselves without them. The psalmist knows that we cannot be the people of God without telling the story of God, passing the story on to each generation. Things that we have heard and known, that our ancestors have told us, the psalmist writes.

Where does the power of a story lie? What is it about a story that so compels us?

Once upon a time.
Long ago and far away.
In the beginning.

Incantation and enchantment, invitation and initiation.

We speak of getting lost in a story, but part of what draws us to a story is the promise of finding: finding a different world, finding another time, finding ourselves. There is something in us that hungers for a story, an empty space that is shaped precisely to its contours. We reach for the threads that a story offers, we enter the rooms it opens to us, we inhabit the skin of another and somehow, in the hands of a good story, we are returned to ourselves. And we are perhaps holding the threads of our own stories a bit differently, or entering a new space within ourselves, or finding ourselves able to inhabit our own skin more completely.

Elie Wiesel says that God created us because God loves stories.

When Christ came (in the fullness of time, the story goes), he came as the Word made flesh. A story in motion. And he went into the world with stories on his lips, weaving them everywhere he went.

A sower went out to sow.
A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell into the hands of robbers.
There was a man who had two sons.

And, this week, Ten bridesmaids took their lamps and went to meet the bridegroom.

Jesus understood that in a world where it can be so difficult to know God, to know others, to know even ourselves, a story can offer a language, a doorway, a point of entry. He knew how a story can take us a little deeper into knowing, a little farther down the road in our journey of return.

We will not hide them from their children, the psalmist writes in Psalm 78. And perhaps that’s where the true power of a good story lies: that it unhides something, reveals something—and someone—we need to know.

What stories are you listening to? What stories are you telling? How do you attend to your own story? Where have you experienced being lost in a story, and being found? How might God be inviting you to look at your story with new eyes?

Blessing the Story

You might think
this blessing lives
in the story
that you can see,
that it has curled up
in a comfortable spot
on the surface
of the telling.

But this blessing lives
in the story beneath
the story.
It lives in the story
inside the story.
In the spaces
between.
In the edges,
the margins,
the mysterious gaps,
the enticing and
fertile emptiness.

This blessing
makes its home
within the layers.
This blessing is
doorway and portal,
passage and path.
It is more ancient
than imagining
and makes itself
ever new.

This blessing
is where the story
begins.

– Jan Richardson

For a reflection on this week’s gospel passage, click the image or title below.

Midnight Oil
Midnight Oil

An Advent Journey…

ILLUMINATED 2014 — Registration now open!
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Using Jan’s artwork…
To use the image “Where the Story Begins,” please visit this page at janrichardsonimages.com. (This is also available as an art print. After clicking over to the image’s page on the Jan Richardson Images site, just scroll down to the “Purchase as an Art Print” section.) Your use of janrichardsonimages.com helps make the ministry of The Painted Prayerbook possible. Thank you!

Using Jan’s words…
For worship services and related settings, you are welcome to use Jan’s blessings or other words from this blog without requesting permission. All that’s needed is to acknowledge the source. Please include this info in a credit line: “© Jan Richardson. janrichardson.com.” For other uses, visit Copyright Permissions.

Day 37/Wednesday of Holy Week: Rejoice and Be Glad

April 3, 2012

Rejoice and Be Glad © Jan L. Richardson (click image to enlarge)

Let all who seek you rejoice and be glad in you. Let those who love your salvation say evermore, “God is great!”
—Psalm 70.4

From a lectionary reading for Wednesday of Holy Week: Psalm 70

Reflection for Wednesday, April 4 (Day 37 of Lent)

In her book Traveling Mercies, Anne Lamott writes that the two best prayers she knows are “Help me, help me, help me” and “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” I think of Lamott’s prayers as I linger with Psalm 70, a tiny jewel of a psalm whose five brief verses offer a spare bit of elaboration upon that basic cry for help and declaration of gratitude.

“Be pleased, O God, to deliver me,” the psalmist pleads as the psalm begins. “O Lord, make haste to help me!” These same words (in the Douay-Rheims version of this verse, which renders the first part as “O God, come to my assistance”) open every office of the Liturgy of the Hours, with the exception of Vigils; for nearly two millennia, this constant reminder of humanity’s need for help has been embedded in the prayers that carry monastic folk through the day and night. The psalmist continues in this vein, imploring God to bring “shame and confusion” to those who seek to harm him, and entreating God to hurry. “You are my help and my deliverer,” the psalmist cries out as the psalm closes; “O Lord, do not delay!”

Help me, help me, help me.

Tucked into this tiny psalm, amidst the psalmist’s pleas for aid, a single verse counsels joy in the presence of panic: “Let all who seek you rejoice and be glad in you,” the psalmist sings. “Let those who love your salvation say evermore, ‘God is great!'”

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

For some of us, asking for help—from God, from another person—can be tremendously difficult. It may rarely occur to us that God created other people so that we don’t have to do everything by ourselves. Yet as the psalmist reminds us, knowing what we need and asking for appropriate help is part of what it means to belong to God—and to one another. And as the psalmist also reminds us in verse 4, seeking the help of God (which so often comes through others) is a pathway to gladness; drawing near to the God who takes delight in delivering us is a road to rejoicing.

And so I am here to ask you: What help do you need this day? How would it be to ask for it? What gladness and gratitude might be waiting for you there?

Blessing that Waits
to Come to Your Aid

When I have become
so reliant on myself
that I cannot see
the need that gnaws
so deep
in my soul,

open my eyes,
open my heart,
open my mouth
to cry out
for the help
that you do not ration,
the deliverance
that you delight to offer
in glad and
generous measure.

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

Day 36/Tuesday of Holy Week: A Rock of Refuge

April 3, 2012

Rock of Refuge © Jan L. Richardson (click image to enlarge)

Be to me a rock of refuge, a strong fortress, to save me,
for you are my rock and my fortress.
—Psalm 71.3

From a lectionary reading for Tuesday of Holy Week: Psalm 71.1-14

Reflection for Tuesday, April 3 (Day 36 of Lent)

Pondering this passage and this image, I keep thinking of Skellig Michael. A small, peaked rock of an island off the coast of Ireland, Skellig Michael was home to a small community of monks in the Middle Ages. According to legend, the monastery was founded by Saint Fionan in the sixth century. In a stark landscape that afforded few level surfaces, the monks managed to build six stone cells (living quarters) constructed in the “beehive” style distinctive to Celtic monasteries, along with two oratories (places for prayer) and a tiny hermitage on a peak whose location would have made getting there an arduous pilgrimage in itself. It’s thought that a monastic community remained on the island until the twelfth or thirteenth century.

The monks of Skellig Michael devoted themselves to a way of life in which they embodied the words of the psalmist who, in today’s reading, proclaims, “My mouth is filled with your praise, and with your glory all day long” (v. 8). I imagine that on that craggy rock where they kept a rhythm of personal and communal prayer throughout the day and night, the monks felt a particular connection with this psalm and its imagery of the rock of refuge that the psalmist finds in God. Like the desert fathers and mothers of the early church who served as models and sources of inspiration for these monks, the brothers surely must have found that their home on Skellig Michael was not a place of escape from spiritual struggle but a space where they could both wrestle with God and rest in the God who delivered them and provided shelter and strength for their souls.

On this Lenten day, where do you find the solid ground that God provides? How do you seek the refuge, solace, and shelter that God offers you—not as a perpetual escape from the world but as a place of safety where you can receive the strength and sustenance that will enable you to engage the world in the ways God needs you to engage it?

Blessing of Refuge

That I may flee to you
not to escape forever
from the world
that you have created,
the world that you
call beloved

but that in your refuge
I will find
your presence
to strengthen me
your courage
to sustain me
your grace
to encompass me
as I go
where you would
have me go.

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

Day 29: God Has Given Us Light

March 25, 2012

Image: Has Given Us Light © Jan Richardson

The Lord is God, and has given us light.
—Psalm 118.27a

From a lectionary reading for Palm Sunday: Psalm 118.1-2, 19-29

Reflection for Monday, March 26 (Day 29 of Lent)

As if to confirm God’s penchant for revelation that we reflected on yesterday, Psalm 118 sings of light that comes as a blessing and gift from God. Light, the psalmist tells us, is one of the ways that God provides and cares for God’s people.

The last of the psalms that comprise what’s known as the Hallel (Hebrew for “praise”), Psalm 118 is part of the song of praise offered during festival times. Encompassing Psalms 113-118, the song is sometimes called the Egyptian Hallel and is a joyous telling of what God has done in the life of the people of Israel: how God has provided for them, what God has given to them, what God has brought to pass through them. During the festival of Passover, the first part of the Hallel (Psalms 113 and 114) is sung before the Passover meal, and the second part is sung following the meal (Psalms 115-118). It’s likely that it was the song that Jesus and the disciples sang as they left the Last Supper. What hope it must have given them, as they went into the night, to sing of the God who does not let darkness have the final word.

In John O’Donohue’s book Anam Cara, he writes, “If you had never been to the world and never known what a day was, you couldn’t possibly imagine how the darkness breaks, how the mystery and color of a new day arrive. Light is incredibly generous.” The psalmist knows the gift of light and does not take it for granted. How about you? At this place in your Lenten journey, how do the words of this song find a home in you? What light has God given to you as blessing and gift?

Blessing of Light

Let us bless the light
and the One who gives
the light to us.

Let us open ourselves
to the illumination
it offers.

Let us blaze
with its
generous fire.

—Jan Richardson

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

Day 27: Restore the Joy of Salvation

March 23, 2012

Restore the Joy of Salvation © Jan L. Richardson

Restore to me the joy of your salvation, and sustain in me a willing spirit.
—Psalm 51.12

From a lectionary reading for Lent 5: Psalm 51.1-12

Reflection for Friday, March 23 (Day 27 of Lent)

And this is, after all, what the psalmist desires: not to wallow in his sins or berate himself eternally for his brokenness, but to rest in the God who does not abandon him. To rejoice in the God who knows all the broken pieces and who holds them in mercy and love. To enter into the restoration that God is always working to bring about.

How do you lean into this joy? How do you open yourself to let it in, even when you don’t feel whole? How do you welcome this joy that is present even in the midst of brokenness, this joy that is part of how God works within us to put the pieces together? Is there some place in your spirit that needs to be more willing, that needs God’s sustenance in order to live into the salvation—the wholeness, the deliverance, the freedom—that God intends for you?

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