a Lenten journey

First, the search is over. I've chosen a church!
Holy Trinity Lutheran Church in North Liberty, Iowa. I went two weeks ago because they were doing a soup supper and Holden Evening Prayer. I enjoyed the experience so much, I went back on Sunday. During the passing of the peace, the pastor remembered my name! I went to both services last week as well. I shocked a couple of friends by my rapid immersion in returning to church; I'm even a cantor for next Sunday's service! bounces

Full disclosure: I've never taken much stock in Lent. Which, on the one hand, is to say I actually knew very little about it, really, until seminary. But the learning came with a price; the almost constant belittling and demeaning and patronizing I received from peers about my lack of knowing in the first place. sigh

But it's true, I've never really been immersed in church enough to feel connected to the rhythms and the seasons, the ebb and flow of the church year. Even now I could not cite to you the entire pattern. And even within them I am not always convinced of their usefulness. Chalk it up to another fault of my stubborn German heritage: who are you to tell me how to worship, what my concerns, prayers, and mindset must focus around? Does this not somehow speak of a generic one-size-fits-all ministry? It's what pushed me from Christianity in college, this sense of the convenience of Christianity -- and as I write that sentence I'm filled with an urge to go read some Bonhoeffer.

I wrote another email yesterday -- to someone to whom I can never apologize enough. A person whose pastoral care to and for me is the most poignant I've ever experienced. I realized after I wrote the email that his office was the only space in which I felt safe. But I effed it up and breached his trust. And today I am reeling in the wake of that guilt.

I also spent lunch yesterday expounding on my seminary experience to my new pastor. The wounds are just stories now. I remember when I review the scars, but I do not live in their pain. Which is mostly true. I can tell the stories now, without the anger, the bitterness, the grief. Though they remain heavy to carry. Last night I lay in bed, not sleeping, for a long time, thinking of my relationship failings and mistakes during that period of my life. The quiet tears rolled down my face as I grieved not only the loss of friends I had but drove away but also those whose friendships never emerged because of my neediness and brokenness.

And the more I composed the email, I went through at first thinking it was ironic that my current trans formative process is happening in Lent, to thinking it wasn't ironic but an odd coincidence, to being slapped in the face that it's purposeful. If I am going to be introspective, reaching out and drawing in my crowd of witnesses while grieving the broken self that held me back, impeded and even destroyed friendships, than what other place should that occur than Lent? I am repenting. But my sorrow is that it is apparently too little too late for some so dear to me.

Can this girl get a hug??