I have showered, journalled, and now am scrolling through some of the Lenten reflections at The Painted Prayerbook:
Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin. —Psalm 51.2
Creatures of dust and mud that we are—as we were reminded on Ash Wednesday, at the outset of this Lenten pilgrimage—it’s not that God needs for us to be all tidy in order to come into the presence of God. We are already there. Yet we carry so much that can serve to insulate us from recognizing and being present to the God who is always present to us, and who still perceives our beloved shape beneath the layers of grime that cling to our souls. The distractions we build our lives around; the harm we cause others or ourselves; our inability to see ourselves as God sees us: how might we allow God to wash all this away, not so that God can see us more clearly, but so that we can see the God who makes a home within us? (from Day 25)
Daaaaaaaang. I need these thoughts.
Restore to me the joy of your salvation, and sustain in me a willing spirit.—Psalm 51.12
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? (from Day 27)
Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin. —Psalm 51.2
Creatures of dust and mud that we are—as we were reminded on Ash Wednesday, at the outset of this Lenten pilgrimage—it’s not that God needs for us to be all tidy in order to come into the presence of God. We are already there. Yet we carry so much that can serve to insulate us from recognizing and being present to the God who is always present to us, and who still perceives our beloved shape beneath the layers of grime that cling to our souls. The distractions we build our lives around; the harm we cause others or ourselves; our inability to see ourselves as God sees us: how might we allow God to wash all this away, not so that God can see us more clearly, but so that we can see the God who makes a home within us? (from Day 25)
Daaaaaaaang. I need these thoughts.
Restore to me the joy of your salvation, and sustain in me a willing spirit.—Psalm 51.12
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? (from Day 27)
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