For thus said the Lord God, the Holy One of Israel: In returning and rest you shall be saved; in quietness and in trust shall be your strength. But you refused. Isaiah 30:15

To walk in the forest is to encounter the passage of centuries. A cathedral of time marked off in rings of alternating slow and fast growth. The moments of the years marked in the flesh of the trunk and twigs: a tapestry of darkness and light, warmth and frost, rain and drought. In the pine bows across the street a light wind dances through slender needles. Perhaps it likes the smell of the pine sap. Perhaps the tiny fingers can reach the itch that no amount of blowing or whirling can scratch.

We wait for the dawn through the dark hours of the night.

Time is strange. It bends and dances through the boughs of gravity and grace, commanding hours and days into an ordered procession. In Carlo Rovelli’s book, Seven Brief Lessons on Physics, Rovelli says, “due to the limitations of our consciousness we perceive only a blurred vision of the world and live in time.” We are clumsy, half-blind mole rats, blundering through life as if there were time. We are passengers on a imperceptible train, convinced that time is streaming away behind us as we barrel forward.

In the deepest reaches of the night, we are quieted.

Lent is a practice. It is a conscious entering-in to a time of waiting for what has already been. It is a willful anticipation for the known mystery. It is rendering the mundane irrational passage of time meaningful. Next week we will return to Jerusalem, intent on the Passionate drama, but this week we wait. Can we learn to wait, not for what will come, but for the simple practice of waiting? Not waiting for the return of Christ, but waiting with Christ.

The stars seem to still overhead. We are caught in an eternal moment.

Of stillness.

Of quiet.

Of waiting.

Writing Prompts:

What my shoes say about me
The hardest thing about leaving is…
When you get there, don’t forget…
The best way to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich is…
When I met Jesus, there was a smear of dirt on his…
The longest nine minutes of my life were…
If you knew where I came from, you would…

Waiting