​Deciding to take the chance on going to a new church is risky.  

For some, they are new to the area and are looking to find a place where they can find connection and community. For others, they are leaving a different congregation (for a whole host of reasons) and they are also trying to find a place where they can call home.  

​The First Sunday in Lent always presents us with a gospel account of the temptation of Jesus. I don’t think most of us really know what to do with this story. Jesus is propelled into the wilderness (like the ancient Israelites) to contend with his identity, his survival, his purpose. Satan is part of the story and that leaves us a little uncertain, if not squeamish.  

​For me, the season of Lent always begins in the same way. I pour olive oil in a bowl. Then I stir in the ashes of the palms we raised in worship last Palm Sunday. I mix the two ingredients into a paste, roughly akin to peanut butter. This will become the crosses born on the foreheads of the faithful on Ash Wednesday with the words, “Remember you are dust and to dust you shall return.” It is a sign of our baptisms. It is a reminder of our finitude. It is a reminder that only God’s grace can transcend the human condition. 

Lent is coming up quickly. Ash Wednesday, which marks the beginning of Lent, is next week. With Lent fast approaching, it makes me think about the invitation to observe Lent with forty days of self-examination and repentance; with prayer, fasting, self-denial; and by reading and meditating on God’s Word. Beyond that though, are the voices in my head asking, “What are you giving up for Lent this year?” 

My sleep has been disturbed by many things. On occasion, a recurring nightmare dragged me from sleep into the sinking feeling and elevated heart rate that only a good nightmare can give. While the setting changed, the theme was consistent. I found myself in an unfamiliar sanctuary, hall, or room surrounded by people largely unknown to me. They were ushering me to get up and preach. The problem was I had no sermon prepared. In one version, water begins to rise around my ankles, and I find I’m actually in a big boat, sinking, while the people want to know what I have to say. This is a very typical nightmare for someone who spends lots of time talking in front of people.