FROM THE PASTOR

A Graceful Moment in Lenten Journey

As our Lenten journey intensifies, I share a memory from my years in the parish in New Jersey. I was in control. Get up at 6am. Scoot down the turnpike to the seminary in Philadelphia for a meeting; then scoot back up for a big meeting about affordable housing. Back to Philly early in the next morning. Every minute had a name. The tool gate machine (remember those?) spits out my ticket. I look at it and then dig into my pockets to get the money out and put it with the ticket. Mr. Efficiency. Mr. Jerk. My hand goes from one pocket to the next. Shirt. Pants. Jacket. Nada. I was flat broke. Mama said there would be days like this.

What do you do when you stop banging the steering wheel and turning the air expletive blue? You reach out. And you swallow a megadose of pride. You call home…collect (remember that?). And you invite your wife to venture out into the rain and rush-hour traffic to bring some legal tender to Mr. Jerk who will be sitting in a Roy Rogers parking lot (remember those?) stewing about time slipping away, busted schedule, dependence, and a wife’s frustration.

In moments like this, big and small, we are broken down and the Ash Wednesday words are remembered: “Remember that you are dust, and unto dust you shall return.” An illness. A setback. A relationship strained. A shoelace which snaps when you are running late. Instants of realization that we do not have the whole world in our hands. But also, in the hands of God, opportunities for the mystery of God’s grace to enter us.

Sitting in the rain in a Roy Rogers parking lot with the insistent sounds of turnpike traffic whirring beside me, I remembered that I am not a deathless god, but just a man. It became a graceful moment, to be still, to wait with gratitude for another, to pray.

Make me hear of joy and gladness, that the body you have broken may rejoice…create in me a clean heart, O God and renew a right spirit within me. (Psalm 51)