I read this at the Taize service last night:

Lent is the time set aside for unraveling.
We human beings are strange creatures, full, it seems, of deep complexities, complexities which stem from layers and layers of memories, lade down within us like layers and layers of rock in the earth, layers and layers of stratified memories which then solidify and become dense and heavy within us.

These heavy layers of memory and history become such that they then govern who we are, they lock us into preconceptions and presuppositions, prejudices which determine our attitudes, our views of others, of the church, of our prospects, of what is going to happen as well as what is past. We become fearful, ungenerous people because we cannot escape from the layers of memory which calcify round our hearts.

Lent is a time for unraveling.
Sin derives from the fear of what will happen if your identity is undone.
Will you allow Christ to pull at the string and unravel your heart?

Melvyn Matthews Nearer than Breathing
(The photo is Kate’s)

Further reflections following from yesterday:

In the quest sometimes the hero has no desire to return from the place they end up in.
The quest is to find ‘it’ (whatever it may be)
not to return with ‘it’
But … maybe to stay with ‘it’.
Other times, as in Lord of the Rings, the quest is to deliver ‘it’ or return ‘it’
Then you leave ‘it’ there
And return
carrying ‘it’ no longer.

Ally McBeal provides my focus for today’s Lent thought:

The real truth is that I probably don’t want to be too happy or content, ‘ cause then what? I actually like the quest, the search. The more lost you are, the more you have to look forward to.

I might just inwardly smile if someone tells me to ‘get lost’ today.

Because it is Lent, the crosses and icons are currently veiled in the cathedral. I’ve not come across this before and so thought I would ask a few questions – its certainly resulted in a lot of comments on my facebook status.

A number of explanations have been along the lines of covering the cross so that we can focus on the journey to the cross. One explanation that is different to others is that it is to help in making the place look more austere so we are hit by the beauty and colour ib full force when everything is unveiled at Easter.

I’ve reflected on this today and its resulted in a realisation that we will, at Easter, be hit afresh by the beauty and colour of normality. At first that seemed odd, but then not. When we live and work in the world we become blind to the beauty and colour of our surroundings. I have only been in the cathedral 6 months, and already I notice taking the beauty of the building for granted. It’s a talent of humanity, we adapt very quickly and change soon becomes the norm.

Maybe the only way to fully appreciate the beauty of our surroundings again is to mask or veil that beauty for a time period, and in this case for 40 days. In that way we miss what we have, and we start to appreciate its beauty in a new and fresh way.

The veil hides the beauty that we have forgotten how to appreciate.
The veil seeks to bring that beauty back into our lives.

I went to my first ever Ash Wednesday service today and was reflecting on how I felt. The quote below sums it up well:

The imposition of ashes on Ash Wednesday is nothing if not bold. … a dark and undeniable slash across your forehead, a bold proclamation of death and resurrection all at once. You forget that it is on your forehead and you walk our of church, out into the world, a living reminder that Christ died for us… The cross on our foreheads is meant to be a dramatic reminder to ourselves – and it is that. When Milind looks at me and says, “Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return,” I know what God did for me. He not only created me, he then poured out his grace upon me in the blood of his son. Me, a bunch of dust! But the cross also stimulates other people’s questions. It provides an unmistakable opportunity – even obligation – to witness.

By Lauren Winner via Kingdom Praxis