anxiety — Blog — Casey and the Sunshine

If you read my sermon from last night (aka the previous post) you will not be surprised by the content of this post about my Lenten discipline.

Like many people do during the season of Lent, I am going to spend the next 40ish days fasting. I am going to be fasting from frenzy. I am going to resist the urge to get whipped into a panic about things that do not merit panic. I am not going to allow poor planning on the part of others to become an emergency on mine.

Oh, and I am going to read more. This likely will not come as a shock to you, unless you are shocked that I can possibly read more than I already do. February was a crazy month during which I told myself I'd have plenty of time to read and then spent approximately none of that time reading. In one respect, I am "behind schedule" on my reading (which sounds like participating in frenzy!) but in another, I am bummed out by how little time I've spent slowed down with my face in a book.

As Lent approaches each year, I often decide to read a book of devotions of some kind that I have, and then I suddenly realize halfway through Lent that I've completely stopped reading it. The truth is, I have time. I have always had time. I run out of time because I waste time. I neglect to dedicate time to important things, and somehow feel like I "don't have the energy to really give it what it deserves"—which is a bald-faced lie. I just lack discipline.

This year, I am diving into 40-Day Journey with Julian of Norwich, who was a rad weird lady that I want to get to know better. This little collection happens to have been compiled by Lisa Dahill, whom I had the pleasure of meeting at last year's Region 1&2 Lutheran Campus Minister's gathering. Fun!

Since we call these Lenten practices "disciplines" I am therefore going to be more "disciplined" about spending a very easy 10 minutes that I certainly do have (or however long it takes me to read my daily Julian of Norwich thinger).

Oh, and! I am going to take a technology sabbath in the evenings, skipping out on screens after 8pm. In part, I am going to do this so I stop reading work emails at 10pm like some kind of person with no work-life balance. Also, it is better for my sleep. I will probably occasionally watch movies that go past this time but I will wear my blue-light-reducing glasses when I do! Huzzah. Also, some nights I am still at work at 8pm so obviously this one is more of a "guideline" than a rule okay bye

Okay! So! I am going to spend Lent doing fewer, better things. I am going to resist the false narrative that I must do everything and do it now. I am going to be present—to myself, to Jonathan, and to God. I'm going to take a walk outside as many days as weather permits (what up, spring). I'm going to ride my bike places that I could drive to because I am not actually in any sort of hurry most days, and especially not during my fast from frenzy!

Cool. I'm excited about this. I want to get started! But like, getting started means doing nothing. Ahhhhhh

Grace and peace from God our Creator, Hope in our Redeemer Jesus the Christ, and the promised gifts of the Holy Spirit are with you, always.

Let’s all take a few deep breaths. A few counts in through your nose and then out again. And again. It’s May, y’all. Can you believe it? Don’t let that heart rate jump back up! Another deep breath.

You probably have a lot to worry about. Whether it’s school—we’re nearing the end of the year! Or work—finding a job, keeping your job, doing your job well. Or money—earning money, saving money, spending money smartly. Or your relationships—good ones with friends or significant others, not-so-good ones with maybe soon-to-be not friends or significant others, roommates, classmates, coworkers. Or your future—what’s next for you? What does the summer hold? Or your family—if they’re nearby or far away, healthy or struggling, supportive of you or a little more challenging. I can understand why we need to sit here, tonight, and take deep breaths together.

And, you know, Jesus knew about a few of those things. No, he was not a UC Davis student or a LEVNeer, but he was a human person. He had parents and siblings and friends. He had politics to lament about and looming wars to furrow his brow. He had a community whose livelihood concerned him. And he lived his adult life with a bunch of dudes who never stopped asking nervous questions. One declarative sentence could hardly escape Jesus’ mouth before Peter’s hand shot into the air with whowhatwhenwherewhyhow tumbling out of his mouth. You can just see Jesus' nostrils flare, eyes close, deep breath in and out before he replies.

This week, the question-asker is Judas. No, not that Judas. There are two, apparently. Just before the text for this week’s lectionary, this other Judas asks “But Lord, how is it that you will reveal yourself to us?” Jesus gives a classic response—not exactly answering the question, and pivoting back to his important talking points about the constancy of God. “Those who love me will keep my word,” he says, “and my father will love them.”

Easy! Love and be loved! Now, I don’t want to mislead you. I don’t want you to think that what I’m saying is that, if you are a Christian, you will never have to worry about anything ever again. If only! But what I can tell you, is that, as a beloved child of God, you do not ever have to worry about your beloved-ness. You are always beloved by God. About that, my dear ones, do not let your hearts be troubled.

A professor from PLTS wrote a book about the Gospel According to John, and he had this to say about today’s gospel lesson:

“The teaching of Jesus is certainly not a self-help program, a path to a tranquil inner life immune to the ills and cares of a troubled world….Jesus is surely a teacher of powerful truth and transformative knowledge, but his teaching and life focus relentlessly on God’s astonishing agape enacted on the cross.”

There are a few weeks each year where I prepare a sermon on a text that is speaking right at me. You who have known me for a little while have noticed that I spend a lot of time planning, anxiously anticipating, playing through worst-case scenarios in my mind. Today, I stand before you and repeat the words of Jesus I so often forget to hear—”do not let your heart be troubled” and “do not be afraid.” Every week, I proclaim “the peace of the Lord be with you, always” and you obediently reply “and also with you.” We say that because right here, in the 14th chapter of the Gospel According to John, Jesus says, “peace I leave with you, my peace I give to you.”

So let’s take him seriously today. We’re going to do something a little unusual. I have these papers for you, and we’re going to take five minutes, silently, and I want you to write down—not for the group, just for me to read—all the things that trouble your heart. All the things that you’re carrying around right now that make you afraid. You can write your name on it if you want me to know, but you can also stay anonymous. They can be small things, big things, personal things, global things, anything. I’m going trade you. I’m going to take these pieces of paper from you, on which you’ve written things I can pray about, things you want to just get out of your head. Things you want to hand over. And I’m going to give you a different piece of paper, in exchange. One that reminds you that the peace of the risen Christ is with you, always. So everybody get a paper and a pen, excellent. Five minutes starts now.

I bought this image from WordsxWatercolor; you can, too!

And now, here. As you go in peace, take this with you. Stick it to your bulletin board, put it by your desk, put it in your planner or binder or wherever you spend the most time forgetting that the peace of the risen Christ is always with you.