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I’ve begun my 2020 journey toward Holy Week with a renewed spirit. For a few months before Lent began, I’ve explored worship in a new way for me. Worship has always been important for my spiritual wellbeing. It’s the reason I habitually appear in the company of Christians on Sunday mornings. I do not worship to hear a sermon with tired cliches and trite phrases. Or vapid lyrics set to ear-worm tunes disconnected to the real life issues of people sitting around me. The ordered service centered around a sermon based on a verse or few of scripture without anchoring it in the context of the grand story of God’s relationship with his creation, leaves worship disconnected, an isolated hour in the middle of living. I can leave such worship without knowing where I am as a Christian in the annual cycle of celebrating the Christ Event.
My desire when I gather with Christians for worship is for a deep spiritual experience with my Lord Jesus Christ. Therefore, I am not seeking a sermon, which is a small part (almost an aside) of entering into fellowship with Jesus. I want to enter worship bringing something to offer Jesus—a thankful heart to bless his name or a contrite heart and confession of sin—and leave with the distinct feeling—even perhaps an emotionally physical feeling—of having been with him. Walking out of the nave I have a spring in my step, and a song in my heart. I leave with the words of the gospel song “There’s Just Something About that Name” ringing in my soul. I walk toward lunch with confidence. I have been with God’s people; and we have been with Jesus. It is the joy of Easter on those Sundays.
However, worship does not always leave me buoyant and joyful. This is the season of Lent. Sometimes, during Lent, I leave while still confessing. When meeting Jesus, his scars scream out the sins if my ways and worship has only begun the process of dealing with them and bringing them to him. I need more time to sincerely unpack them with a deeply contrite spirit, more time to consciously form words with which I can begin to describe them. They are subtle, they hide behind observable goodness. They wear masques in order to cover their hideous disgust and thereby appear acceptable. They deceptively leave my “witness” unmarred. It’s when I meet Jesus in worship that he gently guides me to see that with which I need to deal. I’m grateful that Lent is not a one-day or one-week celebration. I need time to deal with sinning “through our own fault, in thought, and word, and deed, and in what we have left undone,” as we confess in the liturgy.
I know Easter is coming. I’m not quite ready yet, but I know it’s coming. And with Easter comes the promise that he’ll come again, the hope of Glory.
What do you understand the local church to be? Is it a group of people who all think in unison with a set of beliefs to which each has subscribed? Or, is it a group of people who are worshiping God together even though they may not all agree to what that means? I recently read a post on Travis Flanagan’s website 
Easter is coming. As I sit here looking out onto a rain-slicked Tucker Avenue and parks, which are trying to become spring-green, under a thin, grey, leaky sky, I do not feel energy for tackling the tasks of the day. The freshness spring—officially five days old—should usher in is absent from the scene. How inappropriate, incongruent with the season today seems—temperature in the forties, drizzly rain, and grey skies does not paint an image of joyful spring with kids (goats or children) frolicking in green meadows. But it’s going to get worse.
I have been in a process of reimagining my life. The word “reimagine” means to reinterpret or rethink an earlier version. It is approaching again something already experienced but in a new way. 
