Arriving at Holy Saturday

And thus we come to the end of Lent. I’m not particularly faithful to the seasons of the Christian year. My Lenten discipline this year I probably gave lip service to more than half of the time. I suppose, however, that’s why they call it a discipline. It’s not meant to be easy. It’s actually meant to be difficult; otherwise, it wouldn’t be a discipline.
I could berate myself at this point for my failure to engage with this discipline well. I don’t think that’s particularly useful, though. That just combines the failure with a sense of worthlessness and uselessness that doesn’t lead to any resolution or redemption. I could also just sort of ignore my failure, which is probably my inclination in this situation, but I don’t think that’s helpful either. I gain nothing that way.

Is there a middle ground someplace? Is there a way to not beat myself up yet still acknowledge and hold this failure as a part of the truth of who I am and where I’m at? I think there has to be. And perhaps it simply must come back to real humility – I need God. I can’t do this on my own, and it’s only by His grace that my failures can become something truly more worthwhile.

The cross is empty today, yet still standing. And it will continue to stand. It proves that our failure are real. It also shows that our failures are rugged, painful, and even murderous. But if I might jump the gun a bit, tomorrow might show that if we’re willing to expose our failures and look on them and then wait for God, something miraculous just might come of it.

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