![]() Maybe my appetite for eternity is less than it should be, but I am more at home with the ashes of Lent than with the perfect lilies of Easter-and never more so than after the year just past.Īlong with many other sacramentally minded Christians, I began the season of Lent almost 40 days ago with ashes on my head. The skies do not interest me nearly as much as the earth does, and soaring strikes me as a less worthwhile activity than, say, sharing the simplest meal among friends. Maybe I am simply too comfortable on the ground to sing such words with the gusto they deserve, but the truth is that the trajectory of my faith points down. As one verse by Charles Wesley has it, “Soar we now where Christ has led, following our exalted Head made like him, like him we rise, ours the cross, the grave, the skies.” During the great 50 days that follow, the trajectory of the Easter hymns will be up. The whole Christian year leans toward this Sunday of all Sundays, when God raised Jesus from the dead and made the whole creation new. Easter is almost here and I know I should be glad. ![]()
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