Artesian Spring (Day 11 of Lent)

A few posts ago, I wrote about how seeds were such a great metaphor for life.  Seeds, or lives, that sit around in dusty drawers and don't get planted are dead to the world.  But seeds that are planted find real and lasting life.  In response to that post, I decided to plant some seeds.  That Sunday afternoon, I went to the dollar store and bought some potting soil and some pots.  Out of unused cinder blocks and coffee cans I found around the house and the yard, I planted the tomato, watermelon, and okra seeds that were lying dormant in my dresser.

Ever since, I've been doing three things to cultivate these seeds.  Every morning before I go into meditation, I take a look at the pots of soil to see if any sprouts have popped up.  Then, I take the water hose and drip some water on each of them.  Then, I pray that the seeds will grow.  This morning, I prayed that God would destroy my enemies (the ants that have made a bed on top of one of my cinder block pots).

There is something inherently right about planting and watching and praying.  The way I interact with these potential plants is somehow connected to how I relate to God.  In today's passage for Lent, found in John chapter four, we're told that Jesus has found a seat at a well in the center of a Samaritan village. This passage is chock full of implications that could take us any different direction, but I want to focus on the conversation that occurs after the Samaritan woman realizes that Jesus knows about how she's been married five times.  What follows is simply beautiful.

Jesus tells her that if she knew the generosity of God, and knew who the man sitting in front of her was, that she would be asking him for a drink (earlier, Jesus had asked her for a drink).  He tells her that he has water to give her that doesn't make her thirsty again, and that it works like an artesian spring in the heart that gushes fountains of endless life.

Earlier in the conversation, she told Jesus, "You Jews believe that you have to go to Jerusalem in order to worship."

Jesus responded, "God's salvation is available through the Jews, but a time is coming when you're name will no longer matter.  You will worship neither near this mountain (where the village had worshiped for years in accordance with their ancestors), nor in Jerusalem.  The place will not matter.  God is on the lookout for those who worship in spirit in the pursuit of truth.  It's who you are, and how you live your life that matters to God."

I love this passage because it takes language that can easily become abstract and exclusive, and forms it into language that is inherently human.  I wrote a couple days ago about being "born again," and that it means to pay attention and respond to the spirit inside us (the voice) that leads us to our deepest desires and passions.  Jesus, in this passage is introducing this woman to the reality of being born again.  In this case, the voice is inviting her to accept a living water that quenches her thirst and gushes with endless life.  Maybe the water she is drinking right now is a water of co-dependence.  Maybe she can't quite find satisfaction with herself, so she's mowing through husbands and boyfriends trying to find something to quench her thirst.

Jesus is essentially telling her to start listening to the real voice, my voice, and find endless life.  We are once again confronted with two opposing systems - the system of life, and the system of death.  We listen to the voice of life and find an artesian spring of the heart that gushes with endless life.  We listen to the voice of death and find discontentment and shame.

One thing that Jesus makes clear is this:  we all have the spirit of God living inside of us.  The problem is, the spirit of God gets drowned out by all the noise and calamity of what we think is real life.  We think real life is staying busy, having a good job and all the responsibilities that come with it, going to church or not going to church, keeping an up-to-date planner, and the list goes on and on and on.  We've become so accustomed to listening to the voice of death, telling us to keep moving no matter how exhausted we are.  It tells us to please everyone and take on everything.

It's so hard to make sense of the voice that says, "This is who you are, not that.  This is how you really want to live, not that way."

Because we humans need language, we've created labels for everything.  But, with the labels have come parameters.  Jesus says that our labels no longer matter.  What matters is:  Are we being our true selves, and are our lives reflections of that?  In the case with the woman at the well, the time was coming that the label of Samaritan of Jew would have no connection with the worship of God.  For us today, the name Christian, Catholic, Buddhist, or Muslim does not determine how God views us humans.  What matters is, as Jesus says, worshiping God in our true selves and living a life in response to that.

When we tap into the inner recesses of our "artesian springs" and find the source of endless life, we find that we are lives are lining up with our worship.  We aren't saying one thing and doing another.  Our deepest passions end up being our true connections with God, and they flow over into every part of life.  When we give ourselves permission to tap into and live out our deepest desires and passions, we find a fountain gushing with endless life.  We find our true selves; and we find that God is the subject in our pursuit of truth.

As we enjoy this Saturday, may we ask ourselves, "What am I most passionate about?"  Then, may we ask ourselves, "What am I doing to tap into this passion?"  If the answer is nothing, may we make a list of ways that we're going to start tapping into this passion daily.  If there are things that we're doing, then may we ask ourselves how we're doing, and do we need to add or change anything.  May we come to realize that we find water that never runs out when we tap into our deepest passions, sourced from the well of the Living Water.

Humanity, the Bride (Day 10 of Lent)

A few years ago, I was in a wedding.  I was a friend of the bridegroom - a groomsman.  During the rehearsal, the officiant lined us up and we practiced what we would be doing the day of the wedding.  Knowing that we guys liked had the tendency of partying pretty hard on occasions such as these, the pastor clearly said, "Please, no alcohol before the wedding."  I nodded in a agreement, but figured he couldn't possibly be talking about me.  He was talking about everyone else.

The next day, we all showed up in a little house on the property to get ready.  There were some bottles of liquor and a fridge full of beer.  The idea was to just take the edge off and enjoy some time together before sending our friend off to the married life.  Well, I didn't just have a few.  I drank from noon until wedding time, and by the time I got in line with everyone else, I was sloshed.  The following is not from memory, but from several people telling me.

I staggered and swayed and looked to my left to see an auditorium full of excited people.  The two families and a host of friends were waiting to see the bride and bridegroom, while I was being carried away by the phenomenon of alcoholism.  I was in another world.

I could hardly stand once I got on the stage.  Worse than that, I had no control over my actions.  As the bride walked down the center aisle, I began clapping.  I felt a punch to the kidney, but it didn't help.  I kept clapping.  I was taking attention off the sparkling bride, and bringing it to myself.  After the ceremony ended, and the groomsman walked off the stage, I was getting more and more belligerent.  The guys couldn't keep me contained, and the security officer asked if he needed to escort me out of the building.  Someone said no.  It got so bad that one of the guys had to knock me upside the head to shut me up.  Needless to say, I didn't make it to the after party and someone gave me a ride home.  My night was over, and I had completely missed the wedding.  I was physically present, but mentally absent.  Years later, I heard from someone attending the wedding that the person sitting next to them said, "That's so nice that they invited that handicapped person to be a groomsman."  Wow.  

On day ten of Lent, John the Baptist is surrounded by his disciples, and they're getting a little perturbed that Jesus is stealing the spotlight from them.  He's begun baptizing people, and he's dunking way more people than they have.  They ask John, "You know that guy you were with on the other side of the Jordan the other day?  He's competing with us."

John says something very interesting, "Ya'll were there when I told the public that I was simply here to introduce the Messiah.  I was just getting things ready for him.  The one who gets the bride is the bridegroom.  And the bridegroom's friend, the best man - that's me - is in place at his side where he can hear every word.  He's genuinely happy.  How could he be jealous when he knows that the wedding is finished and the marriage is off to a good start?"

According to John, he was simply the best man and Jesus was the bridegroom.  The bride is us.  John says that the wedding has finished and the marriage is in progress.  Isn't that beautiful?  Humanity - the bride of Christ.

We are united with Christ and get to experience life to the fullest.  Are we emotionally and physically present, or are we emotionally absent from experiencing this? 

As we go out today, may we do whatever it takes to be emotionally and physically present in the midst of the Bridegroom.  May we love, but more importantly let ourselves be loved by him.  May we talk to him and let him know how we're doing.  May we serve him by serving the people we interact with today.

Lasting Grace (Day 9 of Lent)

When I was young, I had a conception of God that was built around an economy of shame.  If I did good things for God, he rewarded me.  If I did things against God, he punished me.  That conception affected every part of my life, especially in the situations that I knowingly did wrong.  

I had a really good friend.  We hung out all the time and went to the same school together.  One time on a family camping trip, I woke up late one night as I was sleeping to find him lying on top of me.  I was terrified.  All I could think of was, "What's going to happen now?"  I had heard reports that there were really hot places reserved for people who did stuff like this.  Closing my eyes and wishing the situation would disappear, I silently waited for it to end.  That night, I became a victim - not of a person - but of a self-shackling constraint of shame.  

Three more times this happened, but those times I was not asleep.  I participated.  We would stay up all night and experiment with each other behind closed doors while the parents were sleeping.  I enjoyed the intense feelings that came with it.  Little did I know about the sexual drive that would accompany these acts.  

Over the next few years, I would fantasize about doing the same things with other people as well.  I couldn't get out of my mind the intense feelings that I had from that first night in the tent.  There was a part of me that was absolutely terrified, and a part of me that enjoyed the feelings.  But, I was living in complete shame.  I considered myself the worst of the worst, a person God couldn't love and definitely a person no human being could love should they find out.  

At the age of fifteen, I discovered alcohol.  Out of self-hate and shame, I could catapult into existences I had never experience before.  But then, I remembered what the pastor had said about drunkenness.  There was a really hot place for people like me.  From fifteen to twenty-six, I drank.  That was my life in a nutshell.  I held onto my constructs of shame as if they were the only solid structure I could build my life around.  My idea of God had never changed, and Jesus was simply a human representation of the shame God.  I thought shame was the gauge by which everyone was required to live.  With this gauge, everything act and thought held in the balance.  

In today's passage for Lent, we're told by John that God went through all the trouble of sending his Son to earth, not to point an accusing finger at the world or to tell the world how bad it was.  I could never see this for most of my life.  If there was anything I thought about God, it was that he was constantly pointing an accusing finger, especially at me.  

John goes on to say that when we're addicted to practicing evil, denial, or make-believe, we prevent ourselves from experiencing "God-light," and we "fear being exposed by it."  We run away from the light of grace and run to the familiar constraints of self-induced shame.  When shame is our life gauge, we live by the rules that we place on ourselves.  John proposes that believing in Jesus and the grace that he offers sets our lives according to a different gauge - a freeing one.  No longer are we vacuumed in to our own condemning standards of right and wrong, but we experience the kind of freedom that allows us to experience a life that's whole and lasting.  

For the first twenty-six years of my life, I had no wholeness and no sense of stability.  And, I don't know how it happened that I entered into a different way of life.  It's not that I started forming different constructs to build my life around, because that's what shame told me to do.  I was constantly trying to build new economies that I could pour my resources into in the hopes of freedom.  None of that worked though.  The cornerstone of my change came with an acknowledged pain that I didn't know how to get rid of.  I couldn't do it.  Shame, which had once been my ally, had turned against me and was now trying to kill me.  I didn't want to die though.  As I was explaining all this to a friend, he offered a suggestion to me in front of Starbucks one night.  He said, "When you get into your room to go to bed tonight, get on your knees and ask God to remove the shackles that have been around your ankles your whole life."  

When he said this, I heard it.  It sunk.  That night, I did exactly what he said.  I was crying like a baby.  I couldn't believe it had been that long since I had felt a sense of hope.  I got on my knees, with all the memories of the past rolling through my head like a clock out of control.  I cried out to God, "God, please take these shackles off.  I don't want them anymore!"  This was the only time in my life that I can say I ever "felt" like a ton of bricks was lifted off my shoulders.  Shame was the ton of bricks.  The next morning I woke up and was scared at first because I was experiencing something I had never had before:  peace.  

That peace has stuck with me.  It's whole and it's lasting.  My tendency to screw up and do stupid shit hasn't changed one bit.  What has changed is my perception of God and myself.  No longer is God pointing an accusing finger, and no longer am I pointing an accusing finger at myself.  When I believe in Jesus, I live by the construct of grace.  Shame has no hold.  It's dead, gone and buried never to see the light of day.  God is no longer a pissed off loan shark, but power of freedom that intertwines my heart and my mind.  

As we go out today, may we realize and accept that God is not pointing an accusing finger at us.  May we realize that the rules we live by are the standards we set for ourselves.  May we realize that when shame comes knocking, we don't have to let it in because there is One who has conquered it for good.  As we practice letting go of some false economies in our lives, may we give ourselves grace through the God of grace.  Amen.

Born Again (Day 8 of Lent)

We've probably all heard someone tell us that "you have to be born again."  I remember when I got born again.  I was a kid sitting in Vacation Bible School staring at the front of the auditorium as Dr. Redman drew a baseball field on a dry erase board.  He said, "these are the four bases you have to get through to get saved."  First base represented acknowledging that I was a sinner.  Second base symbolized inviting Jesus into my heart.  Third base meant being made right with God.  And for those fortunate enough to squeeze home, heaven was waiting.  Undoubtedly, I knew that I wanted to get to fourth base, so I shyly walked up to the pastor to tell him.  I went into a hallway where another pastor was waiting to pray me in.  I was born again, but . . .

Then there's this thing called life that the baseball analogy didn't quite help me with.  Running bases to heaven and hearing a cool analogy and praying a prayer sure didn't make me feel like I was on my way to heaven, much less living some sort of life that meant anything more significant than all the other lives around me.

I believe Jesus proposes being "born again" much simpler than what was drawn on the dry erase board that day.  He relates it to a new-born baby.  We can look at and touch a baby.  We can smell them.  But what we can't see is the person who takes shape within.  What takes shape within is something we can't see and touch - what Jesus call the living spirit, or, the spirit of God.  What Jesus is proposing is that none of us are without the spirit of God, and it's the same spirit we find in the poetry of Genesis that "hovers over the water."  

The spirit of life is in all of us, and Jesus tell us that unless we submit to that spirit, it's not possible to enter the kingdom of God - to be born again.  Submit means simply "to yield power to."  

Have you ever known that you were really good at something or really enjoyed doing something, but people kept telling you that you needed to do something else?  "You need to get a job, you need to go to school, you need to get a real job."  If there's one wall separating us from submitting to the spirit of life within us, it's fear.  We have this gut feeling, this voice deep within.  It defines our passions and our desires.  But so often, we get afraid of following the voice, because with it may come rejection, condescension and doubt.  Have you ever had an idea that was so clear that you couldn't keep it to yourself?  And then, when you told somebody, they talked it down as if it were nothing significant?  

To be born again simply means to listen to the spirit within and follow directions.  The image of God is pressed deep within our beings, and it comes in the form of the human spirit.  So often, we talk about "not finding our purpose" or "not knowing what we want to do with our lives."  I think we know though.  I think there's been a voice the whole time whispering, inviting us to follow it into the uncertain desires and passions that we know we have.  

I love to write, and this Lent I am practicing.  Instead of putting that voice aside that reminds me of what I'm passionate about, I'm trying to listen to it and let it take me to places I've never been to before. For years though, this wasn't the case.  I was afraid of the voice.  I thought, "If I really aspire to be a writer, my life's not gonna look like his.  My parents aren't going to support that.  My church is going to laugh at me."  Fear kept me from pursuing the passions of my spirit.  It kept me stagnant.  In a way, I was "dead" to my spirit.  It wasn't until I was able to move through the fear and trust the voice, that I would become born again - to trust the invisible to move the visible.  

Are we tapping into spirit of God within us, the spirit that whispers through our deepest passions and desires?  Or, are we putting it on hold, writing it off as childishness and unimportant?  When we find the courage to listen to the voice, we find the kingdom of God.  We find a reality that we had never seen before.  It becomes the new normal.  No longer does life revolve around money, school, religion, food, or even ministry.  It revolves now around how well we're paying attention and responding to the spirit inside us - how well we're tapping into our deepest desires.  

So, have we been born again?  Have we started listening to the spirit of God, the invisible form, the voice inviting us into our deepest desires?  As we go out today, may we be intentional about doing one thing that connects us with the spirit.  If it's playing music, may we create time to do that.  If it's serving the homeless, may we find a homeless person.  If we're passionate about painting, may we create space to do that today.  Sometimes, all it takes is a few brush strokes to realize that all this time we were letting people, places, and things control us.  We were submitting, just to the wrong things.  Today, lets choose to submit to the Spirit and find what it means to be born again.  

Grass-Cutting Robots (Day 7 of Lent)

Imagine you're sitting in your office with the rest of your coworkers.  Let's say it's at Nasa.  Your team has been handed the order to work on a robot designed to analyze martian soils.  The boss has given a deadline of one year to design this robot, and it just doesn't seem like it's possible.  One day, one of your coworkers comes up with an idea, "Hey guys, this project sucks.  I have a better idea.  Lets build a robot that mows the grass."  So, the team abandons the martian soil analyzation robot and begins constructing a grass-cutting robot.  Everyone huddles together and starts exchanging ideas, and the work is going great!  In a matter of weeks, the team has installed plots of grass inside the office.  Models of lawnmowers are spread throughout the office, and the whole place looks like the Home Depot garden center.  The team is so excited about the project, that they forget they even have a boss.  They've become their own project supervisors, and have completely overhauled the original intentions of the boss.  

One day, the boss shows up to check in and see how the martian soil analyzation project is going.  To his dismay, as he walks in the door he feels something funny under his feet, looks down, and notices he's stepping on grass.  What the &*^$!  What's going on here?  The boss is so angry he rips up every plot of grass he finds and throws it out the front door.  He takes his practice putter he keeps in his office and starts taking out all the lawnmowers sitting around.  He throws computers and grass-cutting robot models out the windows and yells, "Get out of here!  Every last one of you!  You've turned my office into a zoo!"

The boss had spent years on preparations for this project, and what did he get in return?  Grass-cutting robots!  

Essentially, this is what happened when Jesus walks into the temple at Jerusalem.  The project he's been working on, that's been in the making since the beginning of time has turned into an economy run by loan sharks.  There are people selling cattle, sheep, and doves and charging interest-spiked loans to people who can't afford them - all for the sake of making sacrifices in return for forgiveness of sins.  

Jesus gets pissed.  He makes a whip out of leather and starts driving people and cattle out of the temple to clear it of the money changing charades.  The Jews ask him, "What gives you the right to do this?"  Jesus answers, "This temple will be destroyed, and in three days be rebuilt again."  The Jews exclaim, "What!  We spent forty-six years building this temple, and you're going to rebuild it in three days?"  His disciples remember the scriptures that were written long before this scene: "I am full of zeal for my Father's house."  

Later on, when Jesus dies and is raised from the dead, the disciples remember this event and believe what Jesus said and what was written in the scriptures.  

The temptation around Lent is to make a bunch of sacrifices in our lives in order to gain some kind of reward.  For some of us, we still haven't conceded to our innermost selves that we are forgiven, and are still trying to do more ministry, serve more homeless, be nicer, work harder, pray more, memorize more scripture, fast more, etc.  For some of us, we are doing Lent to receive something else.  So, my question for us is:  What currency are we exchanging in the Temple?  

Are we doing Lent with motives of connecting with the love of God?  What about connecting with the love of fellow human beings?  Or, are we secretly hoping that we can successfully climb the spiritual ranks of our peers, and become the best of the best at fasting, eating right, or not eating chocolate?  

I believe Jesus invites all of us to gratefully and joyfully exchange the currency of love during Lent.  Whether we're giving something up or taking something on, we can turn it into another rule for ourselves, or we can let it be an opportunity to maximize our profits of love for God and from God.  As we go out today, may we leave our false currencies outside the temple, and practice exchanging love with God and the people we interact with today.  

Temple

Last night was one of those nights where I walked into church service expecting one thing, and then getting something completely different and eye-opening.  Everyone attending was asked to write a secret that we've never told anybody down on a notecard.  For most of the service, I sat with a prideful grin on my face thinking, I've told everybody everything.  I've got nothing to worry about.  I'm good.  And when it came down to it, a thought popped in my head.  There was something I hadn't accounted for.  There were actually two things.  Crap.  I jotted it down on the notecard, and it was all fine and dandy until my girlfriend and I decided to swap secrets.  Oh man.  It was pretty safe writing it down anonymously, knowing that no one would be able to connect my name to the secret written on the card.  But, this was not safe.  My heart started pounding and I got scared, real scared.  

For the first time this Lent, and really for the first time in a while, I tapped into some pain that I wasn't aware of.  I was exposed.  I got found out.  I felt ashamed, embarrassed, and remorseful because I looked into her eyes and could tell that I had done wrong.  It once again put into perspective how prone I am to doing things that are hurtful without even knowing it.  Most of the time, I don't even know that I'm hurting somebody else until I'm feeling some sort of pain from my actions.  

Not only am I hurting on the inside, but my legs, thighs, and arms are on fire from a CrossFit workout I did on Saturday.  I shrugged it off yesterday when people asked me if I was sore.  Nah, I don't feel a thing.  I think denial was yesterday's theme.

In the scriptures this morning, we're looking at the esteemed and often referred to wedding party in Cana.  Jesus turns the water to wine, right?  I don't need to go through the whole story since most of us have heard it a million times, but there are a couple things that I noticed today that I haven't noticed before.  

First, we like to think that the wine is symbolic for partying.  Well, wine takes on a different role as well.  At Jewish wedding parties, after the bride and groom have exchanged rings (much like they do in the Christian tradition), seven blessings are recited by the whole room of people over wine.  It is possible that in the story of water to wine, the wine was running low before this event occurred.  I'm not going to go through all seven blessings, but I will go through one that really stands out.

One of the blessings includes a prayer that Jerusalem will be fully rebuilt and restored with the Temple in its midst and the Jewish people within her gates.  Was it a coincidence that Jesus would happen to be turning his first miracle, and it would have everything to do with the blessings of a restored Jerusalem?

The Jews didn't know that the Temple was in their midst, and the restoration had begun.  Jesus could have easily stopped the party and started preaching.  But, he didn't.  We're told that the host of the party didn't even know Jesus had done anything to the water.  He figured the bridegroom had been saving it for the end.  Jesus didn't get any credit for it, and he didn't want it.  That's a miracle to me.

Once again, we're reminded that our rituals of trying to make ourselves better and look better before God and people are not necessary anymore.  Jesus turned the water that was used for ritual hand cleaning into the wine that would be drunk as Jews verbally recited their hopes in the restoration of Israel.  So what do we do if the rituals are not necessary?  

There is action to be done, but what matters again is the heart.  What are my motives?  Am I trying to get something out of it, or am I trying to give something away?  Put in another way, are we washing ourselves off in order to get God's or man's approval?  Or, are we giving parts of ourselves away for good?  

May we go out today believing that we are being restored, even when the pain seems to tell us otherwise.  May we believe that we don't have to go to the Temple to find God, but that we are the Temple of God.  May we not beat ourselves up for our mistakes today, but be grateful for the grace that allows us to make mistakes and be okay about it.    

Cake and Wine (Day 5 of Lent)

The best wedding I've ever been too happened near Austin, Texas.  There is this mock Wild West town that a guy put together, and it's still there.  He's gone around the world purchasing buildings and cars from ghost towns, and has put them all in one centralized place in the hills of Austin.  The scene is incredible.  Walking down the street, it's just like in the movies.  There's a saloon, a barber shop, a church, feeding troughs for horses.  Each building is even decked out in the way the architect imagined it would be in the old west.  

The wedding was amazing.  The bridesmaids all wore western dresses and the groomsmen all wore Wranglers, cowboy hats, and boots.  It really felt like I was in a wedding in 1900.  The greatest part of the night was, of course, the party after the wedding.  Everyone congregated in the chapel, which had a glossy, immaculate, original wood floor.  There was no Chris Brown or Kanye playing at this wedding.  It was straight up Marty Robbins and Hank Williams (Senior, that is).  All the liquor and beer were made in Texas.  Horse troughs lined the walls full of Lone Star and Shiner Boch.  The dancing went on for hours.  Homemade barbecue filled the chapel with the smell of sizzling brisket, ribs, and sausage.  Everyone two-stepped jitterbugged for hours.  It was a true celebration.  The bride and the groom came together that night, and we celebrated as if time didn't exist.  

In today's passage, Jesus asks, "You don't skimp on the cake and the wine when the bride and groom are here, do you?"  

He had been confronted earlier by a group of skeptics who were wondering why the disciples of John the Baptist and the disciples of the Pharisees all were fasting and being boring, but the followers of Jesus were basically having a blast and eating and drinking like hooligans.  

Jesus was essentially telling the group of people, "I am here with my people, so get in on the celebration!  It won't be long before I'm gone, so take advantage of this while you can!"

In the time of Jesus on earth, Jewish law ruled the day.  Fasting was part of the law, and it was intended to not only remind the one fasting of his/her sins, but also it helped ensure that God would show favor on the one fasting for the day of Atonement (the day when the sins of each person are measured and the prescribed offering/sacrifice is calculated to take to the priest).  

Since we're told that Jesus was present in body with the people, it was time to celebrate.  It was time to drop the laws of fasting and atonement, and wake up to the reality that the Bride had arrived.  But some people just couldn't do it.  The Groom (people) and the Bride (Jesus) were together so it was time to throw the ribs on the grill and get the beer on ice!  

Jesus did mention, however, that when the Bride leaves they may want to pull in their belts again and go back to fasting.  Well, Jesus did leave unfortunately.  And he has been gone ever since.  But, there are two ways we can go about this fast in reference to the passage.  We can go the route of fasting because the Bride is gone, or we can go the route of feasting because the Bride has left her spirit in each of us.  Jesus does not say we have to go either route, though.  He says we may or may not, it's up to our conscience.  I happen to lean toward the side of believing that Jesus is not here, but that the remnants of Him are patched deep in my heart.  So, my fasting looks more like feasting.  Instead of refraining from something, I usually add something new to my life during Lent.  

There are others who see Lent through the Lens of Jesus being gone.  This is perfectly okay as well.  He is gone.  In the passage above, he was talking to people.  So, the response in Lent is to fast and mourn the need for, and the absence of, Jesus.  

In the context of the passage, the Bride is still there, talking, eating, dancing, and staying out all night with the Groom.  In the context of 2012, the Bride is one some sort of hiatus, and we (the Groom) are wondering where she is, and when she's returning.  We miss her, and it's frustrating.  But, as Jesus said so long ago, he did leave the spirit inside each of us to lead and guide us, using our desires and passions to lead the way.  I believe however one may go about it is fine, as long as the heart is in it.  

The practices that I've added this year are:  [attempting to] praying the rosary, doing a weekly CrossFit workout, and waking up at the crack of dawn to spend intentional times in the scriptures that run parallel with Lent.  

As we observe Lent today, and do whatever our hearts have told us to do with regards to fasting or feasting, may we acknowledge ourselves as little parts of the Groom, and Jesus as the Bride.  May we treat everyone around us as active members of the Groom, each one just as hopeful and desperate for the day when the Bride comes back to rescue her beauty.