Weekly Reflections
Fifty glorious days
Fifty glorious days, from Easter Sunday all the way to Pentecost. For fifty days, the Church feasts. For fifty days, she sings alleluia. For fifty days, she lives in the joy of the Resurrection as if it just happened, because in every Eucharist, in a very real sense, it does.
Consider what that tells us. We spent forty Lenten days fasting and preparing for Easter. The feast gets fifty days of celebration. The Resurrection wins. The joy is longer than the sorrow! That is not an accident. That is theology, beautifully baked right into the structure of the year.
During Eastertide, the Church dwells in the forty days between the Resurrection and the Ascension, the days when Jesus appeared to His disciples after rising from the dead. Then came the final ten days, from Ascension until Pentecost, when the disciples waited and prayed together in the upper room for the promised Holy Spirit. This is the story the Church invites us to inhabit each year.
The fifty days of Eastertide give us unhurried time to sit with the stories of the risen Christ. Work through them slowly across the season:
· Mary Magdalene at the tomb — John 20:11–18
· The road to Emmaus — Luke 24:13–35
· Jesus appears to the disciples — John 20:19–23
· Doubting Thomas — John 20:24–29
· Breakfast on the shore — John 21:1–14
Grace and peace,
Anita Sorenson
Pastor for Spiritual Formation
I had imagined that that at the beginning of Eastertide, the 50 days between Easter and Pentecost, I would be primed to write about the new things that Easter was bringing that made me rejoice. Instead, the ensuing days have included a torrent of the unexpected that has required persistence, elasticity and trust in events that were frightening, disheartening and some just sad. An unstable war in Iran that changes daily; testimonies of ongoing struggle and disorientation from the Eaton fire a year ago; skyrocketing costs and diminishing employment that have left people close to me fearing for what is ahead. So once again I see that Easter is not a magician’s wave of the wand of Resurrection, but a token in trust that after sadness, there is also comfort, after darkness, there is also Light, after despair, there is also Hope.
Friends, once again, we are invited to pay attention, to look, to listen, to wait, even in Eastertide, where the promise of all things are new has been given life. But not yet everything, Let’s stay close to each other as we look for signs of God’s presence and new life in our lives.
Anita Sorenson
Pastor for Spiritual Formation
Palm Sunday
We have to believe, Holy One, that the crowd lining the streets so long ago as Jesus entered Jerusalem was not so different than us.
We have to believe they were exhausted by those in authority, which is why they weren’t across town at the parade led by the Empire. We, too, are looking for another way.
We have to believe that they, like us, were overwhelmed by the relentless news of a world soaked in violence, war-torn, and weary. They needed someone to give them Good News, and so do we.
We definitely know that they, like us, were dealing with other really hard circumstances. They, too were aging, caregiving, parenting, menopausing, teenaging, fighting with family, building trust, recovering, relapsing, balancing, and generally stumbling about while trying to do their best.
And still, they showed up with palm branches. They showed up tired, confused, and without complete understanding. They showed up after their shift had ended, on their own, with kids in tow, with the clothes on their back, but most importantly, with hope in their heart.
We are still talking about it today.
May this story stoke the flame deep within us, Holy One, that it might grow strong enough to chase away the shadows and remind us that we are part of a movement trying to make peace within and around us.
Help us live in such a way that our children tell a story like this one about us - that we showed up even when it was hard, even when there wasn’t a clear way forward, even when we had reasons to stay home. Grant us glimpses of what can be, glimpses of what our ancestors of faith must have seen in themselves and in the community-builder Kingdom-bringer who rode into town on a donkey so many years ago.
We pray in the name of hope itself,
Amen.
Grace and peace,
Anita Sorenson
Pastor for Spiritual Formation
Roots
There is a story told about the bamboo forests of Asia. When bamboo is planted, almost nothing happens for years. The seed is watered. The soil is tended. Seasons pass. To the casual observer, the ground appears unchanged.
One year goes by. Nothing.
Two years. Still nothing.
Three. Four.
Then sometime around the fifth year, something remarkable happens. The bamboo suddenly shoots upward. Within a matter of weeks it can grow nearly ninety feet tall.
To someone who has not been watching closely, the growth appears sudden and almost miraculous. But of course the growth did not begin in the fifth year.
For years the bamboo has been doing its most important work underground. It has been growing an intricate network of roots, spreading wide and deep through the soil. Only once that foundation is strong enough does the visible growth begin.
I have been thinking about that story lately.
Spiritual traditions have always understood something that bamboo forests demonstrate so clearly: the most important growth often happens where we cannot see it.
When people gather to support one another, roots are growing.
When neighbors refuse to abandon compassion in a climate of fear, roots are growing.
When communities continue telling stories of justice, mercy, and dignity even when the larger culture grows cynical, roots are growing.
None of that work appears dramatic. It rarely makes headlines. It does not move quickly enough to satisfy our longing for immediate change.
But it matters.
Jesus often spoke about the kingdom of God in ways that puzzled people. He compared it to seeds scattered in a field, seeds that grow quietly through the night while the farmer sleeps. The growth happens beyond human control and often beyond human awareness. That image has always required patience.
The work of love, justice, and community rarely unfolds on the timetable we prefer. It grows slowly, often invisibly, through relationships and commitments that deepen over time. Like bamboo, it builds a foundation beneath the surface before it rises into view.
We may not yet see the full height of what is being planted in this moment.
…but the roots are growing, and roots, once established, can hold an entire forest.
Keep the faith, friends.
We are in this together,
Grace and peace,
Anita Sorenson
Pastor for Spiritual Formation
Limbs of Christ
A Lenten Prayer for Being the Limbs of Christ
by W. David O. Taylor
Incarnate God, Word made Flesh:
Use my hands, I pray, To bring a healing touch to those
whose bodies are in pain this day;
Incarnate God, Word made Flesh:
Use my feet, I pray, To bring a word of peace to those
who are at war with themselves this day;
Incarnate God, Word made Flesh:
Use my mouth, I pray, To speak a word of hope to those
who despair this day;
Incarnate God, Word made Flesh: Use my ears, I pray, To be hearing ears to those
who need to come clean this day.
Incarnate God, Word made Flesh:
Be pleased to be My hands and my feet
My eyes and my ears
My mouth and my tongue
To be a messenger of your own Body this day.
Amen.
(via Pravers for the Pilgrimage [IVP, 2024])
Grace and peace,
Anita Sorenson
Pastor for Spiritual Formation
World Day of Social Justice
Is not this the sort of fast that pleases me… to share your bread with the hungry, and shelter the homeless poor?
ISAIAH 58:6-7
It is two days on from Ash Wednesday, and you may already have been asked what you are giving up for Lent this year. Fasting, alongside prayer and almsgiving is, of course, one of the traditional pillars of the season.
The prophet Isaiah challenges us to deepen our understanding of fasting. It is not only a private spiritual practice that God desires, but our commitment to combating injustice. Not just sacrifice, but solidarity. Our fasting is meant to move us to care for our neighbors—especially those who are hungry, displaced, or marginalized.
Pope Leo XIV puts it this way: “The Lord does not want worship detached from life. He is not pleased with sacrifices and prayers, unless they lead to greater love for others and justice for our brothers and sisters.”
Today is World Day of Social Justice, where we remember the importance of addressing the causes of poverty and ensuring that all our sisters and brothers have what they need to flourish. Let’s pray that our Lenten fast may be pleasing to God and contribute to a better world for all people.
Grace and peace,
Anita Sorenson
Pastor for Spiritual Formation
Ash Wednesday
A friend sent this to me this week after a conversation we had about upcoming Ash Wednesday and the practice of giving something up for Lent. It is written by Nancy J. Nordenson:
At the beginning of Lent and in response to worrying far too much about too many things, I decided to give up worry for Lent. About two minutes after coming to that decision, however, I realized the impossibility of that intention, and so I changed it to practice not worrying, with definite emphasis on practice. The "practice" part immediately took the pressure off and turned the Lenten intention into something creative and responsive. I've kept this intention past the end of Lent and am still practicing and hope I'll always continue to practice. Even so, I forget to practice and worry builds until I remember again the practice, and just the remembrance of it, the words alone (practice not worrying), brings release, reminding me there are alternatives to toxic rumination. Practice. Practice. Like practicing my scales at the piano when I was a child. Over and over. Missed notes, missed fingering, stumbling, no matter, keep practicing. Again. Again. Today, tomorrow. Practice.
Grace and peace,
Anita Sorenson
Pastor for Spiritual Formation