King of the Universe, Maker of every turning season,
every time under heaven.
Maker of the cold shifting winds—You know where the storehouses are kept.
You hold the keys to its white, frozen billows, and you send
it falling whenever you see fit.
God of Creation, we shiver here below it.
We watch it from our windows, in the glow of porch lamps.
We huddle under blankets and dream—
of warm sun on our faces.
We thank you, Maker of all we know, that you are the Decider.
What I mean is that our shifting minds and whims cannot hold
the heaviness of when to fell the snow anymore than we can decide
to turn to you.
In this season of Lent, a time which you did not ordain in Your Word,
yet allowed space for in the hearts of your people—
We find ourselves yearning Springs candle to bring all things to life.
Especially on this cold, late winter evening.
Especially here, in the space that is no longer new with a years turning,
nor fresh like a new season.
Lent is waiting.
We are waiting for snow to change to daffodils.
We are seeing that the one is needed for the other to happen.
We are waiting for a reason to clean away the cobwebs.
We are seeing that the time to make room is now.
We are waiting for the long temptation of self reliance to give out.
We are seeing that you are making a way in the wilderness, right here—
You are giving us victory, right here, over temptation.
Great Father of Mercies, seen and unseen,
You are meeting us here.
In the frozen places of not yet.
In the forgotten blessing of another chance to trust.
In this time of putting aside and turning to You.
In this chance to push away the clutter that steals our attention
and takes more joy than it gives.
In our frozen, cold hearts—exchanging stones for beating, living, Spirit-filled
temples, for you to make your dwelling.
Wherever we find ourselves this night, help us to remember—
You have called us to remember.
And not only remember, as in a sentimental feeling or flutter of emotion—
but to take hold of this truth and never forget to let it go:
Ours is not an inheritance of endless seasons to bear.
Ours is not an eternity of hoping for the snow to end.
If Lent is anything, it is the hand that would lift our heads to tell us
the story isn’t over yet.
Lord Almighty, whisper to us that truth eternal.
Christ has come.
Let us walk with Him now, out of this chill of waiting,
out of tombs and graves.
Let us see together that He has indeed made all things new,
without our effort or work or trying.
Let us put our hands to the plough, even when the ground is hard
because the gospel can grow even here.
Let us make ourselves ready, lamps alit with hearty flames,
for the Bridegroom is just around the corner.
Yes, if Lent is anything tonight, let it push us forward to that celebratory parade!
To Him who we follow,
To Him who’s finished work we see, and will see, spring up all around.
To Him who is seated, and ruling these snowy skies.
To Him who meets us here, right now, with real hope and the power to save.
Jesus our Lord Forever, To Him.
Amen.
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