Psalm 51:17
Stop.
Take a deep breath. Trace the sign of the cross on your forehead. Center yourself in God’s promises for reconciliation and renewal today, tomorrow, and always.
Listen.
The sacrifice acceptable to God is a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise. – Psalm 51:17
Reflect.
All week, we have been reading from Psalm 51. We usually read this psalm in worship on Ash Wednesday, which just happened three days ago. We now find ourselves in the season of Lent. In this time, we often lean heavily on the guilt, obligation, and brokenness that surround our lives and for which Jesus went to the cross.
In my experience, there have been those among us for whom this season is almost unbearable. Their lives feel too heavy with anxiety, depression, and grief already. The very suggestion that it is their fault that Jesus suffered and died breaks their hearts beyond repair. Rather than reminding them of their humanity, beloved by Jesus, they can only see their errors and sins causing the death of God’s own son.
For those who know this pain too well, a verse like Psalm 51:17 can be too much. It seems to tell us that the only way to come to God is to suffer. Only once we are completely broken down, destroyed by shame, can God fully receive us. It makes it sounds like God wants them to continue to punish themselves.
What if instead the psalm reminds us that not one of us is without shame? What if it is especially intended to call out those who think they can do it all on their own? What if it intends to comfort those who know the pain of life too deeply, and claim even that suffering as welcome in God’s presence? What if God knows that you don’t need to make yourself suffer, that life itself has enough suffering all on its own, and God will not fault you if all you can bring into God’s presence is a broken spirit?
The point of Lent is not to suffer like Jesus did. We are not Jesus. Rather, the point of Lent is to recognize the reality of suffering, whether we are its cause or whether suffering comes simply from the pain and chaos of life. If you are one who knows all too acutely the heaviness of life that seems exacerbated by Lent, I hope you can also hear the promise of the coming of Easter. Because the beauty of this season is that it names life for what it is: difficult, painful, and so beloved by God that God would go through death itself to give us hope.
Pray.
God, I know you invite me just as I am, even in my pain and despair. I bring my suffering before you today. Although my heart breaks, I know you will fill it with your love. I praise you for this gift. Amen.
Carry On.
What breaks your heart today? How can you bring it before God? What’s one thing you can do this week that bears God’s love into that place of sadness for you?