Almighty and eternal God,
so draw our hearts to you,
so guide our minds,
so fill our imaginations,
so control our wills,
that we may be wholly yours,
utterly dedicated unto you;
and then use us, we pray you, as you will,
and always to your glory and the welfare of your people;
through our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.
What a weird week. Weird Lent. Weird time. I have completed my first week, working remotely due to social isolation recommendations in light of this pandemic. The Governor has issued executive orders closing public schools through April, closing higher education, banning gatherings more than 25, and closing all restaurants, coffee shops and bars. She’s also advised that any gathering that includes more than 10 people in a vulnerable population, including anyone over 60, be cancelled. That’s pretty much every church service anywhere.
As a result of those recommendations, our bishop has said that there can be no public or corporate worship through mid-April. For the first time ever, or at least the first time in anyone’s memory, there will be no Palm Sunday procession. No Maundy Thursday foot washing. No Easter Sunrise Service.
People are reeling. People who were already feeling isolated, holding their breath during this weird time, were waiting for Easter to collectively exhale. My clergy colleagues were equally waiting to exhale, and do what they love, what God’s called them to do.
Meanwhile my sick loved one remains hospitalized. Unlike previous hospitalizations, however, this time they are working on finding alternative housing. Given their intense dissatisfaction at my home, it’s a good thing. My husband and I are holding our breath, waiting to see what’s going to happen with that.
As a family, community, country, world, we’re all holding our breath, not sure what’s coming next. But we know – at least in the Episcopal Diocese of Oregon – we won’t be able to enjoy the fellowship and joy of Easter together.
So what to do?
As it turned out, Jesus did not leave buildings, or denominations, or even wonderful, worshipful, fellowship. Jesus left a motley crew of followers. They were probably afraid, without his presence. They were in strange places doing things they’d not done before.
This morning, I’m thinking about those first disciples, they probably could have lived just fine within the weird times we have now. They would not have worried that they couldn’t stop at the coffee shop. That they couldn’t gather in more than 25. They probably wouldn’t have worried that Easter services were cancelled. They would have gone about their work of loving God and serving God’s people.
One of the prayers we include in Morning Prayer is this prayer of self-dedication. If this prayer had a musical setting, I imagine that the first parts, so draw our hearts, so guide our minds, so control our wills, would be a beautiful swelling anticipation bit, that then resolves with ‘that we may be wholly yours’ and gently resolves and concludes with ‘then use us, we pray you, as you will’.
Today, I’m thinking about how to be utterly dedicated to God. About praying that God draws my heart, guides my mind, fills my imagination, controls my will, that I know I am wholly God’s and used for the welfare of God’s people. None of that is dependent on corporate worship, or on whatever the next few weeks hold. Today, I want to work on being able to exhale this long-held breath.
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