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Daily Lenten Devotional: Grace in the Wilderness: Experiencing God in Times of Uncertainty
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Good Friday & Saturday, April 15 & 16
Sabbath Rest
“On the seventh day God rested
in the darkness of the tomb;
Having finished on the sixth day
all his work of joy and doom.
Now the Word had fallen silent,
and the water had run dry,
The bread had all been scattered,
and the light had left the sky.
The flock had lost its shepherd,
and the seed was sadly sown,
The courtiers had betrayed their king,
and nailed him to his throne.
O Sabbath rest by Calvary,
O calm of tomb below,
Where the grave-clothes and the spices
cradle him we do not know!
Rest you well, beloved Jesus,
Caesar’s Lord and Israel’s King,
In the brooding of the Spirit,
in the darkness of the spring.”
— N.T. Wright
The Challenge of Jesus: Rediscovering Who Jesus Was and Is
Maundy Thursday, April 14
Music Reflection
"Believe for It" | Psalm 118:1-2, 14-24
With Easter on the horizon but still hidden by the shadow of the cross, the promise of this song speaks powerfully to me.
- Nicole Aldrich, Director of Chapel Music and of the Princeton University Chapel Choir
“Believe for It” CeCe Winans
They say this mountain can't be moved - They say these say these chains will never break - But they don't know You like we do - There is power in Your name - We've heard that there is no way through - We've heard the tide will never change - They haven't seen what You can do - There is power in Your name - So much power in Your name - Move the immovable - Break the unbreakable - God, we believe - God, we believe for it - From the impossible - We'll see a miracle - God, we believe - God, we believe for it - We know that hope is never lost - For there is still an empty grave - God, we believe no matter what - There is power in Your name - So much power in Your name - You are the way when there seems to be no way - We trust in You, God, You have the final say - Move the immovable - Break the unbreakable - God, we believe - God, we believe for it - From the impossible - We'll see a miracle - God, we believe - God, we believe for it
Wednesday, April 13
Devotional
Joyful Disruption of Hope
Over the quarantine, I desperately wanted to be in worship. I desired to be in worship with the community other people. I longed for the days of pews filled with people, the choir's voices echoing throughout the Chapel, and being with my colleagues, the seminarian, and the student deacons. But, instead, Sunday after Sunday, I began to lose my love for preaching and worship as I preached sermons and uttered prayers into an empty Chapel while staring at a camera. When we received clearance to resume in-person to worship this past fall, I was delighted to see people. It felt good to welcome those who made their way into the Chapel on Sundays. Although we were cautious and our interactions a bit awkward, we were together. I could not see their faces or smiles, but I felt their energy. We embodied and shared a sincere appreciation and gratitude for what I had once taken for granted. On Christmas Day, a family entered through the chapel's main doors. Immediately upon entrance, their three small children ran full-speed to the very front of the Chapel and climbed up on the front pew. Their eyes were wide with amazement and awe as they craned their little necks to gaze up at the cathedral ceiling. Their fingers pointed at the stained glass and its colorful reflection on the stone floor. My eyes began to water as I watched their excitement and innocence. As we concluded communion, the soloist's operatic voice soared above and around us, filling the air with the hope of Christmastide. Then, as she sang her final note, the voice of a small child broke the silence as they clapped with excitement and yelled an approving, "Yay!" At that very moment, I began to cry. That child's applause and voice gave witness to God's goodness and provision. That joyful disruption filled my heart. That child reminded me that there is so much more to be and experience as a community. There is more grace, life, joy, hope, and an abundance of love. Thanks be to God.
- Theresa S. Thames, Associate Dean of Religious Life and of the Chapel
Tuesday, April 12
Poetry
Blessed Are the Poor in Spirit (For Theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven)
Did you ever understand this? If my spirit was poor, how could I enter heaven? Was I depressed? Understanding editing, I see how a comma, removed or inserted with careful plan, can change everything. I was reminded of this when a poor young man in Tunisia desperate to live and humiliated for trying set himself ablaze; I felt uncomfortably warm as if scalded by his shame. I do not have to sell vegetables from a cart as he did or live in narrow rooms too small for spacious thought; and, at this late date, I do not worry that someone will remove every single opportunity for me to thrive. Still, I am connected to, inseparable from, this young man. Blessed are the poor, in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Jesus. (Commas restored) . Jesus was as usual talking about solidarity: about how we join with others and, in spirit, feel the world, and suffering, the same as them. This is the kingdom of owning the other as self, the self as other; that transforms grief into peace and delight. I, and you, might enter the heaven of right here through this door. In this spirit, knowing we are blessed, we might remain poor
- Alice Walker
Monday, April 11
Devotional
Words Woven to Hold Suffering
A few days before this Valentine’s, I lost a friend and a family. Both funerals were in Korea, so I grieved from afar. In my mourning, I remembered the words I offered to patients last year. God seemed to be asking if I could dwell in the words I wove to hold their suffering. Between the freezing of the river and the blossoming of the roses, I was a chaplain at a hospital in Boston. My first visit was to a cancer patient who wondered whether she should be resuscitated in case of a cardiac arrest. The Catholic patient said she had come to terms with her death, and she was grateful for her baby granddaughter. She expected God to be a woman of color. I listened, and we prayed. The next day, I learned that she passed away that night. She had wanted to hold her family, but the pandemic denied her last wish. I visited the morgue, where I felt viscerally the bleakness of death. In the frigid vestibule, bodies wrapped in white sheets lay on metal carts. Her death seared my traumas and consumed me until seasoned chaplains comforted me. They taught me to be a wounded healer, to accompany patients and their families as they prepared for the life beyond. As much as loss and grief, I witnessed joy and gratitude as patients recovered or learned to embrace their brokenness. I sang for a 20-week-old baby with the name of a flower who entered the world 20-weeks early. I have never seen hands so delicate— the size of my knuckles— and so wonderful as to evoke the hands of our knitter. Many patients faced their mortality with poise and joked with me, prayed for me, and graced me with wisdom and gifts. I often could not answer their questions on providence, so I responded with prayers. When our eyes opened, the Lord enveloped them with peace that passes all understanding. Overnight shifts of fears and farewells were exhausting, but my mother reminded me that I lived in slivers of heaven in being present with the poor in spirit. Every Lent, I ponder what parts of myself ought to wither so other parts can rise with Christ. In my journey from dust to dust and life to life, I hope to cultivate patience and faith that in the fullness of time, God will fulfill and redeem.
- J.Y. Lee, Ph.D. Candidate at Princeton Theological Seminary, Chapel Deacon
Palm Sunday, April 10
Scripture
Isaiah 30:19-21
Truly, O people in Zion, inhabitants of Jerusalem, you shall weep no more. He will surely be gracious to you at the sound of your cry; when he hears it, he will answer you. Though the Lord may give you the bread of adversity and the water of affliction, yet your Teacher will not hide himself any more, but your eyes shall see your Teacher. And when you turn to the right or when you turn to the left, your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying, “This is the way; walk in it.”
Friday, April 8 & Saturday, April 9
Sabbath Rest
“The sabbath has been a great gift to me by slowing me down and inviting me to experience God’s rest — not just analyze it…I have received the gift of rest in Christ…The sabbath has also enabled me to learn from Jesus, to take His gentle yoke upon my shoulders rather than live in response to the world’s demands and my own unhealthy desires.”
— Lynne M. Baab, Sabbath Keeping: Finding Freedom in the Rhythms of Rest
Thursday, April 7
Music Reflection
"I Can't Even Walk" | Isaiah 30:19-21
“The Lord won’t give you more than you can handle.” “God is trying to teach you something through this.” “When God closes a door, God opens a window.” Just in case the reader doesn’t already know: these are exactly the things you should NOT say to someone who is struggling. It simply isn’t helpful, and can be harmful, to imagine that our difficulties were inflicted by a God we’re supposed to trust. That’s why I have trouble with scriptures like today’s, in which God is said to give us “the bread of adversity and the water of affliction.” I suppose, though, it’s a natural human tendency to try to make sense of the chaos in our lives in one way or another, even if we have to pin it on the Divine Themself. As I have navigated some difficult waters in my life, I have learned that for me, at least, the beauty of struggle is there within the pain: a heart broken open can let others in. And I am grateful for this promise: “When you turn to the right or when you turn to the left, your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying, ‘This is the way; walk in it.’”
- Nicole Aldrich, Director of Chapel Music and of the Princeton University Chapel Choir
“I Can’t Even Walk” by Colbert and Joyce Croft and performed by Jamie Wilson - I thought number one would always be me I thought I could be what I wanted to be I thought I could build on life's sinking sand But I can't even walk without you holding my hand I can't even walk without you holding my hand The mountains too high and the valleys too wide Down on my knees that's where I learned to stand That I can't even walk without you holding my hand I thought I could do a lot on my own I thought I could make it all alone I thought of myself as a mighty big man But I can't even walk without you holding my hand I think I'll make Jesus my all and all And when I'm in trouble on his name I'll call If I don’t trust in him I'd be less of a man I can't even walk without you holding my hand
Wednesday, April 6
Devotional
A Prayer to Help Us Slow Down
This original prayer helps me slow down and imagine a different pace of life that resists prioritizing hurry, grind, stress, and production. In reorienting our pace, we better experience God’s grace during those wilderness and uncertain seasons of life. The following prayer is based on the following biblical texts: Mark 5:21-24, 35-36, 38-39 and/or John 11:1-7, 11, 20-23 (NRSV) which highlight that Jesus did not rush in his ministry, but completed every assignment, in God’s time which is always on time.
Let us join in prayer, offering our thanksgiving and intercession to God.
Holy God, we give you praise for journeying alongside us with patience and with a steady tempo during the pandemics, Covid-19 and 1619. We are grateful for your presence that transcends cultural, religious, economic, political, and social distancing. Thank you for our community here at Princeton University and how you will slowly grow it. Lord teach us, the pace of Christ
We ask God for your peace in our hearts and minds as we discern how we might participate in your work. Equip us to offer our gifts, education, and resources, not for a faster world, but a world that would move according to the rhythm of your heart. Lord teach us, the pace of Christ
We pray for our neighbors that serve at nearby restaurants and gas pumps, our neighbors whom we pass on the lanes of local highways and the aisles of local grocery stores in Trenton and other neighboring communities. We pray that we might slow down enough to say, “good morning” and “thank you.” Lord teach us, the pace of Christ
Lord help us to pause and see each person as a beloved child of God, all kinds, colors, shapes, and abilities. Teach us how to preach against injustice, protest evil, protect the earth, and pray for the infilling of your Guiding Light that alerts us when we are inching ahead of your timing. Lord teach us, the pace of Christ
We pray for resolve and safety all around the globe. We pray for our president and all those in leadership around the world. We also pray for those affected by fires, hurricanes and earthquakes. Lord may your healing touch and hands of justice move swiftly but…Lord teach us, the pace of Christ. Amen
Daniel Heath, Student Life Resident at Princeton Theological Seminary
Tuesday, April 5
Poetry
Untitled
Lord, when you send the rain think about it, please, a little? Do not get carried away by the sound of falling water, the marvelous light on the falling water. I am beneath that water. It falls with great force and the light blinds me to the light.
James Baldwin
Monday, April 4
Devotional
Giving Up
For lent, we have been asked to give up something in recognition of Jesus Christ's sacrifice for us. What does it mean to "give up something" when at times we really and truly feel like giving up? Personally, because I too often feel like giving up I have given up on "giving up." So often being at an elite academic institution can create so much pressure in our own lives, we can feel like quitting and going home. And justifiably so, there is so much hardship and toil not just here but in the world beyond a college campus. We can find ourselves possessed by demons. I do not mean this in the strictly literal, metaphysical sense but in an actual sense speaking of the ugly things with a mind of their own that hold us down and make us want to give up. Demons like racism, homophobia, misogyny, classism, elitism, violence, hard memories, and even that creeping lack of motivation that can injure us in professional and social lives. We feel so empty by these demons, we feel systems do not allow us to be our fullest beautiful selves. How can we be asked to give up anything more when we feel that our own self, our own being is compromised already? This lent, I reflect on how Jesus takes on all our burdens in giving himself up for us, including sometimes the task of "giving up something" itself. And for me, at least, this is one reason not to give up. I believe in a God who does not ask us to do anything we cannot do. I believe in a God who loves us for our whole selves and delights in the progress of the realization of our true inner self, the revelation of our soul as a worthwhile and integral individual as part of the gorgeous body of Christ. I cherish the moments I feel freed from the weight of the world, no longer possessed by hardship, and I rejoice in giving up on giving up.
-Rosa Ross, MDiv Candidate, Princeton Theological Seminary
Sunday, April 3
Scripture
Exodus 16:9-15
Then Moses said to Aaron, “Say to the whole congregation of the Israelites, ‘Draw near to the Lord, for he has heard your complaining.’” And as Aaron spoke to the whole congregation of the Israelites, they looked toward the wilderness, and the glory of the Lord appeared in the cloud. The Lord spoke to Moses and said, “I have heard the complaining of the Israelites; say to them, ‘At twilight you shall eat meat, and in the morning you shall have your fill of bread; then you shall know that I am the Lord your God.’” In the evening quails came up and covered the camp; and in the morning there was a layer of dew around the camp. When the layer of dew lifted, there on the surface of the wilderness was a fine flaky substance, as fine as frost on the ground. When the Israelites saw it, they said to one another, “What is it?” For they did not know what it was. Moses said to them, “It is the bread that the Lord has given you to eat.
Friday, April 1 & Saturday, April 2
Sabbath Rest
“The everyday pace of our culture is not healthy, sustainable, nor liberative. We are living and participating in violence via a machine-level pace of functioning. This toxic space has been accepted as the norm.”
— Tricia Hersey, The Nap Ministry
Thursday, March 31
Music Reflection
"At the Table" | Exodus 16:9-15
I’ve wondered since I was a kid exactly what the manna in the desert tasted like. The Exodus story says only that it was “flaky, as fine as frost on the ground.” Did it taste bland like flour? Was it like those cardboard-y communion wafers? Or just kind of like dust? We’ll never know, but I imagine that to those hungry Israelites, it was the most lavish of feasts. There are many stories, prophecies, and parables about feasts in the Bible, and I love them all. They remind me that at God’s dinner table, what matters most are the people around it: the hungry, the powerless, the weary, the unwanted, the people who believe they are unlovable. God calls us to the table, one and all. Here’s gospel great Richard Smallwood, echoing God’s invitation: Come over here! “Come over here, where the table is spread, and the feast of the Lord is going on. There’s joy over here… There’s peace over here… and the feast of the Lord is going on."
- Nicole Aldrich, Director of Chapel Music and of the Princeton University Chapel Choir
Wednesday, March 30
Devotional
Dream Big; Do Not Fear
"But now thus says the Lord, he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel: Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you."—Isaiah 43:1-2
- Len Turner Scales, Presbyterian Chaplain to Princeton University and Executive Co-Director of the Westminster Foundation
Tuesday, March 29
Poetry
Wilderness of Waiting
Thus says the Lord: The people who survived the sword found grace in the wilderness; when Israel sought for rest, the Lord appeared to them from far away. Jeremiah 31:2-3 (NRSV) I didn’t imagine the seminary as a wilderness of waiting. Seminary was never my plan or my path. Nevertheless, when I accepted the call to preach, God gifted me with a place to sharpen the craft. The first few weeks whirled by like a swirling simoom in the Arabian desert as I listened to theologies of theologies. I felt lost and alone as my thoughts meandered in the wilderness of waiting. The unknown. “What am I doing here?” I asked myself irate that God had disrupted my life again. I’m well past my prime. I wrestled waiting in the wilderness, stuck and impatient. Sulky with too much reading and not enough time. Each page reminded me that seminary was not my plan. The core of my being—my me, myself, and my I— twisted and turned in the wilderness of waiting starved for spiritual sustenance. Thirsty for answers, restless in prayer, I scribed in my diary: Dear God, Here I am. I am here. Am I here? And that was the question. Am I here? Am I present living in the right now? Or was I meandering in the wilderness of waiting, afraid to rest in the consciousness of God’s favor. Had I become anxious in the unknowing overlooking God’s grace in the wilderness of waiting, a place with space to discern what’s next. Like the Israelites who “found grace as they wandered in the wilderness” after surviving the sword and slaughter at Babylon, I realized here I am moving beyond dry places and into God’s presence, and this was enough as I waited in the wilderness. Now I’m watching God’s appearance come morning by morning. Dear God, help us to rest in your grace as we watch and wait in the wilderness of the unknowing, and trust your faithfulness again and again.
- Angela Hooks, MDiv Candidate, Princeton Theological Seminary
Monday, March 28
Devotional
Imagine the Beautiful Things
When I struggled with the wilderness of an unfamiliar city and loneliness in a pandemic, my therapist would prompt me to imagine the beautiful things I hoped for ahead, and talk her through exactly what I was seeing, smelling, feeling, tasting as I imagined those things. In the simplest terms, I was thinking about the things I was looking forward to. A common exercise. But in practice, it was a heartening exercise in difficult times to imagine, in specific terms, with attention to even the tiniest details, and without limitations, the people, the places, and the experiences I hoped to return to. I hadn’t engaged my imagination with such energy or intention since I was a child. It led me to envision the people that I missed – everyone that miles and miles and a pandemic kept me from – and the sights, sounds, even smells, of the reunions that would eventually come, and I found hope there. Though sometimes the imagining made me sad – reminders of how long it had been since I had my dad’s cooking or hugged my mother or laughed until I was doubled over at a friend’s apartment – it always made me grateful. In the absence of community, I imagined its sweetness all the stronger. Since recently returning home, God has been so graceful to show me that there was truth in those visions of beauty; that I was so right about the things I saw as valuable in my community of family and friends. The reconnection, the picking-up-where-we-left-off, even the awkward fumbling to find our footing again, has not just been as sweet, but sweeter than I had imagined. That was an unexpected gift for me. I tend to take seriously warnings against setting expectations too high or allowing imagination to run too free, for fear of disappointment. And there is a lot of disappointment in life right now. And still, at this moment, along with the very hard things, I am sitting with the unexpected gift that some of the imaginings that sustained me over the last couple of years have not resulted in disappointment. The sweetness I imagined in coming back home, in reconnecting with my community, in being together again, is exactly what I am experiencing. Such incredible grace.
- Erica Harris DeValve, ’17, Communications & Program Coordinator at the Office of Religious Life
Sunday, March 27
Scripture
Isaiah 40:3-5
A voice cries out: “In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord, make straight in the desert a highway for our God. Every valley shall be lifted up, and every mountain and hill be made low; the uneven ground shall become level, and the rough places a plain. Then the glory of the Lord shall be revealed,and all people shall see it together, for the mouth of the Lord has spoken.”
Friday & Saturday, March 25 & 26
Sabbath Rest
“Sabbath requires surrender. If we only stop when we are finished with all our work, we will never stop, because our work is never completely done. With every accomplishment there arises a new responsibility. Every floor invites another sweeping, every child bathed invites another bathing. When all life moves in such cycles, what is ever finished? The sun goes round, the moon goes round, the tides and seasons go round, people are born and die, and when are we finished? If we refuse rest until we are finished, we will never rest until we die. Sabbath dissolves the artificial urgency of our days, because it liberates us from the need to be finished.”
— Wayne Muller
Sabbath: Finding Rest, Renewal, and Delight in Our Busy Lives
Thursday, March 24
Music Reflection
"And the Glory of the Lord" | Isaiah 40:3-5
This powerful prophecy has an indelible association with one particular composition. (Perhaps the reader is familiar with it.) I searched for other music, but in the end, there was only one choice. This Korean-language performance is conducted by Chai Hoon Cha with the Chai Hoon Cha Choir, Korean Students’ Glee Club, Honors Capella Choir, and the Gunpo Prime Philharmonic Orchestra. “And the Glory of the Lord” from Messiah
G. F. Handel. And the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, And all flesh shall see it together, For the mouth of the Lord hath spoken it.
Wednesday, March 23
Devotional
"Follow me, and I will make you fish for people" (Matthew 4:19)
In Matthew 4 Jesus calls his first disciples to ministry. The way I learned it, this story meant one thing: to follow Jesus one must leave everything they know behind. Encountering the story as an adult, especially as a seminarian discerning what’s next, the starkness of leaving the old to pursue a new calling inspires trepidation and bewilderment. So, when this text was featured in my daily meditations last semester, I shuddered. In that shuddering, though, I found myself reconsidering the story as if God was nudging me to think again. This time I was struck by the continuity in the story. The narrative begins by naming the characters—Peter and Andrew—and defining their identities: “they were fishermen.” The story ends, at least Peter and Andrew’s bit, with Jesus’ invitation to follow him and his promise to make them “fish for people.” In the course of the narrative, these men find their vocations transformed by Jesus, by their calling. The notion of calling looks different through this reading. What was starkly old versus new looks like growth and transformation. Jesus invites these men to do something new with the life and work that they already know. Their work has new shape and purpose, but still, Jesus calls it fishing. As someone coming to seminary with an established career, one that I love, that feels like a calling too, this reading is liberating. Following Jesus does not look one single way—we are not all called to be fishermen—and following Jesus does not always necessitate abandoning the old. In this story following Jesus means trusting that he will take who you are and what you’ve done and help you do it with new purpose—for his purpose. Luke’s account of this story is different than the others. In it Jesus finds Peter and John washing their nets at the end of a frustrating day of work. Jesus steps into the boat and calls them to join him and go back out to sea. Jesus delivers the men a miraculous yield and then calls them to follow him. In the frustration of their situation, Jesus joins the men in their work before giving them new purpose. There is comfort in this—even in the seasons of frustration and transition, Jesus joins us where we are and partners with us even as he transforms us.
- Jade Hage, MDiv Candidate, Princeton Theological Seminary
Tuesday, March 22
Poetry
God is the Fracture
I used to need to know the end of every story but these days I only need the start to get me going. God is the crack where the story begins. We are the crack where the story gets interesting. We are the choice of where to begin - the person going out? - the stranger coming in? God is the fracture and the craic in your voice. God is the story flavoured with choice. God is the pillar of salt full of pity accusing God for the sulphorous city. God is the woman who bleeds and who touches. We are the story of courage or blushes. God is the story of whatever works. God is the twist at the end and the quirks. We are the start and we are the centre - we’re the characters, narrators, inventors. God is the bit that we can’t explain - maybe the healing, maybe the pain. We are the bit that God can’t explain - maybe the harmony, maybe the strain. God is the plot and we are the writers, the story of winners and the story of fighters, the story of love, and the story of rupture, the story of stories, the story without structure.
- Pádraig Ó Tuama
Monday, March 21
Devotional
Time Holds No Fear
Eight years ago, I had the first listening of what is now my favorite song. Birch Tree by Foals gripped my ears because of its intoxicatingly haunting melody, elaborate bassline, and calm vocals. I loved it for its musicality throughout high school and most of Princeton, but it wasn’t until mid-2021 did my opinion change. I no longer loved the song for its sound; I finally fully recognized the song for its capacity in its lyrics. In the middle of 2021, I was recovering from a traumatic emergency surgery that had arisen in the middle of the night on Ash Wednesday last February. The operation destroyed a part of my body, and left me with innumerable sleepless nights when I would bolt awake, thinking as I stared at the ceiling: what if this happens again? Mid-2021 was a time in which I came to terms with returning to Princeton after a COVID-induced one-year leave of absence. I wondered if I would be able to make new connections after so many had fallen apart in the wake of my decision to leave. I contemplated: will I regret my decision? (I later found I didn’t) This was a time when I had just lost my step-grandfather suddenly in May, following an infection that had set into his body due to unclean conditions in a recovery ward after he had fallen down a flight of stairs. The last thing I said to him in the hospital’s Intensive Care Unit was: I’ll come and see you tomorrow. There was no tomorrow for him. A one-year leave, an emergency surgery, a death in the family. Surely you are wondering what this has to do with a song from a British alternative band. In Birch Tree, the lyrics reflect, “time holds no fear when I turn ‘round to face it,” a line of words ruminating on the idea of taking the courage to confront one’s future, words that encouraged – and continue to encourage - me last year and every day. It is in this song I see grace and hope out of my situation of life story upheaval and eventual renewal. God has created a future for all of us, and this Easter we shall emerge from the darkness to the light. We just must hold no fear when we turn around to face the time.
- Sally (Sarah) Jane Ruybàlid, ‘22, Princeton University Chapel Choir
Sunday, March 20
Scripture
Genesis 21:14-21
So Abraham rose early in the morning, and took bread and a skin of water, and gave it to Hagar, putting it on her shoulder, along with the child, and sent her away. And she departed, and wandered about in the wilderness of Beer-sheba. When the water in the skin was gone, she cast the child under one of the bushes. Then she went and sat down opposite him a good way off, about the distance of a bowshot; for she said, “Do not let me look on the death of the child.” And as she sat opposite him, she lifted up her voice and wept. And God heard the voice of the boy; and the angel of God called to Hagar from heaven, and said to her, “What troubles you, Hagar? Do not be afraid; for God has heard the voice of the boy where he is. Come, lift up the boy and hold him fast with your hand, for I will make a great nation of him.” Then God opened her eyes and she saw a well of water. She went, and filled the skin with water, and gave the boy a drink. God was with the boy, and he grew up; he lived in the wilderness, and became an expert with the bow. He lived in the wilderness of Paran; and his mother got a wife for him from the land of Egypt.
Friday & Saturday, March 18 & 19
Sabbath Rest
“A great benefit of Sabbath-keeping is that we learn to let God take care of us — not by becoming passive and lazy, but in the freedom of giving up our feeble attempts to be God in our own lives.”
- Marva J. Dawn, Keeping the Sabbath Wholly: Ceasing, Resting, Embracing, Feasting
Thursday, March 17
Music Reflection
"Pilgrims' Hymn" | Genesis 21:14-21
I cannot read the story of Hagar and Ishmael without being overwhelmed by grief and pity. This enslaved woman, now rejected and driven away, forced to wander in the wilderness until she and her son were near death, walking away from him because she could not bear to watch him die—it hurts my heart to imagine the pain she was experiencing. It was difficult to choose music to accompany this poignant story until I encountered Stephen Paulus’s “Pilgrims’ Hymn.” The poetry beautifully expresses God’s eternal presence with us: before we are born, as we live through our days, and beyond, God’s grace and love abide forever. God was with Hagar and her son, just as God is with us now.
“Pilgrims’ Hymn” by Stephen Paulus
Even before we call on Your name to ask You, O God, when we seek for the words to glorify You, You hear our prayer; unceasing love, O unceasing love, surpassing all we know. Glory to the Father, and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit. Even with darkness sealing us in, we breathe Your name, and through all the days that follow so fast, we trust in You; endless Your grace, O endless Your grace, beyond all mortal dream. Both now and forever, and unto ages and ages, Amen.
-Michael Dennis Browne
Wednesday, March 16
Devotional
“Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh” (Luke 6:21)
During the fall semester of 2020, I had a severe anxiety attack that left me functionally incapacitated. I couldn’t move, couldn’t get out of bed, couldn’t make food; hell, the thought of opening my laptop for the online class was too much. The attack came in waves, each one hitting me just as I thought I would have the strength to at least get water from my kitchen – not 20 feet away. I was paralyzed. I could do nothing for myself. Every illusion of self-sufficiency I had was struck down, every wall I built to protect myself collapsed. I was stripped bare, reduced to the basic functions of life: I could only breathe, even as my chest constricted and my throat dried up. I could do nothing for myself but try to stay alive. When an anxiety attack has fully gripped you, you realize that regular advice doesn’t work. Regular advice, self-help suggestions, they just don’t work – and it is precisely because, so often, those pieces of advice tell you to do something. At the moment when I could not do anything, all advice that required something of me fell away. I had to hold to something else. It was in that moment, and in moments like it that have come after, that this beatitude from Luke was whispered in my ear. When I had been reduced to nothing, when I could do nothing for myself, this scripture came to me. It didn’t heal me, but it did promise me something. Jesus promised me that I would laugh again – that is, He promised me resurrection. Jesus’ promise does not end with a blessing of tears. He promises also to resurrect us from those tears, to turn our weeping into laughing. Jesus refuses to leave us in the tears. “You will laugh,” I heard Him say. “You will laugh because I have put to death everything that would separate me from you. You will laugh because I died but I did not stay dead, and neither will you. You may be dying now, but soon you will laugh because I have done everything that you could not do, and I have done it for you.” His promise to me was grace – and that is His promise to you, this Lent and always.
- David King, MDiv Candidate, Princeton Theological Seminary
Tuesday, March 15
Poetry
God Went to Beauty School
He went there to learn how to give a good perm and ended up just crazy about nails so He opened up His own shop. “Nails by Jim" He called it. He was afraid to call it Nails by God. He was sure people would think He was being disrespectful and using His own name in vain and nobody would tip. He got into nails, of course, because He'd always loved hands--hands were some of the best things He'd ever done and this way He could just hold one in His and admire those delicate bones just above the knuckles, delicate as birds' wings, and after He'd done that awhile, He could paint all the nails any color He wanted, then say,"Beautiful," and mean it.
- Cynthia Rylant
Monday, March 14
Devotional
Let yourself be Loved
This semester I have learned that I am, ultimately, a sheep. This is not to comment on the strength of my convictions. Rather, though I have seen the goodness of the Shepherd, I am prone to wander, again and again. Robert Robinson put it best in his incredible hymn “Come thou Fount,” when he said, O to grace how great a debtor Daily I'm constrained to be! Let Thy goodness, like a fetter Bind my wandering heart to Thee. Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it. Prone to leave the God I love. Here's my heart, O take and seal it, Seal it for Thy courts above. In the turmoil of first semester I was so gifted to make true friends who have now become like my family. With the closeness of family comes also the unguarded versions of ourselves, that is often too quick to speak or act, at risk of hurting a friend. As often one of few people of faith in my circles I felt great responsibility to show Christ’s love in my word and deed. Every fault in my treatment of others often feels enormously magnified, as Robinson said, like a debt of inadequacy. Here I was fundamentally missing what it truly means to be in friendship. For all my faults my friends are so gracious, gracious like the Father is. By constraining myself to be perfect I was missing how life giving grace is. Radical grace - the kind that says “Yes, you are all kinds of broken and yes we love you anyways!” If we are able to bear with one another in love and friendship, how much greater must the father’s love for us be? How much greater the gift of grace that Christ offered for us all on the cross, His sinless sacrifice, His beggar's death for us, though we ourselves drove the nails through his hands. The painful and yet necessary process of turning again and again to grace and to forgiveness is painful but it is so healing, and so necessary. And so through my friends, God has shown me His own grace. He has called me and my heart, so prone to wander, to Himself with patience. This lent I invite you to quiet the noise we use to mute the hurt we feel at inadequacy, in our treatment of others and in others' treatment of ourselves. Turn to God- His grace is sufficient, a life giving wellspring. Turn to the love that all other love is a signpost towards.
- Sarah Burbank-Embry, ’26, Chapel Deacon
Sunday, March 13
Scripture
Psalm 46
God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth should change, though the mountains shake in the heart of the sea; though its waters roar and foam, though the mountains tremble with its tumult. Selah There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God, the holy habitation of the Most High. God is in the midst of the city; it shall not be moved; God will help it when the morning dawns. The nations are in an uproar, the kingdoms totter; he utters his voice, the earth melts. The Lord of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge. Selah Come, behold the works of the Lord; see what desolations he has brought on the earth. He makes wars cease to the end of the earth; he breaks the bow, and shatters the spear; he burns the shields with fire. “Be still, and know that I am God! I am exalted among the nations, I am exalted in the earth.” The Lord of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge. Selah
Friday & Saturday, March 11 & 12
Sabbath Rest
“Rest and laughter are the most spiritual and subversive acts of all. Laugh, rest, slow down.”
- Anne Lamott, Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith
Thursday, March 10
Music Reflection
"Nearer My God To Thee" | Psalm 46
Composer and pianist Tom Trenney adds images from Psalms 46 and 23 to the original text in his expressive arrangement of the beloved hymn “Nearer, My God, to Thee.” Here it is performed by tenor Ariel Merivil with Trenney at the piano. I often listen to this recording two or even three times in a row, to join in their spirit of prayer. "Nearer, my God, to Thee nearer to Thee! E’en Though it be a cross that raiseth me. Still all my song shall be, nearer, my God, to Thee, nearer, my God, to Thee, nearer to Thee! Yea, Though the vale I tread, Thou art with me. when shadows cloud my head, Thou anointest me. Thy rod and staff shall be comfort to shepherd me, nearer, my God, to Thee,
nearer to Thee! Though waters foam and roar, though mountains quake, Thou art my refuge sure, though the earth should shake. Lord, strengthen and shelter me, nearer, my God, to Thee, nearer to Thee! "
- Sarah Flower Adams, Tom Trenney
Wednesday, March 9
Devotional
Incarnation
"Searching for God in the blazing desert sometimes means falling to your knees, dry palms to the ground waiting for a drop to drink. Knowing that one drop won’t quench your thirst. But it will soothe the ridges of your tongue. I yearn for what I have never known and you know me despite my faults. It is only after a little while, after the snakes slither the spirit set in, and the moon shines its light on my bare back that I realize I have never needed to search for you. You have always lied within my rattling ribcage, in that heart I never remember to open. My God, my God, you have been right here and now, my walk home is illumined with flaming tongues of love."
- Angel Nalubega, MDiv Candidate, Princeton Theological Seminary
Tuesday, March 8
Poetry
Hope in Despair
Today me and my momma saw a robin perched on a tree branch outside her living room window. It showed up the day after granny died. Sorrow was still fresh in the air clinging to us like wet clothes after a downpour. I can remember the robin’s rust-colored belly. It’s vibrant hue piercing through our spiraling thoughts forcing us to focus. Forcing us to breathe. We had granny’s funeral just a few days later. Ten of us carried the shattered pieces of our lives into that room to say our final goodbyes. Despair and pain hung over us like dark clouds. I can remember thinking of the robin. Tranquil. Peaceful. Serene. Breathe. I allowed my mind to settle. To rest on the final memory I had of talking to my granny. “I love you,” I said. “I love you too, baby.” Today, me and my momma saw a robin perched on a tree branch outside her living room window. We call her granny. She comes every morning reminding us to breathe. To steady our thoughts rand focus on making it through the moment.
- Deja Wilson, MDiv Candidate, Princeton Theological Seminary
Monday, March 7
Devotional
Carry, Don’t Keep
Over the past year, I have experienced one of the most ambiguous seasons of my life. At 36, I concretized my journey at Princeton Theological Seminary by moving to New Jersey from Georgia, the only place ever called home. Questions and doubts flooded my mind as the reality of uncertainty incubated within my soul. How? Who? Me? Why? When? These interrogatives were not exhaustive, only representative of the inquiries I submitted to God in hopeful expectation for answers and relief. However, my expectations remained unmet for some time. The uncertainty left uncured evolved into increased insecurities, anxiety, and more questions. Then, in the depth of doubt, I heard a hymn, not just any hymn, but a lined hymn raised by the deacons of Mount Olivet Baptist Church in Rockmart, Georgia. My late father pastored this church when I was a young child, and each service began with this rich, sacred music of the African American tradition. After the air settled from the dust of the dirt roads traveled to this small country church, a deacon would begin devotion with this call to which the congregation responded. "What a friend we have in Jesus - All our sins and griefs to bear - All our sins and griefs to bear - And what a privilege to carry - Everything to God in prayer - Oh, what peace we often forfeit - Oh, what needless pain we bear - All because we do not carry - Everything to God in prayer." O, what hope inundated my heart! I found and find assurance in the knowledge that Almighty God affords all divine creation the opportunity to carry our burdens to Jesus, our Savior, who is able and willing to relieve us from and strengthen us through our most challenging and uncertain seasons. These dynamic lyrics illumined a blind spot in my faith. I was praying and carrying but not leaving. Too often, we transport our burdens, but we don’t leave them with Jesus; we keep them. As Easter approaches, may we look to the model Jesus illustrates in the Calvary event. He bore his Cross and left it at Golgotha, for it served no purpose in the new life supplied by resurrection. During this Lenten season, may we search our souls to gather all cares, uncertainties, and anxieties at the foot of the Cross and leave them there. “Cast you cares on him, because he cares for you.” (1 Peter 5:7)
- Otis Byrd, Jr., Seminarian Intern, Princeton University Chapel and Hallelujah Church
Sunday, March 6
Scripture
Matthew 4:1-11
Then Jesus was led up by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil. He fasted forty days and forty nights, and afterwards he was famished. The tempter came and said to him, “If you are the Son of God, command these stones to become loaves of bread.” But he answered, “It is written,‘One does not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God.’” Then the devil took him to the holy city and placed him on the pinnacle of the temple, saying to him, “If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down; for it is written, ‘He will command his angels concerning you,’ and ‘On their hands they will bear you up, so that you will not dash your foot against a stone.’” Jesus said to him, “Again it is written, ‘Do not put the Lord your God to the test.’” Again, the devil took him to a very high mountain and showed him all the kingdoms of the world and their splendor; and he said to him, “All these I will give you, if you will fall down and worship me.” Jesus said to him, “Away with you, Satan! for it is written, ‘Worship the Lord your God, and serve only him.’” Then the devil left him, and suddenly angels came and waited on him.
Friday & Saturday, March 4 & 5
Sabbath Rest
“Sabbath, in the first instance, is not about worship. It is about work stoppage. It is about withdrawal from the anxiety system of Pharaoh, the refusal to let one’s life be defined by production and consumptioand the endless pursuit of private well-being.”
- Walter Brueggemann, Journey to the Common Good
Thursday, March 3
Music Reflection
"A Mighty Fortress Is Our God" | Matthew 4:1-11
In the story of his temptation in the desert, Jesus relies on the word of God to sustain him, bringing scriptural rebuttals to every challenge the devil poses. I can imagine he also recited scripture to comfort himself during those long days and cold, dark nights. Perhaps he prayed, again and again, the words from Psalm 46, “God is my refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.” The hymn “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God” is a well-known paraphrase of that psalm, written in the early 16th century by Martin Luther. Arranger Kyle Pederson makes his own adaptations to that text for his setting, replacing the dominant images of warfare with promises of God’s loving and eternal presence. This traditional choral work features the beautiful timbre of the electric guitar as an accompanying voice.
“A Mighty Fortress Is Our God” Martin Luther, arr. Kyle Pederson
A Mighty Fortress is our God, a refuge never failing. Our helper He amid the flood of mortal winds prevailing. For still our spirit’s foes doth seek to work us woe; They lure with pow’r so great, with judgment and with hate; Shield us e’er, guard us as Thy own. If we in our own strength confide, our striving would be losing. Were not the right Man on our side, the Man of God’s own choosing. You ask who this may be? Christ Jesus it is He. Emmanuel His name, from age to age the same; Who was, Who is, Who e’er shall be. Thy Word above all earthly pow’r; Thy Love above all earthly pow’r; Thy Hope above all earthly pow’r; My God above all earthly pow’r. Let goods and kindred go, this mortal life also. The body they may kill, God’s truth abideth still. The Kingdom is forever.
- Ps. 46, paraphrased Martin Luther, Trans. Frederic H. Hedge, adapt. Kyle Pederson
Ash Wednesday, March 2
Today marks the first day of the Lenten season and this devotional series. In this daily newsletter, we will be sharing Lenten reflections along the following weekly outline: Sunday - Scripture Reading; Monday - Devotional; Tuesday - Poetry; Wednesday - Devotional; Thursday - Music; Friday & Saturday - Sabbath Rest.
Letting Go
This Lenten season marks the two-year anniversary, as we all know, of the great upheaval of Covid. It began as challenges far away in China, then in New York City, then in Princeton. The circle continued to tighten around us then came the decision to send students away from campus and all staff home to do their jobs as best they could as a shut-in. It became, for me, an unasked-for opportunity to learn how to let go. When my kids were toddlers I sometimes had to unclasp their little hands from something that they shouldn’t be holding, peeling back tiny fingers one by one to remove a rough object, or to free a cat’s tail. Just so did I hang on to “normal” when the lockdown came, with tightly clenched fists. Until the last minute, I refused to abandon Holy Week services, travel, programs, and plans. I didn’t let go so much as give up – those things are very different! My issues were clearly about control and about the management of my fear of the history-changing potential of Covid. The author John Mogabgab (1946-2014) named something deeper about our inability to let go; he called it “the compelling ache of insufficiency at the center of our life.” We load our lives with many things and people and accomplishments to fill an inner void. Letting go of them, in the end, becomes about our selfhood, our own sufficiency. The things we’ve grasped were welcome distractions from our loneliness, our fears of inadequacy, our emptiness. No wonder we hold on so tightly. But when we let go, indeed when we empty ourselves as much as possible of all that we are clutching, we create the space for God to give us so much more – not accomplishments and objects, but meaning, connectedness, mystery, openness, holy desire, Holy Spirit. This would seem on its surface to be a wonderful trade-off, right? Let’s learn to let go of the world’s toys and goals in order to be available for spiritual riches and blessing. It’s not so easy. God’s grace for me in the wilderness of this past year has been to help me to want let go, and to move forward just a little into the void of the fullness of God’s heart.
- Alison Boden, Dean of Religious Life and of the Chapel
Dear Friends,
Each year during the Lenten season, the Office of Religious Life publishes a Lenten devotional. The 2022 theme is "Grace in the Wilderness: Experiencing God in Times of Uncertainty.” In this year’s Lenten devotional, members of our community will share how they have navigated daily life and seen God's grace over the last year. The daily devotional will gather us together in heart, mind, and spirit as we follow the weekly outline: Sunday - Scripture Reading; Monday - Devotional; Tuesday - Poetry; Wednesday - Devotional Thursday - Music Reflection Friday & Saturday - Sabbath Rest
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