Reflections of a Christian

For the first time in years, I was sitting in a pew with a good view of the image I so loved as a child. It is the central stained glass window above the altar in Trinity Episcopal Cathedral in downtown Columbia, S.C., my hometown and the city where I now teach and write.  The window depicts a loving Jesus holding a small child with other children surrounding him. Traditional in an artistic sense, the window still remains mind-boggling to me.

      As a small girl, I remember gazing at that image and knowing – deep inside my young soul – that this Jesus loved me. I often went to church with my parents; I sometimes went alone with my Daddy. For several years I sang in the choir. And, always, I gazed with wonder on that stained glass portrait of the Redeemer.

      This Jesus, the Prince of Peace, the Almighty One, the liberator of the lowly, the friend of sinners and tax collectors, the anointed one. This Jesus, I realized, finally as an adult loved me as his “beloved.”

      It was Ash Wednesday, and my usual harem-scarem fashion I had zipped into the cathedral for the last service of the day. I struggled to focus, to pray, to remember why I was there. And then I looked at that window. As I was intent on observing one of the holiest days of the church’s liturgical year, God has other things in mind.

      The sermon was preached by a good friend, a woman priest whose sense of personal call, social responsibility and community compassion always moves me. It was no different this time. She put the seasonal sacred story simply. This is Lent, she explained, a time when Christians – especially we baby boomers who were kids in the 1960s and 1970s – used to “give up” something. Sacrifice is well and good – and it was probably a good idea for youngsters to give up candy, she said.

      But too often that “giving up” of chocolate, candy or bubble gum became something of an ego-centered competition of who was “the best” at giving up, or who might be the holiest.

      Instead, she suggested her listeners consider all of the opportunities open to them during Lent, chances for growth and renewal in this sacred season. In her own life, the priest said she meant to increase her morning prayers and devotionals, reading from a meditation booklet before she checked phone messages or emails. (What a concept! God and faith before technology.) She also intends to practice self-denial and to do something for others. As a single woman, she thought she would bring a sandwich for lunch and save $10 to $20 to give to the local food bank, she said. And she urged us to learn something new, read a new book or something of that sort.

      As she preached, my heart slowed down. My mind quieted. My soul sought peace. And I recognized that all that I am, all that I have and all that I can and will be spring from one simple, certain reality: being beloved by God. Being beloved by Jesus. That truth has shaped me as a journalist, as a teacher, as a Christian, as a human being dedicated to peace and justice and interfaith cooperation. How could I possibly have forgotten something so important? This Lent, as Christians recall the 40 days Jesus spent in the wilderness, I will follow this priest’s advice. But I will also try to remember what I should never forget, and that is how much we are all beloved by God.