2026: Whisper

In years past, I have been quite ambitious about setting New Year's Resolutions.  In fact, when I look back at some of the things my younger self endeavored to do at this time of year, I'm almost embarrassed by my unrealistic ideas. For most of middle school and high school, year after year, I'd declare that I'm going to get healthy, read more, and grow my faith... sometimes with other goals sprinkled in there.

Somewhere in my late twenties or early thirties, making a list of resolutions no longer benefited me; instead, I began choosing a word of the year—a word I felt God was telling me to focus on. They have included: WORSHIP. QUIET. STORIES*. SERVE + SABBATH. DANCE.  But even these have felt less meaningful over the last few years.

In December, however, I clearly felt called to a word for 2026: WHISPER.

God sent a beautiful affirmation.  An artist friend wrote in his monthly email about some friends of his who had recently been on a silent retreat and how he, in turn, had been motivated to allow more times of silence, calling his experience so far "unexpectedly powerful."

Like darkness, silence isn't something you create.  It is the absence of something.

Have you ever been in a crowded room and struggled to hear the person you are trying to talk to? The ambient noise is overwhelming, but the more the person raises their voice, the more it seems that everyone else raises their voices as well. You stare at their lips, hoping to make sense of it all. You wish you had a remote control that could turn down everyone else because you know who you want to hear from.  If that were possible, the person you are speaking to would need to do no more than whisper.

A few nights ago, my husband tried to open a bag of candy in bed.  In the still of the night, the crinkles of the plastic tore me from my sleep. It seemed unbearably loud.  It was not, though. It was just that everything else was quiet.

I don't know yet all the things I will learn from my focus on WHISPER, but I am already hearing that I will need to hear less.  When you turn down other noises, you more easily hear what's important.







*You can read my 2021 reflection on stories here: STORIES.

A Year of Sundays: Week 20

Sunday 20: Palm Sunday

When I started reading books as an adult, I quickly learned that I loved reading books that became movies.  To date, I have read 89 and have several more that I am working on. On more than one occasion, I have seen an image depicted from a book and thought, "that is not what I had pictured."

I think this might be what we would say if we could travel back in time and experience Jesus' triumphal entry into Jerusalem. We read the description in John's gospel like this:

The next day the great crowd that had come for the festival heard that Jesus was on his way to Jerusalem. They took palm branches and went out to meet him, shouting,

“Hosanna!”

“Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!”

“Blessed is the king of Israel!”

Jesus found a young donkey and sat on it, as it is written: “Do not be afraid, Daughter Zion; see, your king is coming, seated on a donkey’s colt.”

At first his disciples did not understand all this. Only after Jesus was glorified did they realize that these things had been written about him and that these things had been done to him. (John 12:12-16, NIV)

While the other gospels have other details (like laying down cloaks and palm branches), the above account is the basic narrative. Too often we can't replicate stories from Scripture, but Palm Sunday is one that we can easily experience. At the church I I work at, we start Palm Sunday outside of our church building.  We read scripture, wave palm branches, and shout Hosanna before processing into the Sanctuary. Even this experience does not allow us me to fully appreciate the spectacle that was Jesus' entry to the city, but it's a good place to start.

A Year of Sundays: Week 17

Sunday 17: The Second Sunday of Lent

Fasting is one of those Christian traditions that are hard to swallow, pun intended. If food is good for our body, so why would God want us to go without it?

I can't answer that.  But I know that fasting was an early command to the believers, first mentioned in the Bible when Moses fasted in Exodus 34.  Jesus also fasted, as referenced in Matthew 4. And Jesus highlighted the importance of it as a spiritual discipline in Mark 9:29.

The church I work at encourages members to fast breakfast and lunch on Wednesdays during Lent.  This 24-hour fast is broken together at a worship service.  We sing, listen to God, and then break our fast with good wine (or Martinelli's) and fresh bread.  After the service we share a soup and salad dinner.

The first week, the fast was not difficult until late in the evening.  That week, I had class Wednesday night, so I didn't have dinner until about 9pm.  While the hunger pangs were undeniable, they mostly subsided when I drank water.

The second week, the fast was terrible.  Early in the day, I became hungry. By the afternoon, I felt a pain in my upper abdomen that would not go away. And by the time we came to communion, I leaned over to ask my husband if it would be acceptable for me to push people out of the way so I could eat first. "That's how bad I want Jesus," I joked to him.

As I awaited communion I realized, that IS how much I should want Jesus.

Like the burning in my belly, there should be an undeniable, inescapable desire to get to Jesus, to know Him, and to enjoy Him.

Maybe this is one of the reasons God wants us to fast. So we learn with our bodies what He wants our spirits to know.

A Year of Sundays: Mardi Gras

On more than one occasion, I have had to explain the Christian heritage associated with Mardi Gras.  Even long-time Christians who have solid understanding of church history do not realize this day has religious roots. And there is literally no judgment in this because I, too, before beginning to work at a Lutheran church did not understand it.

In as few words as I can summarize it: In the 600s the Pope declared that the church abstain from rich foods during Lent - meat, eggs, butter, etc. In order to use up the milk and eggs that they had, believers would make pancakes on the day before Lent starts. In Europe, they are more likely to celebrate Pancake Day, but Americans have stuck with the French name, Mardi Gras meaning Fat Tuesday.  The “church name” for the day is Shrove Tuesday because believers would also attempt to be absolved (or "shrived") of their sin before going into the Lenten season.

When we think of Mardi Gras, it's no surprise that we think of New Orleans and not church. It's big and loud and exciting. Perhaps the church's loss of this celebration speaks to a larger issue in the church.

Let's not forget, Jesus knew how to celebrate. His first public miracle was at a wedding where He created wine. Although there is no record of Him drinking that wine, we know He was Jewish, so He would have participated in the traditional religious feasts which included drinking wine. Christ's last communal act before going to the cross was participating in the Passover at which He said,

...He took His place at the table, and the apostles with Him. He said to them, “I have eagerly desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer; for I tell you, I will not eat it until it is fulfilled in the kingdom of God." (Luke 22:14-16, NRSV)

Too often we expect believers to walk through the valleys of the church calendar without giving them equal opportunity to dance on the mountaintops. And then we wonder why Christians develop a reputation for being a certain way. Mardi Gras is an opportunity to be the other way - big, loud, and filled with joy - eagerly desiring to participate in a feast before we suffer for a little while.

A Year of Sundays: Week 11

Sunday 11: The Fifth Sunday After Epiphany

Nearly thirty years later, these words still take me back to the place where I first heard them:

Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, “Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?”

And I said, “Here am I. Send me!” (Isaiah 6:8, NIV)

It was a church with too tall ceilings and walls that were too curved. I can remember the half sheets of paper that we were given to take notes and the Bible in which I kept them. I was eager to go and curious of where I’d be sent. It turns out the less distance you travel, the farther it feels. Somehow the other side of the planet would have made sense, but across town feels funny.

I’ve often overlooked that there are two questions asked in this passage. I have not studied this passage enough to know if it is simply a literary device, as repetition often is. To me, it is a sorrowful reminder that the person He sends is not always the same as the person who will go.

Going is hard.

Sometimes we go physically. Sometimes we go through a season.

Sometimes we go with clear understanding, and sometimes in blind faith.

Sometimes we go alone, and sometimes together.

Sometimes we come back.  Sometimes we don’t.

Today I understand this in a new way. Going and not knowing is better than not leaving and perceiving.