40 Days: Giants

We can imagine Day 1:  out from the camp of the enemy the Giant emerges.  Some clatter of shields behind him perhaps.  A booming voice.  A challenge.

He stood and shouted to the ranks of Israel, “Why have you come out to draw up for battle? Am I not a Philistine, and are you not servants of Saul? Choose a man for yourselves, and let him come down to me.  If he is able to fight with me and kill me, then we will be your servants. But if I prevail against him and kill him, then you shall be our servants and serve us.”  And the Philistine said, “I defy the ranks of Israel this day. Give me a man, that we may fight together.”

Lent is familiarly a time of self-discipline.  The world rushes on, but time aside is taken by devout people to harness their souls.  It has become harder as the modern world pulls us away into 24/7 activity,

Goliath harnessed Israel to a stop for 40 days.  This was not 40 days of self-discipline, but 40 days of terror.  Day after day the challenge went unanswered.  It took faith in God - and a skilled good shot - to bring the terror to an end.

2020 will be remembered for a dramatically extended international Lent. 

What are you giving up for Lent?  As the coronavirus giant stares out the nations of the world  - travel, workplace, clubs, theatres, church services, school, public transport, toilet rolls, shopping in general, football, cricket, conferences, rugby, gym, swimming, meeting friends.  Fear achieves what self discipline rarely can. 

Holiday Pics: 1. In the Cell

St Canice's Cathedral in Kilkenny is interesting in very many ways.

As with all ancient cathedrals in the Republic of Ireland it is Church of Ireland (Anglican, Protestant) not Roman Catholic.  This is an ecclesiastical remnant of British rule when Ireland's ancient foundations departed Catholicism with the English establishment rather than the local majority.

It also contains the remains of an Anchorite Cell.

The nun would enter the cell, thereby dying to secular life.  Dedicated to a life of prayer, the cells of Anchorites were usually by the altar so they could receive the Eucharist.  On entering the cell, the Bishop recited a rite that closely resembled the funeral liturgy: this really was dying to the world.

Protestants eschew such medieval practices.  I was, however, speaking to a Christian lady recently.  She had been baptised many moons before, but no longer attended any church (or Eucharist) on account of being far too busy.

I thought of this when I thought of the Anchorite. 

I'm too Protestant to believe it is a great thing for a young woman to be in a cell by the altar for life.  But I can't help feeling it has its strengths over against a life that has forsaken the altar entirely for a life barely Christian in its expression at all.

Mirrored

"Mirror, mirror on the wall,

Who is the fairest of them all?"

The wicked queen wanted to know.  But mirrors have a funny way of cutting us down to size.

The most obvious way they do this is by telling us, more honestly than a friend might, what we look like.

But the more interesting way, for me at least, was the one I first heard of some time ago and was reminded of in an article this past week.  When we look at our face in a mirror it is about half the size of our real face.  If you didn't know that then, like me the first time I heard it, you won't believe it.  And when you go to the mirror with your tape measure you'll find that it's true.

When we look at our lives in the mirror of Christ in Lent we also find ourselves diminishing.  Not in a harmful way or out of existence.  Just so that there is more room to see past myself to Someone greater and something better.