At the time when Jesus began his ministry on earth, people were also fooled - or using a word I like better - surprised. They were expecting a military/political ruler to come as the Messiah. Instead, Jesus appeared, humbly riding on a donkey rather than in a chariot, preaching a message of service rather than worldly power and glory. But even more surprising is that he invites us to lives of service and that sacrifice and giving and caring for others can be blessings rather than burdens. We will be exploring these blessings during our Thursday Lenten worship, through a series on the Beatitudes. I hope that you will join us.

Another surprise is that Jesus, the long awaited Messiah, ended up being crucified on a cross, the worst punishment that anyone could receive in that day. How could this possibly be the fulfillment of God's promises of salvation and redemption? But then comes the biggest surprise of all when three days later Mary proclaims to the disciples "I have seen the Lord!"

I have had many surprises in my life, some good, some not so good. I imagine that you could say the same about yourself. But one thing that remains constant is God's promise to never forsake us, even when we might feel forsaken. As one of our Ash Wednesday texts reminds us and as we often say or sing during Lent "Return to the Lord your God, for He is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love" (Joel 2:13). I am absolutely sure that there will be more surprises - and that whether they bring us joy or sorrow, turmoil or peace, God will be there, rejoicing or grieving with us, giving us strength and comfort and the hope of the resurrection - and of Spring! Karen

MESSAGE FROM A COUNCIL MEMBER

"The weather is fine; wish you were here!"

At one time or other everyone has received a postcard with this pithy saying. It usually comes from a friend or family member who is vacationing in some warm place while you are freezing here in Maine. It usually is sent in jest, playfully rubbing salt in the wound caused by the fact that you did not get to go along. Of course, it could be from some jerk who really is showing off that he or she can afford such a vacation and is happy that you cannot. Or it just may be a sincere expression of wishing you really had been able to come along, but for whatever reason you could not.

At our Church Council retreat last month we tried to focus on how we at Holy Cross can carry out the Great Commission, "Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you." How do we accomplish this? What steps can we take as leaders of the congregation to both do this ourselves and help you to do it?

The first idea we kicked around was to start with our own membership. We have members who used to attend Sunday services regularly, but are now seen infrequently. Why? What has changed? Is it them or us? We also have members who have always been sporadic in their attendance. Why has regular attendance not been a priority? How do we answer these questions?

Before we can get to the "why" we have to figure out the "who." One simple way is for all of us to be more aware of whom we do or do not see in the pews every week. Who always used to sit in the fifth row on the left but has been absent recently? Who used to usher regularly but hasn't been seen for a while? Make an attempt to look around to see who is not here on Sunday morning.

Now send them a figurative "Weather is fine; wish you were here" postcard. I do not mean the playful one or the boasting one, but the sincere one. Make a phone call. Ask how they are. Express concern that you have not seen them in a while. The response you get may be that they now sit in the fifth row on the left at the late service. It may be that someone has an illness and can no longer get out and maybe you can help. It may be that someone is experiencing a serious crisis that needs to be handled by Pastor and the Deacons and you can pass the information on. And it could just be that a member of our church family needs to hear that the weather is fine at Holy Cross and you wish they were here to enjoy it with you. Ann Scott, Council President

By Bishop Margaret G. Payne

Several years ago, on a camping trip in Nova Scotia, I saw a bumper sticker that announced: I saw the Tidal Bore. By the time I saw it on the seventh bumper, I decided that I had to see the tidal bore, too - whatever it was.

I stopped at a tourist information center and learned that a "bore" is a high tidal wave and that the Bay of Fundy has the highest tides in the world. When the tide turns near the town of Shubenacadie, you can actually recognize that one split second when the power shifts. So I headed the camper to the west to see for myself.

Arriving at a small ranch-style house, I paid money to a man at a table in the front yard and then headed down a long flight of rickety stairs built along the side of a hill behind the house. There were about a dozen of us, and we ended up standing on a wooden platform erected 50 feet above the water of the river that leads to the Bay of Fundy. We chatted and swatted mosquitoes while we looked out over a calm, wide stream whose water flowed serenely to the left.

I remember that I was leaning casually against the rail, arms crossed and peering up the hill when our guide announced that the moment for the turning of the tide had now come  it was that exact. When she spoke, I turned my head and glanced at the river.

Suddenly, I felt the need to stand upright on both feet placed wide apart and hold out my arms for balance because it seemed that surely the earth had tilted. The water below pulsed from the left to the right creating enormous turbulence. There were 15 minutes of wild water until the tide from the bay had its way with the river water, and then the flow was established serenely to the right. Most of the people on the platform exclaimed that it was amazing and dramatic. Being Lutheran, I thought about Lent.

For years, I had known that to repent means "to turn," but I had never understood that the earth should tilt. When we turn and re-turn to God with a repentant heart, our spiritual life should foam into turmoil. God is in the turmoil but does not calm it right away. First, we need to deal with the wild water and to establish a new direction. Grace gives us the courage to turn in the first place and grace encourages us to keep at it, to keep repenting, to keep challenging the meandering course of our natural sinfulness. The process goes on and on in a rhythm that will never end in our lifetime.

I walked back up the steps from the platform as though there were ashes on my forehead. I saw the Tidal Bore and it told the Lenten story. Life beyond repentance might sometimes be calm, but first the earth has to tilt. From the March/April issue of "The Lutheran Link"

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