Easter was sooooo good. By design, Lent is supposed to spiritually prepare us for Easter. We leaned into this by offering prayers three times a day, and many took on disciplines intending to be drawn closer to God. It was also a ton of work, and many were ready for that last wonderful service when we knew our labors for the season were over. That moment when we could breathe a sigh of relief, turn off our brains and go home feeling like God just personally told us, “Well done, good and faithful servant.”

I always write these little devotions at the last minute, which means I am writing this on Maundy Thursday for you to read on Good Friday. Tonight, some basins will be set up by the altar guild and the congregation will be invited to come up and wash each other’s feet, which feels a bit taboo and cringe-worthy, and that is kind of the point. As Episcopalians, our services can be moving, while not being emotive. We are masters of embracing the mystery of God’s grace, but in the most orderly way possible. When the disciples were getting their feet washed by their teacher, savior, and friend, they had nowhere to hide. The facades that they used to try to hide from Christ faded away, and they were left vulnerable with nothing between their filthy feet and their savior prepared to die for them. As Jesus finishes washing their feet, he commends them to wash each other’s feet as well.

We are on the cusp of Holy Week. This coming Sunday is Palm Sunday and it is customary for members of the congregation to read the Passion in dramatic format, where each person takes on a different role. In a very real and immediate way, St. Luke’s will be living out the Gospel as a way of allowing it to transform us, and it is a small example of what we do year after year. The liturgical year, beginning with Advent and going all the way through the obscure “Season after Pentecost”, is ever so slowly living out the story of our salvation. This coming week is the most tragic, exciting, and inspiring part of this story. Easter is great and all, but Easter feels more like Easter if you’ve been through the sorrow of Maundy Thursday, the bareness of Good Friday, and the first joyful moments of the resurrection that is the Easter Vigil. I hope that you not only join us for all of these services but that you will invite your neighbors because the story is about to get good.

Easter preparations are underway! Lent has flown by and in just over a week our most sacred time will begin as we have our palm branches in the area as we live into the passion narrative. Holy Week will transition us from repentance and self-examination to the wonder and jubilation of the Easter Season, and everything that we do in Easter should be a reflection of that joy.

The trees are starting to bud, and my irrational fear of a permanent winter is slowly starting to dissipate! If you missed the devotion where I describe this weird tic, you can read it here, but it’s mostly unnecessary. Amid winter, I was busy getting ready for this very moment. There is an odd piece of land between our house and my in-law’s house that was overrun with briars and other unpleasant things. When we first moved in, I made a path through the briars, and I slowly started to imagine what that land could become, and we eventually decided to plant fruit trees. Soon there will be a total of eight, but now there are just two trees in the ground, and I am beyond excited. I cannot wait to see kids climbing the trees to pick fruit, and we can make pies and the whole bit. I’ve done some research, and growing fruit trees is a bit more complicated than planting them and waiting.

Things are happening, and I am excited and nervous all at the same time! Almost exactly two years ago a distant rumor and murmur became an all-consuming reality when COVID-19 hit our community. Everything closed down, we did helpful things, like putting on masks, and sometimes we did unnecessary things, like sanitizing our groceries. We slowly got into a holding pattern, and we have been through multiple waves and variants. Now that we seem to be in a more stable and safe space, we are trying to discern when we can safely take off our masks, and how to do so without leaving our brothers and sisters behind.

We are officially in Lent and I feel this surprising sense of ease despite some glitches to the beginning of our sacred season of penitence. First of all, my voice is shot. The poor people who attended the 7:00 pm Ash Wednesday service were met with a barely audible gravelly voice. This morning we began the rhythm of praying at 9:00, noon and 5:00. I was relieved that I got to lead just in case if anything went wrong. For the first time in a while, I forgot to turn on my mic, so no one could hear me from home for about the first two minutes of the broadcast. After the service began it became clear that big parts of the service were missing from the bulletin. Where did they go? We still don’t know, but they were gone. At the end of the service, with all of its blunders, I got to show off my strongest skill. I am mediocre in most field, but when it comes to doing things poorly with confidence, I am second to none. Now that we are in the thick on Lent, the mistakes have been made and the world did not end, I can now breathe a sigh of relief and be grateful and we have arrived in the special time.

Last year we replaced the prayer books in the Church. Our Book of Common Prayer has many different services and resources within its pages, and you can tell that these had been well used on Sunday mornings. Each book had a little worn slice with discolored and missing pages around Holy Eucharist Rite II, which is what we use on Sunday mornings. They needed to be replaced for Sunday worship, but we didn’t want to throw them out. I have them hidden in nooks and crannies, so I can give them out to people who are preparing for weddings, funerals, baptisms or just need a good spiritual resource.

Last week when I was leaving the office for the weekend, I left a half-finished task on my desk expecting to get it done in the first half-hour of the workday on Monday, and now that I am once again getting ready to leave for the weekend, I am disheartened to see the task still undone. The task is neither pressing or unimportant; it simply needs to get done. Somehow throughout the week, this task kept on getting put on the back burner, because more important things popped up, or other tasks (like writing this devotion) overshadowed that lump of paper to the left of my elbow. That stack of paper is an outward and visible sign of what I have not done this week, and it is starting to drive me mad.

Dear St. Luke’s,

Every Tuesday and Wednesday morning, I have chapel with the Day School students, and in chapel we put two different types of prayers on the altar. In one prayer we ask God to help one person, and we hold that person in prayer. In the other prayer we think of one thing that we are thankful for, and put that prayer on the altar to give to God. When I think of prayer I usually focus on the petitions, and ask God for help with all of the broken things in the world. This is a good and holy thing, but we should not forget that being thankful to God is prayer within itself. Guilt, confession, redemption, and petition all have their place, but thankfulness needs a prominent place in our souls as well.

Dear St. Luke’s,

I feel like I am a person with very few psychological tics. I love all types of food. I am generally adaptable to different situations. I don’t fixate on certain cleanliness routines, but I am far from a slob. However, I do have two odd things that get under my skin. The first is wooden popsicle sticks. I hate them, and the thought of biting down on one causes my teeth to hurt. Weird, right? What’s even weirder is that my mom has the same thing, so somehow, she passed it down to me. My other weird tic is that I have a fear that the leaves won’t grow back on the trees. I know that fear is irrational, but I cannot stop that thought from popping up in my mind when I look out the window every January and wish for spring.

The bishop is coming! The bishop is coming! On May 15th, Bishop Porter-Taylor will come to St. Luke’s to worship with us and to confirm anyone who feels called to make a mature and public declaration of faith and reaffirm their responsibilities in baptism. In the Diocese of Virginia, a Bishop comes every year and a half, so this is a fairly big deal, and it has the potential to be a very big deal to those who feel called to have the bishop lay hands on them.

Dear St. Luke’s,

We sprinted through the stress and joy of Christmas, got smacked in the face with the wonder of Epiphany, and I have suddenly found myself feeling humbled as we approach Martin Luther King Jr. Day. Growing up and learning about Dr. King in school, I remember thinking how wonderful it is that we were past the unambiguous hate of the past. We had somehow arrived at a point where we have “arrived”, and our task was to learn from the past and not necessarily question the present.

One year ago, was a monumental day for my family. I helped Leandra fill her car with toddler supplies and crammed our son into his car seat and we took one last picture before they left our home of four years to begin anew in Alexandria. I stayed behind and worked with the movers, and as each box was taken out over the next two days, I could feel all of the memories and stories we created in that space leave as well.

Last week, a group of dedicated parishioners helped clean every single table that will repopulate the parish hall. To prepare for this significant project, I brought my power washer and borrowed one from the McPeeks. We scrubbed, sprayed, hauled, and dried dozens of tables and chairs for about three hours and got them to fit neatly into the closet in our newly renovated space.

While we were cleaning up, I did something stupid. I had never noticed it before, but our sidewalk was dirty, and when the power washer hit it, you could see the mark, so I wrote a couple of silly messages like, “Nick <3 Church” and…

It is Day School Sunday this week! Hopefully, we’ll get a few families to join us on Sunday morning from the Day School to celebrate our shared community together. I have loved my time at St. Luke’s since I arrived last January, and the Day School has been an exceptionally bright spot, so I thought I would walk you through a typical Wednesday morning.