Being sure of God

It had only been Easter for about six hours when I began to miss lent, and I haven't quite been able to shake the feeling. Now it's a little after midnight on Easter Sunday, a time when I should be asleep and here I am frustrated that chocolate comes with so much caffeine, and worried about tomorrow. It's going to be a dreadful week. There is more to be done than I can possibly do. This next week is going to be a rough one, but last week…Last week was something else.

My holy week began, as it always does, with Palm Sunday. The Christian Education director at my church set up the coolest combined church school session. We got into small groups that contained a range of ages, and went around to stations that represented different events of Holy Week. I made a money bag (a tiny one, the size that always makes me wish I brought my American Girl doll to college), a prayer pretzel necklace, a palm branch cross, a cross magnet, a little chalice, and an Easter bag. After church, we had a Seder meal.

Monday night I went to the Lenten Bible study at my church. The study this season was called "Finding Faith in the Movies," or something like that. That night's movie was "Dead Man Walking," and we talked about confession and forgiveness. My favorite part of these studies has been getting to listen to a group of adults talk about their faith.

Thursday night we had a somber, meditative Tenebrae service. 12 disciples and the pastor gathered around the communion table and read the events of the Last Supper, extinguishing 13 candles one by one until the sanctuary was dark. We all left in silence.

Of course, I had to write a paper that night, and so I arrived at the campus and community Good Friday service at 12:15 pm a bit sleep deprived. I managed to read Mark's passion narrative without falling over (although the lectern was a bit wobbly), and the rest of the service went well. It focused on the stations of the cross correlated with social justice issues. Afterward, one of the local churches had a labyrinth set up in the fellowship hall. I walked it, and then headed back to Fairchild chapel, my favorite spot on campus, to pray.

My favorite part, though, was a conversation I had on Saturday night. I mentioned to my friend Kristen that I could think of plenty of good reasons not to accept the summer camp job I had been offered, but I felt God's direction, and that's something I just can't ignore.

"Who knows," she said. "Maybe you'll find your true love."

We both knew that's not how it works. We're talking about a God who put his beloved Son through the events of Holy Week - torture, betrayal, denial, and crucifixion. Following God around doesn't mean special treatment. Following God means…

"It, means, well…that you're following God."

"That really doesn't sound very satisfying," Kristen said.

Of course, I couldn't explain it to her. I couldn't tell her what it feels like to be sure of God. In fact, sometimes I can't make myself understand. But that's kind of what faith is about, isn't it? Hanging on to those moments when the Spirit takes our breath away, when we look at our neighbor and see Jesus, and when in the darkness we hear a soft, soft whisper, "You are my child," and in between those moments believing that all the praying, fasting and loving is worth it.

Then it was Easter, and Jesus was back. After 40 days of fasting, I could eat sweets again. After forty days of reflection, it turned out it wasn't ever really about me. It's all about God, and, even though it's going to be one of those weeks, God is enough.