A Lenten Reflection

Lidia asked us to write something about Lent to share with the students in an assembly that will take place on the last Wednesday before Easter. I had a difficult time deciding what to write, but ended up writing some of my life story that my students have not heard and connecting it with where we are in Lent now. I wanted to post what I wrote for this occassion. It is much longer than a normal post, just so you know.

Church has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. I have been a member of the same church for my whole life, Immanuel Lutheran. All of my big Christian moments have happened there. I was baptized in the same baptismal font that still sits at the front of the sanctuary. I attended Sunday School for all my childhood years learning all the stories about Jesus, Noah, Moses, Adam and Eve. I was in every Christmas play, usually as an angel, except for the one year it was my turn to be Mary. I received my first communion there and a few years after that I was confirmed. I helped out in every possible way from reading, ushering, taking care of children in the nursery, to serving as assistant minister. When I went to university I attended a different church, and though it was a wonderful church, it never really felt like "home." So during every vacation I would to my home church to worship. In my mind I was like Harry Potter returning to his house on Privet Drive. I had to get my protection before I went out into the world again. These visits were never really long, but they were important to keeping my faith strong.


In reality, it’s a simple church, white walls, wooden pews, a plain wooden cross hanging behind the altar. We have homemade banners for the different seasons and have the standard Christmas trees- nothing too special. We’re a small congregation, no more than a hundred people per week. Most of the adults have known me my whole life. They remember when I was in diapers, or the Sundays when I would come to church in a horribly ugly outfit and an awful hair style because mom was out of town and my father had to get me ready. I also have watched babies grow into teenagers and have experienced the sadness caused by the death of one of the older members. Again, it's a simple church, but it’s home and it’s where my heart is. I know they will always welcome me back with open arms to hear my stories.


The last time I was at my church was for my blessing before moving here to Cieszyn. This Sunday was full of emotion. All of my extended family came to the service and my closest friends from high school were also there. I sat in the front of the church and helped my pastor with the service, reading Bible passages and the prayers. During the service I also formally received a blessing from my church, sending me on my way with all of their love and support. All of my anxiety and stress about this move melted away, and I truly felt God’s peace in my heart.


And then I moved across the world.


Now, I know that God is in Poland. God has been here for a very, very long time and I believe that He plans on staying for a very, very long time. I knew I was not coming to Poland to bring God. Instead, I was coming to Poland to meet God and serve Him in a new way. I was not sure what to expect.


Adjusting to the different type of church service was very challenging. The only words I could understand at the beginning of the year were: God, thank you, love, and Jesus. Needless to say, I spent most of the service being very confused and butchering Polish hymns, when I was able to figure out what hymn we were even singing. I would like to apologize to anyone who has had to listen to me sing during church, AND would like to apologize to all of Poland as a whole for what I do to destroy your beautiful language. I’m getting better-I promise. Even though I always confused about what was going on and felt very lost, I always thought this one thing: it's okay if I don’t understand what’s going on. God does. He is here and He hears the prayers of the people around me, AND mine, even though they’re in a totally different language. I am one of thousands of people who have sat in this church, worshipping, praying, singing, learning, listening. And for me, this was enough to get me through my first weeks here.



By Advent, the flow of the service was no longer a mystery to me. I knew when to stand, when to sit, what verses we sing when. I was by no means an expert because I still had to read along in the hymnal, but I knew where to find everything. The Advent wreath was brought out, and I knew that we were in a different season. It was time to get ready for Christmas, to prepare for the birth of our King. Just like at home, we lit another candle with each passing week as we got closer and closer to the miracle. I was not able to understand the words that explained the season, but the visual changes helped me to mark the journey to Bethlehem.


Now we are in Lent, the time of the church year where we wait for Jesus again. But not for His birth, but instead we prepare for His painful death and glorious resurrection. The changes in the service have been harder for me to notice since there is not a wreath or something physical to show me the journey. Though I know more words than just God, thank you, love, and Jesus, I have added, Father, Son, Holy Spirit, and the verb “to be”, my listening comprehension is not good enough to absorb everything in the service. Being so confused has been difficult for my heart because I take Lent very seriously. Not being able to fully grasp the shift into Lent has made it almost feel like Lent isn’t really here. The Lenten words of my heart have been quieter this year, and I think I will be surprised for the arrival of Easter.


Despite this, church on Sundays is still a meaningful time for me. New words and songs are being written on my heart, one impossible to pronounce syllable at a time. However, the most touching moment of the entire service has always been and continues to be at the very end. It is the moment of silence after we have finished singing the last hymn or received the blessing from the pastor. No one moves, no one even seems to breathe. In that moment I feel connected to God and everyone else in a very intimate way. In that moment, we are together in God’s love and peace. Our differences disappear and for a single moment we are one in Christ. Even if I understood NOTHING of the rest of this service, this moment is enough to convince me of God’s presence. He is sealing us with His love and preparing us for our journey out into the world.


Over the next few days we will once again follow Christ through his journey to death, waiting in hope and prayer for His victory. No matter what language the story is told in, the great joy is still the same: God's love for the world is so great that He gave up His only son for us. We are eternally blessed by the sacrifice Jesus made for us. We can live confidently in this fact and can go into the world without fear because of God's love for each of us. Our language does not matter to Him. Polish, English, French, German, and even Chinese are all wonderful to Him and all of these languages can share the promise of His grace.