Readings:
Genesis 15:5-12, 17-18
Psalm 27:1, 7-8, 8-9, 13-14.
Philippians 3:17—4:1
Luke 9:28b-36

As long as I can remember, my dad has been obsessed with the heavens. My family makes jokes about his little catch phrases that he uses to help identify different constellations (which we can all do). He took us camping so we could sleep outside under the stars. He now has a little laser he uses to help his grandchildren figure out which stars he is pointing to so that his descendants all can marvel at the multitudes above us. We know if he calls on a late summer evening, he’s likely standing in his favorite spot, looking at the stars and thanking God for all he has been given. My father has always been able to hold on to his sense of awe at what God has done.

What was Abram’s sense of awe as God showed him the heavens, knowing his descendants would be as numerous? What kind of awe must he and Sarah have felt as they moved from barrenness to abundance? I place myself in Peter’s shoes and try to imagine what it was like on that mountaintop. To be so enthralled, so fully awake to Jesus’ truest self, that his response is to build tents and to keep everyone as they are. Do we not all have moments we want to bottle up or place under a glass dome so that we can forever cherish how wonderful it really was? What is it like to be completely in awe of the glory of God?

How quickly do we forget how to marvel? My mind is occupied with school pick-up, work deadlines, commute times, swim lessons, grocery shopping and making sure my kids shoes fit all while thinking I will have enough time to get things for their Easter baskets and remember what I gave up for Lent. I might ask my kids during bedtime prayers what to thank God for when I haven’t even allowed myself a moment to notice where God has been, even if it’s at the bottom of a sink full of dishes. How can I notice where God is showing up in full when I struggle with the glimpses? Have I noticed – really noticed – where God is asking me to pay attention and trust in His promises? Perhaps I am uncomfortable with what it means to fully encounter Jesus or I struggle to trust that even the smallest bits of good I may do can multiply into something as boundless as the stars. Maybe I have simply forgotten how much it matters to see where God is and to listen to what is asked of me.

I walked out of my brother’s farm house last week and my children both wanted to stop and look at the stars spread out across a clear night sky. They asked if we had their papa’s laser so that we could point at all the stars they could see. I hadn’t even thought to look up. Perhaps this Lent God is asking me to look up and surrender to the awe of what is possible, even if it’s beyond my reach. Perhaps God is asking me to look down at my feet and notice where I am and what God is revealing to me through the person right in front of my very eyes. God is always inviting us to notice and encounter, if we are ready to simply look.

Ellen Romer Niemiec, MDiv
Director of Enrollment Management