Love’s Invitation

Renée Antrosio – March 4, 2025 1 Comment

I like to light a fire before it rains. Last night the firepit beckoned. Accumulated twigs were arranged (thank you, Jubal!) in an inviting nest, and a month’s worth of old mail wanted to be burned. The secret of appreciating the beauty of Central Illinois weather is reveling in its changes- my rosemary loves an outside recess during winter rain, a cold spell prompts hearty soup, unseasonably warm days call for a cookout. 

Most of my life, camping and building fires were social experiences, accommodating the needs of the group for food, beverages, comfort, and shelter. Opinions on the right way to do things abounded; there were many voices and many hands. In this second half of life, I have unexpectedly enjoyed the solitude of interacting with the elements. Quieting the voices that accompany us, years of accumulated advice and cultural admonitions, is an ongoing discipline. 

Today is Mardi Gras, or Pancake Tuesday; tomorrow begins the season of Lent with Ash Wednesday. I like a good feast to mark the transition. Fire and rain prompt Lenten questions. What might need to be burned and released? What inner ground might need a gentle watering? 

On Sunday, I shared the invitation to experience more deeply our identity as Beloved by God this Lent- not just at an intellectual level (though it might begin there, with guidebooks to help us) but especially in our bodies and hearts. How are love and solitude connected? Why does our culture provide so many opportunities to avoid silence? In Richard Rohr’s reflection “Silence is Almost Too Simple”, I heard a Lenten invitation:

The simplest spiritual discipline is some degree of solitude and silence. But it’s the hardest, because none of us want to be with someone we don’t love. Besides that, we invariably feel bored with ourselves, and all of our loneliness comes to the surface. (Yes, And… p. 32)

Some of us live alone, where silence and solitude seem all too present, but not necessarily intentional or cultivated. Others of us have so many social and family demands on our time that the idea of silence or solitude seems painfully laughable. There is no one-size-fits-all prescription. Except Love. The mystery of loving God with our whole selves and loving our neighbors as ourselves begins with experiencing God’s love for us. That is the fountain and the river, that baptism of being beloved that we must circle back to again and again.

We have put our emphasis on trying to love God, which is probably a good way to start- although we do not have a clue how to do that. What I (Richard Rohr) consistently find in the mystics is an overwhelming experience of how God has loved them. God is always the initiator, God is the doer, God is the one who seduces us. All we can do is respond in kind…. (Yes, And…p. 48)

So, how do we put ourselves in a position to experience God’s love? Jesus went to the river. Jesus went to the mountain. Jesus went to the garden. All to pray. To be in God’s presence. Sometimes with the crowd, or with just a few friends, and often alone. What physical environments might you seek this Lent to make yourself available to love? Does your body long to move, to dance, to stretch, to hike, to taste freshness from the earth, to hear the birds punctuate the silence, to draw, to paint, to rest, to volunteer or serve? Is there a different kind of fast which would help you “identify those patterns and habits that distract you from the fullness of life and open up space for the feast that awaits each of us”? (A Different Kind of Fast: feeding our true hungers in lent, by Christine Valters Paintner)

Today, tomorrow, these next 40 days are an invitation to experience love. May we have the courage to accept, explore, and embrace the possibilities that await us.

-Renée Antrosio, NCF Pastor