I Wore My Pink Stole and Didn’t Mention It

For the first time in my ministry, I did not make a big deal about today being Laetare Sunday—the pink Sunday of Lent. This is the Sunday in Lent for lessening of the strictness of fasting, the Sunday for rejoicing. 

I just didn’t have it in me.  I wore my pink stole and didn’t mention it. 

I didn’t have pink flowers on the altar to give away. I always do—if not pink roses, then at least pink carnations. This is the Sunday that roses dipped in gold were given to people held in high esteem by the pope. For hundreds and hundreds of years this has happened. I wonder if the pope felt like giving away roses today. 

I just didn’t have it in me. I wore my pink stole and didn’t mention it.

I remember making the discovery of this Sunday early in my ministry and thinking what a beautiful day this Sunday could be each year, lifting up the color rose, offering flowers to my congregation, reminding them that I and God hold them in high regard, that they are loved and cherished.  And today would have been a perfect Sunday for observing these small gestures because the Gospel reading was the Prodigal Son/the Prodigal Father. I preached on extravagant grace, on grace lavishly poured out by the One who loves us most. Yes, it was a day to offer roses.

I just didn’t have it in me. I wore my pink stole and didn’t mention it.

I didn’t have it in me today because my heart is heavy. I know that mine is not the only one hurting. My heart is broken as I think about all the pain and suffering, confusion and violence that is running rampant in this world.  I ache over Ukraine. I ache for Ukraine. I ache. During worship this morning, I told my congregation that every morning I wake up and find that I want to just travel to someplace where I can offer hope and encouragement to those who are experiencing so much pain, to those fleeing home and searching for peace and safety.  I don’t speak Ukrainian or Polish or German or any other language spoken in places where those who are fleeing are embraced, but I can chop onions. Just show me where the onions are, and I can chop them so that food can be prepared for those who need nourishment and comfort.  Chopping onions seems like an act of prayer and an act of resistance.  

So, today, I wore my pink stole and didn’t mention that it was a day for rejoicing—“rejoice O Jerusalem.”  Today, I wore my pink stole and didn’t mention that it was a day for giving away roses.

And then, later this afternoon, I stumbled across a photo that I had taken and posted on this day four years ago.  In this photo are other photos that I have taken, photos that I had matted and framed to be given away to people that I had yet to meet.  They were gifts that I had prepared to take with me on renewal leave to Germany in 2018.  I knew that I would meet people.  I knew that friendships would develop. I knew that I would want to give something of myself to let others know how much I appreciated their help and hospitality. Giving each of those small gifts was a moment of rejoicing for me, a moment of holding my new friends in high regard, a moment of prayer and promise as our lives were connected in the presence of the Spirit, in the Body of Christ, in the pursuit of peace.

And suddenly, I had it in me. I wore my pink stole and I wish that I had mentioned it.

Perhaps it is time, again, for me to create prayers of beauty and rejoicing and peace from my photos. I am not a great photographer—maybe I can’t even claim that I am one, though I do—but I do see things differently than others and so often I am compelled to take photos. These photos are prayers of my heart. Maybe it is time for the photos to become my golden roses, gifts to be given freely, like the extravagant grace of God. I know that I cannot offer these gifts to those whose lives and pain fill my heart of prayer these days, but every gesture of hope and love makes a difference in this world.

I have it in me. You do too. Today I wore my pink stole…