The wind has picked up again, here in Lane’s Cove. Lent comes back around each day, like this wind, stirring and circling, lifting shingles off the roof, whipping dead branches up against the house. The wind explores the corners of eaves, low moans against the old wood of the house. We’re huddled down here, against the March cold, stars already bright.
On the wind, my prayers fly out into the night, for the people of Libya, protesters in Syria, survivors in Japan. In Romans 8, Paul tells us: “Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words. And God, who searches the heart, knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God.” (vs.26,27). The Spirit’s searching opens new places up, rattling the windows and doors until they open. I’m grateful for that help; that the Spirit works on us, in spite of ourselves. Tumultuous and dangerous times call up the prayer of the Spirit, wordless, but strong, and I’m glad to send those yearnings for peace, healing, comfort, wisdom, on the Spirit’s wind.
Tomorrow, we’ll be remembering the Israelites journey from Egypt into the wildnerness, and their struggle to understand their situation. We’ll sing a Psalm of praise, and then hear St. Paul exhort us to faith in the promise and hope of the Gospel. Finally, we’ll listen in on one of Jesus’ transforming conversations with the Samaritan woman at a well. There’s so much here that is rich and deep. But most of all, there is the promise of renewal of our life in God, from Moses and the Rock, to Jesus’ living springs. May this evening’s wind, and wordless prayer, prepare us for the rush of living water springing up in tomorrow’s worship.