4jlkelly

Tag: bible

  • Shrove Tuesday

    Shrove Tuesday

    From Mask to Mercy: An Invitation to Prepare

    What is Shrove Tuesday? It is the last day before Lent.

    The beginning of something really does not start on the day we begin something new. It starts days earlier as we prepare to start. And thus is today, Shrove Tuesday, our preparation for Lent, the forty day liturgical season of fasting, prayer, and repentance beginning on Ash Wednesday and ending at Easter.

    This Fat Tuesday, this Shrovetide, this Carnival, this Pancake Day, this Mardi Gras is the final indulgence. The day of the purging of everything from the pantry to begin our fast. In England, families make pancakes to use up eggs, milk, butter, and fat, foods forbidden during the Lenten fast. The pantry was emptied so temptation would not linger on the shelf. What could not be carried into Lent was consumed or removed.

    But man has a way of taking even the day of purging to the extreme. Carnival comes from carnem levare, to take away the flesh in what I will add is the ‘last hurrah.’ What began as purging preparation slowly became excess. Yet the older English word, shrive, offers a deeper invitation. To shrive is to confess. To speak aloud what is true. To bring what is hidden into mercy.

    Shrove Tuesday stands at the threshold of Lent like a mirror.

    It shows us where we are as we purge. What we value. Pasta. Sugar. Social Media. It reveals not where we hope to be. Not where we pretend to be. But where we truly stand.

    In Venice, Carnevale meant masks. The BAUTA allowed feasting without being known. The Moretta silenced the wearer as they bit upon the piece that held it in place. The Medico della Peste (Plague Doctor) hid his fear behind spectacle. The Colombina shimmered with curated beauty. For hours, identities blurred and consequence softened.

    And we know these masks well.

    Competence polished and self-sufficiency worn.
    Perfectionism that keeps us admired yet unseen.
    Silence that bites down on truth.
    Busyness that disguises fear.

    The mirror of Shrove Tuesday asks gently, what mask are you wearing?

    But this day does more than pose a question. It carries a call: Not condemnation. Not criticism. A tender summons. Come.

    “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened…” And the Beloved whispers, “Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away.”

    Before ashes touch our foreheads, truth touches our hearts. We are invited to name what is real. The attachments. The cravings. The subtle hunger for control. The self imposed perfectionism. The places where ego has quietly built its empire and placed its mask.

    Come. “So I will allure her; I will lead her into the desert and speak to her heart”.

    The desert mystics called the freedom that follows apatheia, purity of heart. Not numbness, but clarity. A heart no longer ruled by illusion. Thomas Merton said the desert strips away unreality and sets our feet on solid ground.

    The wilderness is not punishment. It is preparation. Moses was formed there. John found his voice there. Jesus faced temptation there. The wilderness exposes what is false and makes room for what is true.

    This day shows us where we are so we may choose to set an intention toward where God is calling.

    We can indulge one more time, eat up our chocolate and pancakes. And we can begin preparing.

    We can empty the pantry.
    And we can empty the heart in confessing our truths of where we stand.

    We can recognize the mask.
    And we can let it fall away, maybe even carry it in our hand until we eventually can let it go.

    Tomorrow is Ash Wednesday. Today is the threshold.

    Prepare.
    Confess.
    Lay aside.
    Listen.
    Take up.
    Plan.

    Forty days stretch before you like a wilderness; an uncultivated place where we await to find a new path. What will you do? Who will you tell so your intention becomes real? How will you prepare?

    Silence.
    Solitude.
    Stillness.

    The holy trinity of contemplation. The quiet ground where the soul is steadied.

    Biblically, to prepare is to establish, to make firm, to set in order. Israel gathered manna in advance. The Temple materials were assembled. The Passover was made ready. The heart was prepared to seek the Lord. Even the day of crucifixion unfolded on what Scripture simply calls The Preparation (the day before the Sabbath.)

    Preparation is faith in advance. Noah built before rain. The wise virgins filled their lamps before the cry at midnight.

    It is not frantic doing. It is becoming ready.

    So make it concrete and intentional.
    Buy a journal set apart only for Lent.
    Choose a place you will go each day, your small wilderness of intention.
    Decide on a prayer practice, a time, a simple rhythm you can keep.
    Remove one thing that dulls your hunger for God so that space is made for Him.

    Preparation is not merely a list. It is a posture. It fosters focus, reduces distraction, and trains the soul to recognize God’s voice when He calls.

    Do not only decide what you will give up. Decide who you are becoming.

    In the wilderness, like the Beloved, you prepare a way for the Lord within your own heart. Valleys lifted. Mountains made low. Rough places leveled.

    The invitation is offered today.

    Rise up, my love. Come away. In the wilderness prepare the way for the LORD. And every valley shall be raised up, every mountain made low; the rough level, the rugged a plain. And the glory of the LORD will be revealed, and all the people will see it together.

    May it be so. Hallelujah.

  • A Letter to Myself on New Year’s Day

    2026

    I have been reading Genesis 1:1 shaped mostly by my English understanding. Recently, I paused long enough to listen more carefully after seeing a post on the verse. I turned toward the Hebrew, and what I found there has quietly changed how I understand creation, light, and my own becoming.

    “In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.”

    That’s how we usually hear it.

    But the Hebrew reveals something far deeper, something that gently unsettles the idea of a finished moment.

    The very first word of Scripture is
    בְּרֵאשִׁית
    Bereshit.

    It does not open the story with something sealed and complete.
    It opens with movement.

    Not a period, but a threshold.
    Not a closed beginning, but an opening breath.
    Not a finished act, but an unfolding.

    Bereshit.
    In beginning.
    At the start of becoming.

    A more faithful translation would be, When God began to create.

    As if Scripture is whispering, Before there was form, before there was order, before there was anything solid at all…

    The earth was formless and empty.
    Darkness covered the deep.
    And the Spirit of God was hovering.

    Hovering, the way a pen lingers just above the page before the first sentence is written.
    Hovering, the way hands pause over a keyboard, sensing what wants to be born.

    At the start of becoming, God stepped into darkness, into formlessness, into empty space.

    From chaos, God began to create.

    And the first movement of the Creator was not structure.
    Not land.
    Not even the earth itself.

    The first word spoken was light.

    “Let there be light.”

    Not sunlight, which comes later in verse sixteen.
    This is something else entirely.
    Something deeper.

    In Hebrew, the word for light is אוֹר
    Or.

    It is formed by three letters.

    Aleph — א
    Vav — ו
    Resh — ר

    Together they spell light.

    Each letter carries meaning.

    Aleph is strength, source, God Himself.
    Silent, yet immense.
    The first letter of the Hebrew alphabet.
    The breath before sound.

    Vav is the nail, the connector.
    The joining point.
    Heaven touching earth.
    Meaning linking to meaning.

    Resh is the head, the beginning, direction, purpose.
    The place where movement knows where it is going.

    So light, at its root, is this
    God, the Source, connecting heaven to earth with intention and purpose.

    Light is not merely something God made.
    Light is God releasing His own nature into the void.

    Scripture echoes this truth again in 1 John 1:5
    “God is light, and in Him there is no darkness at all.”

    So the first act of creation was not making something external.
    It was God pouring Himself into the darkness.

    And this is where it becomes personal.

    If God’s first creative act was the release of light,
    and if you were made in His image,
    then you were created to carry that same light.

    Not to generate it, but to reflect it.
    Not to manufacture it, but to release it.

    This is why Jesus says, “You are the light of the world.”

    Everything God is by nature,
    you are called to express by assignment.

    Let that land.

    Everything God is by nature,
    you are called to express by assignment.

    God’s light brings clarity.
    Your creativity brings clarity.

    God’s light brings order to chaos.
    Your ideas bring order to confusion.

    God’s light reveals what was hidden.
    Your words, your work, your calling reveal what someone could not see on their own.

    You are not just writing.
    Not just imagining.
    Not just creating content.

    You are releasing light.

    This is why creativity is spiritual.
    Why it is powerful.
    Why it is transformative.

    This is why your ideas matter.

    And this is why resistance comes so quickly, especially in the mind.
    Why halfway through the work, a voice tries to tell you it means nothing.
    Why darkness attempts to return with confusion and doubt.

    But light restores clarity.

    Every time you co-create with God, you are doing what He did in Genesis 1.
    Speaking light into empty spaces.
    Releasing order into chaos.
    And darkness cannot survive where light is given room.

    When God began to create, His first word was light.
    And He did not stop there.

    He embedded that same light in you.

    So when you create, when you build, when you speak life, you are not merely doing work.
    You are fulfilling the Genesis mandate.

    You are a carrier of divine light.

    It is not just what you do.
    It is who you are.

    So go now.
    Release it however you are called.

    Write. Love. Work hard. Trust.

    Happy New Year, You.

    May the Light who hovered over the deep,
    and the Light who entered the world in flesh,
    find every place in you that is waiting to glow.

    Peace to your heart.
    Joy to your creating.
    Gentle wonder to all that is being born in you.

    May it be so.

    Hallelujah.

    JLK