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Dear
Cathedral Community,
Last
week I attended our diocesan clergy retreat — a beautiful and
grace-filled time set apart for prayer, reflection, and renewal as we
prepare for the holy season of Lent. Bishop Jonathan Folts joined us
and spoke of retreat as something more than time away; he described
it as sacred recovery space — a place where weary spirits are tended
and where we are invited to restore our breath before returning to
serve. He reminded us that when faithful ministry wears us down, we
must sometimes stop talking long enough to listen — to Christ, and to
those through whom Christ is speaking.
à During that same
retreat, Bishop Craig Loya reflected on the early Church — a small
band of faithful people, deeply devoted in spirit and disciplined in
their common life. They were not preoccupied with buildings or
permanence. They were not concerned with recognition or appearance.
They were committed to practicing the way of Jesus — living as near
to Christ as humanly possible.
In that
devotion, in that perseverance, they found strength. And in that strength, they were able to stand with
confidence in the face of empire and the uncertainties of their time.
As we
enter Lent, Jesus’ words from Matthew’s Gospel press gently — and
firmly — upon our hearts:
“Beware of
practicing your piety before others in order to
be seen by them…
When you
give alms, do not sound a trumpet…
When you
pray, go into your room and shut the door…
When you
fast, do not look dismal…
For
where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”
Again and again, Jesus draws us inward — away from
performance, away from appearance, away from the need to be seen —
and toward the quiet, hidden life with God. Toward the secret place.
Toward the heart.
I love
our sacred spaces. I love the beauty of our Cathedral, the rhythm of
worship, the gathering of God’s people. These places matter. And yet
Lent asks a deeper question: Where do we truly draw our strength? In
what — or in whom — do we place our trust?
Is our
treasure in what can be seen and admired? Or is it stored in the
quiet, steady devotion of a life turned toward Christ?
The
early Christians did not rely on structures for their courage. Their
confidence came from nearness to Jesus — from prayer offered in
secret, generosity given quietly, fasting that shaped the heart
rather than the reputation. Their treasure was Christ himself. And so their hearts were anchored beyond the reach of
empire, fear, or uncertainty.
This is
the work of Lent for me. To stop talking long enough to listen. To
step away from what is visible and measurable. To ask where my
treasure truly lies. To draw nearer to Christ in the hidden places of
the soul.
I invite
you to join me in that holy work. Let us practice the quiet
disciplines of prayer, generosity, and self-examination — not to be
seen, but to be transformed. And may we discover again that our true
strength is not in what can be taken from us, but in the One who
holds us fast.
Faithfully,
Tim+
The
Rev. Timothy M. Kingsley
Provost,
Saint Mark's Episcopal Cathedral
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