Comfort Zones

Lent is really early this year. One of the things I've added to my Lenten discipline in years past was to use the time while coffee brewed in the morning to do some excercise. Earlier this week, overnight temperatures were low,and the early morning skies were overcast. Each morning I would lie in bed under the covers telling myself I'd start the coffee and then go work out. Then I would think about how comfortable it was under the covers, and how it couldn't be that late, yet, because it was still dark. The urge to stay comfortable would win out, and I'd drift back to sleep for a while longer.

How often do we choose to stay where we're comfortable? How much easier are things when we don't allow ourselves to be challenged? Why should we even consider something which might make ourselves uncomfortable?

In my case, getting out of bed and excersising is for my own good. It would improve my over-all health and outlook. The shock of the colder morning air would help me to wake up faster. I'd add time to my morning which could be well spent writing, reading, or at the park with the dogs.

Last spring we had a guest preacher when the Gospel text was the story of the Prodigal Son. As she was reading the Gospel, I was struck by the phrase describing the moment when the son finally comes to terms with his situation: "But when he came to himself, he said..." (Luke 15:17) Somehow, whenever I've heard that phrase before, I've always run a visual clip in my mind of someone shaking off whatever it was which was weighing on them, sort of like our dogs after a walk in the rain. A couple of vigourous shakes and the original fluffy self is re-revealed, perhaps somewhat damper, but hopefully feeling cleaner and refreshed.

But as those words were released from her lips, I envisioned a person having an out-of-body experience, walking along a path and then suddenly confronted with themselves, from the perspective of another. After observing themself and their struggle with their burden, I saw them come to terms with what they needed to do, reconciling their self, and then suddenly merge back into one person.

I don't think that we can always have this out of body revelation on our own. I think that sometimes God sees our need to be uncomfortable in order to change. It's then up to us to notice these gifts and choose to receive them or reject them.

A woman in our congregation has cerebal palsy so bad that she can no longer move from one position to another without the assitance of an aide. When she was born, her doctor told her parents she would not survive more than 50 days. Now, over 50 years later, she has retired from her job as an advocate for the disabled. After completing college, she found her own apartment and has lived on her own. She tells great stories of going to rallies in the 70's to protest the lack of accomodations for the physically challenged. She was arrested at least once, confounding the police who could not figure out how to jail her in her wheelchair. Thanks to her and many others like her, America now has the Americans with Disabilities Act. They were able to envision a life which would be better for many, which needed them to move out of their comfort zones to make a better future. This woman who I admire so greatly, treats each new challenge in her life as a gift from God, and turns them into gifts to others.

That's what we were invited to do as a congregation that afternoon. We explored our joys and fears, our self-image, and our reputation among others. Feelings were laid bare over a 4 hour journey, which finally brought us to ourselves.

And so as part of my journey this Lent, I'm going to try to get out of bed earlier, and be more honest with myself about what I need to do each day. It may be that I need to remind myself that I need to be kinder, or firmer, or less critical and more open to being uncomfortable. I pray God will help me.