Second Sunday of Lent
Release: Walk
"To be free is to be free from the narratives that others have imposed upon us and to claim the narrative that God has for us."
— Dr. Kelly Brown Douglas
Dr. Kelly Brown Douglas, an Episcopal priest and theologian, reminds us that freedom comes not from perfection but from choosing which story shapes our lives.
One of my goals in life is longevity. I want to be as healthy as I can be for as long as possible. That means I walk most days on the Mountain Goat Trail behind my house, or amidst the beauty of the Fiery Gizzard Trail. I lift weights multiple times a week. Yoga is a practice that keeps me centered and limber. For over a year, I've been frustrated by knee pain and intermittent sciatica. Then, in late November of last year, while I was at the gym, my knee locked again, and this time it got my attention. I stopped going to the gym, I gave up my walks outside, and grimaced as I walked up and down that steep ramp in St. Mary's Hall. I really felt like my freedom in the present moment and my ease for the future were slipping away. After several appointments and scans, I learned that I had not one but four loose bodies of cartilage floating around in my knee, getting caught now and again, severely limiting my mobility.
Walking, something I had always taken for granted, was a daily struggle. The physical act of putting one foot in front of the other took an enormous amount of concentration, which would cause me to grimace and wince. When I sat in the pews during Advent, I dreaded even the walk and kneel to the communion rail, especially when I followed a spry woman in her 80s.
Sometimes our spiritual walk is like that, too. Maybe our desire is a daily exercise of prayer or journaling. Maybe we imagine a deepening spiritual practice over a lifetime. Even when we miss days or months of our preferred routine, it's okay, because we're smart and wise and have a good community around us. But eventually, something breaks loose, something gets caught, something slows us down or stops us short. The narrative we have been living in changes drastically. That kind of grief can be paralyzing. That uncertainty can set us back. That blossoming anger can catch and lock our spirits.
Suddenly, walking—physically and spiritually—isn't so easy anymore. Like Jesus in the wilderness, we find ourselves in a landscape we didn't choose, learning lessons we didn't seek. In those moments, we have the opportunity to pause and claim a new narrative, to listen for what lessons God might teach us in a season we did not ask for or expect. As you journey through Lent this year, how is your walk? Daily and consistent? Halting and painful? Are you on autopilot and don't give much thought to how you get through the days and weeks? Can you imagine how your circumstances might be a way to set you free to write a new story?
I was able to have surgery in January, and the pain of the last 18 months is nearly entirely gone. But in many ways, my walk is starting over. As I enter Lent, I'm doing more yoga than weights. And I'm listening for the deeper wisdom of honoring limitations, slowing down, walking in ways that are healthy and sustainable.
As you walk through Lent this year, how do you want to move? What limitations do you have this year that you need to be mindful of? What might these limitations be teaching you? As you make your pilgrimage, what can you lay aside to experience freedom?
Practice: Walking More Freely
Step into the labyrinth, literally or figuratively.
Take time to notice and honor any limitations in your body—a tight hip, an aching back, shooting pain in your leg. Maybe place a hand on any area of tension or discomfort, and pray for healing and relief.
Experiment with different ways of walking. One practice of walking the labyrinth is to walk two steps forward and one step back, representing our real-life circumstances and growth. Another practice is to pause at every turn in the labyrinth to consider options or make decisions. Change your pace, skip, or dance. Find ways to feel free on your journey. Notice what it feels like to move differently—to honor rather than push past your body's wisdom. If you can't walk a literal labyrinth, use the download attached here. Or walk around your living room or your yard, experimenting in the same ways.
Remember your intention for this journey through Lent. Open your hands. Lift your heart. Listen for the story that God has for you. Whatever your body's capabilities today, there is a way for you to make this journey.
