There are spaces in our lives that feel as comfortable as a warm bed. A cup of tea with a lifelong friend. A walk along a well-worn path. A song that you can sing by heart. Our most cherished memories wrap us like a cozy blanket, inviting us to drift off and dream. These spaces offer a chance to rest and re-energize. The body settles easily and begs us to stay, just a little longer. Then, life wakes us up.
This year for Lent, I’ve given up the snooze button. My alarm goes off in the still-dark morning, and I resist the urge to sleep through this void that looks and sounds like the middle of the night. I pull myself from bed, quiet the alarm, and stretch away any remnants of sleep. I repeat this routine at the start of each new day, but my Lenten practice does not end with breakfast and a morning cup of tea.
Other kinds of snooze buttons tempt us throughout the day. We hit “snooze” when we idle away time on our devices. We hit “snooze” when we choose not to say what’s on our minds. We hit “snooze” when we shy away from our dreams. The resolution to stop hitting snooze is not just a part of the morning routine; it is a new outlook on the gift of each day.
The Gospel reminds us that the disciples themselves faced this temptation. On Transfiguration Sunday, we join Peter, John and James to see Jesus revealed in a radiant light as the Son of the Living God. Luke’s account makes note that on this night, the disciples had been “heavy with sleep; and having awoken fully, they saw His glory” (Luke 9:32). The weight of weariness lifts into light as we become physically and spiritually awake. And again, in the Gospel reading for Palm Sunday, Jesus asked his disciples to keep watch as he prayed at the Mount of Olives. The disciples were to pray that they wouldn’t be tempted, but when Jesus returned to them, he found that they had fallen asleep, "exhausted from sorrow" (Luke 22:46). The journey, after all, is long and it is easy to become weary.
Miracles wake us up. Former Cleveland radio host Trapper Jack shared this message when he kicked off our church's Lenten speaker series. In his talk, Trapper Jack described his years away from the church and the miracles that rekindled his faith. He recalled one day when he was lying in bed, and though he had already begun to lose his eyesight, everything around him became perfectly illuminated. In that moment, he became aware of God’s presence in the room with him, inviting conversation. We may doubt whether God will join in dialogue with us as we pray, but Trapper Jack used a radio metaphor to suggest that we may simply need to tune into the same “frequency.”
I grew up listening to the Trapper Jack in the Morning Show on our local Cleveland station. His voice animated our dusty radio, signaling that it was time to wake up and start the day. As his familiar voice filled our church this Lenten season, I instinctively recognized it as a signal to wake up, now in a spiritual sense.
Not long after attending Trapper Jack's event, I took a step of faith along my own journey. My friend had invited me to move in with her and another friend, and I accepted. Since then, I've been learning to navigate a new neighborhood, a new commute, and a new routine. I've also begun attending a new church. On Palm Sunday, I folded palm leaves into crosses as I listened to the reading of the Passion. I placed the folded palms next to me in the pew and remembered my sisters, who began this tradition with me many years ago. After mass, a young girl walked past and then turned away and whispered, "Mommy, how do you make crosses?" I offered a folded palm to her and her sister. Miracles come in all sizes.
So stop hitting snooze. Open the curtains. Rise to meet the day. The sun sings Mandisa’s “Good Morning” as it stretches its warm, golden rays.
Other kinds of snooze buttons tempt us throughout the day. We hit “snooze” when we idle away time on our devices. We hit “snooze” when we choose not to say what’s on our minds. We hit “snooze” when we shy away from our dreams. The resolution to stop hitting snooze is not just a part of the morning routine; it is a new outlook on the gift of each day.
The Gospel reminds us that the disciples themselves faced this temptation. On Transfiguration Sunday, we join Peter, John and James to see Jesus revealed in a radiant light as the Son of the Living God. Luke’s account makes note that on this night, the disciples had been “heavy with sleep; and having awoken fully, they saw His glory” (Luke 9:32). The weight of weariness lifts into light as we become physically and spiritually awake. And again, in the Gospel reading for Palm Sunday, Jesus asked his disciples to keep watch as he prayed at the Mount of Olives. The disciples were to pray that they wouldn’t be tempted, but when Jesus returned to them, he found that they had fallen asleep, "exhausted from sorrow" (Luke 22:46). The journey, after all, is long and it is easy to become weary.
Miracles wake us up. Former Cleveland radio host Trapper Jack shared this message when he kicked off our church's Lenten speaker series. In his talk, Trapper Jack described his years away from the church and the miracles that rekindled his faith. He recalled one day when he was lying in bed, and though he had already begun to lose his eyesight, everything around him became perfectly illuminated. In that moment, he became aware of God’s presence in the room with him, inviting conversation. We may doubt whether God will join in dialogue with us as we pray, but Trapper Jack used a radio metaphor to suggest that we may simply need to tune into the same “frequency.”
I grew up listening to the Trapper Jack in the Morning Show on our local Cleveland station. His voice animated our dusty radio, signaling that it was time to wake up and start the day. As his familiar voice filled our church this Lenten season, I instinctively recognized it as a signal to wake up, now in a spiritual sense.
Not long after attending Trapper Jack's event, I took a step of faith along my own journey. My friend had invited me to move in with her and another friend, and I accepted. Since then, I've been learning to navigate a new neighborhood, a new commute, and a new routine. I've also begun attending a new church. On Palm Sunday, I folded palm leaves into crosses as I listened to the reading of the Passion. I placed the folded palms next to me in the pew and remembered my sisters, who began this tradition with me many years ago. After mass, a young girl walked past and then turned away and whispered, "Mommy, how do you make crosses?" I offered a folded palm to her and her sister. Miracles come in all sizes.
So stop hitting snooze. Open the curtains. Rise to meet the day. The sun sings Mandisa’s “Good Morning” as it stretches its warm, golden rays.