Lent Archives - Jodie Berndt

The Helper knows what looks good on you

04.01.2022

Maybe you’ve heard about the woman who looked at God and said, “So far today, I’m doing all right. I have not gossiped, lost my temper, or told any white lies. I haven’t been greedy, nasty, or selfish. I have not whined or complained or cursed—not even once! And I haven’t charged anything on my credit card or eaten any gluten.

“But…I am going to be getting out of bed in a minute, and I think I will need your help.”

Can you relate? I know I can. When it comes to right living, we all need God’s help. Particularly since obedience—doing the right thing—is linked to living in the warmth of God’s love.

“If you keep my commands,” Jesus says in John 15:10, “you will remain in my love.”

Trouble is, obedience does not come naturally. Disobedience comes naturally. “I have the desire to do what is good,” Paul writes, “but I cannot carry it out.” We’d all be doomed, when it comes to desiring and doing the right thing, except for the fact that God knew we’d need help. And he gives it to us in the form of the Holy Spirit, our Helper.

What the Helper Does

If you’ve been following along in my Facebook or Instagram stories through Lent, you know we’ve been reading Catherine Marshall’s classic book, The Helper, which details forty different ways the Holy Spirit offers practical help in our lives. I’m linking the book in this post, but you might have to settle for a used copy; new ones are hard to come by (and cost waaaay more than the $3.95 I paid for mine, back in 1978).

The Helper does all sorts of valuable things, from reminding us what Jesus said, to equipping us with supernatural power, to guiding us in ways that save us worry and even time. He also (and this is where the ability to do the right thing comes in) gives us new desires. He doesn’t force them on us, of course, but as we entrust ourselves to the Holy Spirit’s keeping and care, he gives us (as Philippians 2:13 puts it), the “desire and the power to do what pleases him.”

I love that. Because honestly? We don’t always know what would please God. Plus, there are plenty of times when we might know the right thing to do but we just don’t want to. Or, like Paul, we might actually have the desire, but we lack the power, or the ability, to see whatever it is through to completion.

In her book, Catherine Marshall tells the story of her friend, Janet, who arrived in Washington, D.C. “deficient in taste and know-how.” Knowing that her friend needed help if she hoped to fit into the city’s sophisticated climate, Marshall connected Janet with a style maven who took her on, waiving the customary fee for her service, and ordered up a beautiful three-piece British tweed suit—something that the newcomer could feel confident wearing in almost any setting.

(Stick with me here. I know a three-piece suit—British or otherwise—might not be a “must have” today, but as a high-schooler in the 1970s who owned one made of royal blue polyester, I would have given anything to have some tweeds of my own.)

As Marshall tells the story, the suit arrived and Janet burst into tears. It was ridiculously expensive—and she wasn’t even sure she liked it! But then, as she wore it, a strange thing happened. She began to love the outfit, and her own taste started to change. “The purchase turned out to be one of the mainstays of Janet’s wardrobe for eight years,” Marshall writes. “The tweeds were not worn out even then.”

God knows what we should wear

Here’s the takeaway: When we submit ourselves to the Holy Spirit (just as Janet submitted her will to that of the big-city stylist), we allow him to go to work in our lives. He transforms us, as Romans 12:2 puts it, renewing our minds—changing the way we think—so we can know God’s will, which is good and pleasing and perfect.

And then, somewhere along the way, it hits us: Like a professional stylist, God knows better than we do what looks good on us. And when the Holy Spirit tells us what to wear—to “put on the new self, created to be like God in true righteousness and holiness”—we can trust that we will love the result. The Helper has impeccable taste.

❤️

I shared the story of Janet and the professional stylist in my book, Praying the Scriptures for Your Life. If you’d like to spend a few more minutes thinking through how the Holy Spirit can work to give you the desire and the power to do what pleases God, here is a brief excerpt from the “Reflect” section at the end of that chapter, along with a few prayers you can pray:

God’s commands are always designed for our benefit; they are motivated by love. Likewise, our obedience is born out of relationship, not obligation. Our connection to Christ creates our desire to obey—and it is through obedience that we abide in Christ’s love.
Still, though, obedience can be hard. Don’t be afraid to ask the Holy Spirit for help, knowing that your humility acts as a magnet for God’s grace. And remember: God will never give you a command that he doesn’t also give you the power to fulfill. The same power that raised Christ from the dead is at work in your life today.
Take a few moments to reflect on what that resurrection power can accomplish in your life. Dry, dead places can become fertile ground; sin’s chains can be broken; radiance can replace shame. Ask God to open your eyes to the beauty of his commands as you surrender yourself to his keeping, trusting the Holy Spirit to give you both the desire and the power to do what pleases God.

Heavenly Father…

Work in me to will and to act to fulfill your good purpose. (Philippians 2:13)

Create in me a clean heart. Restore the joy of my salvation and make me willing to obey you. (Psalm 51:10-12 NLT)

Don’t let me be arrogant and stiff-necked, refusing to obey your commands. May I listen to you, knowing that you are gracious and compassionate towards me, slow to anger and abounding in love. (Nehemiah 9:16-17)

Rest for your soul (no calorie counting required)

03.15.2019

So I started tracking my eating habits last week, using a phone app that shows the caloric content and nutritional value of everything you consume.

I’ll spare you the details; as my mom said when one of her children bought a juicer and started talking about drinking carrots, “I will listen because I am your mother, but I must warn you that this sort of conversation bores people.” But as I was logging my raspberry intake (did you know that they have just 1 calorie each?), Robbie wondered what I was doing.

My man is all about apps, and when I showed him how the thing worked, he wanted to play. “How do I tell it,” he said, “that I just ate a bag of Cheetos the size of my head?”

Not once in all of those youth group warnings about being “unequally yoked” did I ever think I’d wind up with a spouse who was so metabolically different than me. Back then, all I cared about was that Robbie loved Jesus. Now, though, I think single people should maybe consider how they match up with someone, diet-wise. Because honestly? It’s kind of discouraging to live with somebody who can lose weight pounding Thin Mints while you sit there counting almonds (116 calories in 15 of ’em) and discover you’ve gained two pounds that week.

But, as a wise woman might say, this is the sort of blog that bores people.

So I’ll stop with the nutritional stuff and revisit the subject of yokes. Because even as Paul tells us not to team up with nonbelievers—a command that stems from the Old Testament’s admonition against mis-matching an ox and a donkey (which seems like something a farmer could have figured out on his own?)—Jesus invites us to link up with Him. He invites us to put on His yoke.

“Come to me,” Jesus says to the weary and burdened, “and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me…and you will find rest for your souls. (Matthew 11:28-29)

Rest. For your soul.

Doesn’t that sound appealing? It’s the promise of peace. Relaxation. Fulfillment. And freedom from things like worry and fear.

All things we want, right?

Right. But…how do we get there, exactly?

There are two parts to Christ’s invitation. The first part is to come (“Come to me”); the second is to connect (“Take my yoke”). Both parts lead to rest–but it’s the second part of this promise where things can get a little bit tricky.

Because coming to Jesus sounds easy. But wearing His yoke—surrendering to His Lordship, yielding to His teaching, living in such a way that our thoughts and our actions sync up with His plans—feels a bit problematic. What if we are not good enough? What if we get distracted? What if that yoke feels too heavy or tight?

This is where God’s grace comes in. The grace that saves us when we come is the grace that equips us to stay. It’s what opens the door to soul-rest. And even though I’m not entirely sure what it looks like, I know that Christ’s “yoke” is something I want. I don’t want to just come to the Lord. I want my life to be utterly connected to His.

And so here’s what I’m doing: I’m reaching for Jesus. And every time I feel myself pulling away (which is, like, every day, as I slip toward sinful habits, slide toward worry or fear, or just get caught up in the To-Do List Tangle), I reach out again. “Keep me connected,” I pray. “I don’t know how to do this, Jesus; I need You to hold me.”

And you know what? He does.

I’m not there yet (and I doubt I ever will be, this side of heaven), but I think I’m beginning to understand what Paul meant when he wrote, “I’m not saying that I have this all together, that I have it made. But I am well on my way, reaching out for Christ, who has so wondrously reached out for me.” (Philippians 3:12 MSG)

If you want to join me in the pursuit of unbroken connection (and I can’t think of a better time to “reach out for Christ” than during the season of Lent), use the prayer prompt below, or craft one of your own.

And if you got stuck back there with the Cheetos, and you’ve been wondering just how many calories there actually are in a serving that big, let’s just put it like this:

Robbie could have eaten 700 raspberries instead.

Heavenly Father,

Thank you for inviting us to come to you and find rest. Equip us to stay–to stay connected, to take up your yoke, to learn from you–so that we will find rest for our souls. (Matthew 11:28-29)

Amen

Let God Quiet You

03.17.2017

“What are you giving up for Lent?”

It’s a question that many of us have considered, or at least heard, at some point during the last two weeks. Some Christians choose to fast (from desserts, say, or maybe from a habit like smoking or drinking or Netflix); others mark the weeks leading up to Easter by adding something to their daily routine (a new devotional, morning Bible reading, extra time for prayer). Either way – giving up or adding on – the idea is to do something that reorients your perspective and draws you closer to God.

For me, neither option works too well. Giving up chocolate doesn’t seem all that hard. Until I try it, and then all I want for breakfast is a brownie. I tell myself that I should channel that craving into a hunger for Jesus, but it’s like there’s a Doppelganger in my head saying, “Yeah. Jesus and a brownie. That’d be sweet.”

And when I try to add something (like a few extra minutes in prayer as a start to my morning) I don’t fair any better. Just opening my prayer journal seems to unleash a Kraken of cares, and they all start shouting at once: “Worry about this! Don’t forget to do that! Hurry up; you’re going to be late!”

I want to quiet my heart and get ready for Easter, but I can’t.

Which is why, when I read Zephaniah 3:17 this week, it brought me up short:

The Lord your God is in your midst,
a mighty one who will save;
he will rejoice over you with gladness;
he will quiet you by his love;
he will exult over you with loud singing.

I’ve always loved the image of God as a mighty warrior, one who takes delight in his people and rejoices over them with singing. But the other day, as I struggled to get my distracted mind to behave, the phrase “he will quiet you by his love” fairly jumped off the page.

He will quiet you.

You know what that means, right? That means it’s not up to us. We don’t have to calm our own fears, or work really hard to shut out the worries and concerns of the day. We can come before God – during Lent, or at any other time of the year – and ask him to do that for us. We can relax, knowing that even as he “exults over us with loud singing,” his love will speak peace to our souls.

I don’t know what you’ve give up (or taken on) for Lent, or whether the change is helping you draw close to God. But if you’re like me and you find your mind wandering or your worries mounting or you wish you had just a little more diligence and self-control, why not ask God to help? Tell him you can’t do it on your own (which he already knows, anyway), and that you’d like him to step in. Make Zephaniah 3:17 your prayer:

Heavenly Father,

Thank you for showing up as the mighty one who will save. Thank you for taking delight in me, for rejoicing over me with gladness and singing.

I am worried/distracted/fearful; please quiet me by your love.

Amen.

Love and Good Deeds

02.26.2016

This month, about 250 folks in our church have lumped themselves into informal “Lent Groups,” small gatherings of a dozen or so people who meet weekly to discuss various passages from the gospels. Robbie and I host a group where we don’t know all of the participants very well, and this week, our new friend Nicole brought me these flowers, which she said were “just a little something from the garden.”

To Nicole, the bouquet was a simple hostess gift. To me, it was a huge blessing. And it brought to mind the words from Hebrews 10:24-25: Let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds. Let us not give up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but let us encourage one another, and all the more as you see the Day approaching.

What a wonderful charge, particularly as we move toward Easter! Let’s use these verses to heighten our awareness of how we can encourage others, turning them into today’s Friday prayer:

Heavenly Father,

Help me consider how you might be nudging me to spur others on toward love and good deeds. Renew in me a desire and a commitment to get together with other believers, and let me be a source of encouragement and strength to those who need to know more of your love.

Amen.

Friday Prayer for Anxious Minds

03.06.2015

Earlier this week, I wrote about giving up worry. I’m trying to give it up for Lent; I’d like to get rid of it forever.

Philippians 4:6 is, perhaps, the Bible’s best-known “anti-worry” verse. “Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.”

Then comes the promise: “And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” (v. 7)

That’s all good – great, even. But how do we do that, really? How do we stop being anxious?

I think the answer comes in the very next verse, and it’s what I was trying to get at in my blog as I blathered on about cows in cornfields. We train our minds to move along familiar pathways. If we truly want to move from a place of worry to a place of peace, we need to heed Paul’s advice to the Philippians and focus on those things that enable peace to thrive:

“Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable – if anything is excellent or praiseworthy – think about such things.”

(Now there’s a little Bible Xanax to get you pointed in the right direction!)

If you wrestle with worry (whether it’s once in awhile, all the time, or as part of your Lenten fast), turn Philippians 4:6-8 into a prayer and get started on retraining your mind:

Heavenly Father, don’t let me be anxious about anything. Send your peace to guard my heart and mind. Help me think about that which is true, noble, right, pure, lovely, admirable, excellent, and praiseworthy. (Philippians 4:6-8)

What, me worry?

03.04.2015

Here we are, marking the end of Lent: Week 2. I know people who have given up all sorts of things, from the usual (sweets, which Annesley’s roommate Kate has sworn off for the season) to the interesting (cussing, offered up by my favorite local columnist, Kerry Dougherty.)

(How’s that working for you, Kerry?)

Me, I gave up worrying.

I don’t always give something up, but this year, when the minister said that Lent “reveals where your heart is” and that it serves as a call to draw closer to God and give up anything that gets in the way of that relationship, I knew what I had to do. My heart, old and gnarly stump that it is, can get bound up in worry – and sometimes, the forest grows so thick that I can hardly see the Light.

Worry can make a person do funny things. When Robbie was in high school and the time came for him to take the SATs, it hit me that I wasn’t entirely sure he knew how to read. I mean, I assumed he could, but I had never actually seen it. Eager to help him nail at least a few words on the vocab test, I bought a case of lacrosse balls and personalized them as his Valentine’s present:

Robbie was kind enough not to complain that I’d ruined a perfectly good case of balls, but when he actually used them (that’s my boy!), things got a wee bit ugly. Turns out, red Sharpie marker isn’t really “permanent,” and Robbie ended up with pink string – I think the technical term is “mesh” – in his lacrosse stick.

Needless to say, that provoked a few caustic comments. Irascible, even.

As with sweets and cussing, I am sure there are all sorts of strategies one could employ to get rid of worry, but for me, the only tactic that has shown any promise is the same one Paul used, back when he was pumping up the Corinthians: “We take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ.” (2 Cor. 10:5)

Medical research (and buckle up, because I am heading way out of my strike zone here) reveals that the neural pathways in our brains work kind of like a cow going through a cornfield. The first time a thought goes through the path, it doesn’t leave much of a trace. But keep on treading the same ground, and pretty soon the stalks begin to separate, the corn gets trampled, and the path becomes so familiar and well worn that it might as well be a highway.

If I am building a highway for my thoughts (and aren’t we all?), I want it to be one that is paved with good things. The only way I know how to replace worry with peace and trust – to take anxious thoughts “captive,” if you will – is to send the cows through my cornfield armed with God’s promises.

And believe it or not, this plan really works.

Back when my worries about Robbie’s academic prowess conspired to keep me awake at night, I clung to verses like Isaiah 54:13, “All your sons will be taught by the Lord, and great will be your children’s peace.” (I know more modern Bible translations have gone gender-neutral and that this passage clearly covers “daughters,” too…but I’m kind of tied to my old 1984 NIV, especially when it comes to picking prayer promises for my boy.)

Now that I am an official Mother of the Bride, with not just one by TWO daughters getting married within a few months of each other, I have a whole new set of worries: What if it rains? What if I forget to order the cake? What if I never find an MOB dress? (If you saw my Christmas Sweater blog, you know why this is a legitimate concern.)

To all of these fears, and to countless more of the nasties that try to steal my joy, Jesus says this: “Your Father knows what you need before you ask him.” (Matthew 6:8)

And then, as if he’s had some experience with the whole wedding planning thing, he gets even more specific: “Do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.” (Matthew 6:31-33)

Your Father knows what you need before you ask him.

If you’re looking for a good memory verse, try that one. It pretty much covers everything, from the willpower it takes to watch your roommate scarf up a cinnamon bun (sorry, Kate), to the mental gymnastics required to excise those dagnabbits from your vocabulary (you can do it, Kerry!), to a good night’s sleep with two weddings coming straight at you on the calendar, like a pair of billowing freight trains.

I’m not sure I’ll ever banish worry entirely, but as long as I keep piling the promises onto my cows (Philippians 4:8, 4:13, and 4:19 are all running loose in my cornfield right now), I know that everything will be okay.

Friday Prayer for a Clean Heart

02.20.2015

To me, few things are more lovely than freshly fallen snow.

When my pal Laura sent me this pic, taken from her Charlottesville window, I couldn’t help but think of King David’s prayer in Psalm 51. He’s painfully aware of the consequences of his actions (he’d slept with another man’s wife, then arranged to have the fellow killed), and when you read his words, you get the idea that he is just desperate to get rid of his guilt. David longs to experience freedom and joy, and to have a clean heart again. “Wash me,” he prays, “and I will be whiter than snow.”

Haven’t we all been there? Haven’t we all said or done something we wish we could undo, something that fills our hearts and our minds with shame? Haven’t we all longed for a clean slate?

I’ve been mulling over Psalm 51 all week, grateful that we serve a God who can – and will – do that which we cannot: blot out our sin and restore our joy. Imagine my surprise (my delight, actually) when Robbie and I went to the Ash Wednesday service and Psalm 51 was read aloud while our minister “imposed” the ashes (at least I think that’s the right term for what happens when you get them on your forehead).

Turns out, Psalm 51 is always part of the Ash Wednesday service, at least in the Anglican tradition. Who knew?

(Well, probably a lot of you. But, not being much of an Ash Wednesday girl, it was news to me.)

I can’t think of a better season than Lent – a time when our focus is on drawing closer to God – in which to borrow a prayer from Psalm 51. You might find a verse or two that you like better in there, but I’m picking 10 and 12 as a prayer for myself, and for my loved ones, this week:

Create in ____ a clean heart, O God. Renew a loyal spirit in me/him/her. Restore to _____ the joy of your salvation, and make me/him/her willing to obey you. (Psalm 51:10 & 12, NLT)