Mercy That Meets Us In The Cold
Table Talk
Setting the Table
You are welcome here. Come just as you are, bringing whatever is on your heart today. Take a few moments and allow yourself to just be. Take a couple deep breaths, grab yourself a cup of coffee, light a candle, do something that brings you comfort. Allow yourself to be present in this moment.
Take a moment to remember that you are already held — not once you have it all together, but right now, exactly as you are.
When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives means the most to us, we often find that it is those who … share our pain and touch our wounds with a warm and tender hand.
— Henri Nouwen
I learned that opening myself to my own love and to life’s tough loveliness not only was the most delicious, amazing thing on earth but also was quantum. It would radiate out to a cold, hungry world. Beautiful moments heal, as do real cocoa, Pete Seeger, a walk on old fire roads.
— Anne Lamott
Genesis 2.7
One day the Eternal God scooped dirt out of the ground, sculpted it into the shape we call human, breathed the breath that gives life into the nostrils of the human, and the human became a living soul.
Food for Thought
I heard a crash and a huge thud.
I was scared. Trees were popping. The electricity was out. It was that time of morning that is dimly lit, as if a blanket had been pulled over the sun.
In January, Nashville was hit with an ice storm. 250,000 of us were without power. Extreme cold. No heat. No way to know when anything would return.
I had prepared as best I could. I had provisions gathered. Cold food, snacks… so many snacks. My sleeping bag would keep me warm to -20. I slept the first night cozy in my bed. Sleeping bag, sheet, blankets, dog.
The Monday after, we had been without power for about 12 hours, and it was beginning to get cold in the house. I had it all together — except for the heat.
There is something about that experience that reminded me how truly vulnerable we are as humans. We are not as self-sufficient as we like to imagine. We can gather provisions and sleeping bags and snacks — and yet, at the end of the day, we are deeply vulnerable.
Lent is a season when we are asked to see our vulnerability more directly, more clearly. In this season, we remember that we are not self-made. We are creatures who hunger and ache and grow cold. We cannot survive alone.
The storm simply revealed what is always true — we need warmth from beyond ourselves. We need faces across the table. We need someone to check in on us and someone we can check in on. We need God. We need other people. We need mercy that meets us in the cold.
Lent tells the truth: we are fragile. And we are held.
I walked to the local grocery store where generators kept the lights on and the coffee brewing. That seemed far more important than anything else. So I got coffee and a hot breakfast.
I checked in on a friend down the street who had a generator. We had more coffee. Their daughter was snuggled on a pallet in the front room with the TV hooked up to the generator, oblivious to the elements.
Later that morning, I went to another neighbor’s for lunch. Hot soup. They had gas to cook with. And after that visit, another neighbor invited me to come get warm. They had a gas fireplace. So I visited.
Around dinner that night, several of us went out to eat. Just as we sat down, the power came back on. My house temperature was 44 degrees. At dinner, they confessed they had been ready to bring me home with them that night.
I write a lot about my neighbors. I am so very fortunate to have a community that shows up in the way they do. In the fear and uncertainty, without asking, I was fed, watered, and warmed. It just happened.
I was held close. We were held close to each other.
Lent is not a season about proving our strength, but about confessing our humanity. Dust we are — not as shame, but as truth.
We are dust held in the steady breath of God and in the sacred love of community. We are creatures who need warmth. Who need light. Who need one another. In a culture that prizes independence, Lent whispers what the ice storm also showed me: you cannot do this alone.
God showed up in the faces of those who were facing the same storm. We held each other — not only together, but accountable. Accountable to care and concern… and honestly, to a little fun.
I wasn’t scared during the event. I was mostly peaceful, knowing that I was cared for and that I would be okay… whatever happened.
Take a moment to slow down and remember your own vulnerability. You are dust held in the steady breath of God. Practice this breath prayer and remember how grace meets you in every second of your breathing.
On inhale, you’ll say: I am fragile.
On exhale, you’ll say: I am held.
Host a simple Lenten gathering built around warmth — dim lighting, lit candles, coffee brewing, & soup simmering. Create a warm inviting place to gather together and allow everyone to just be.
For a printable version of today's reflection Click Here!
Blessing
Holy One —
Make us brave enough to need one another. Teach us to receive care as faithfully as we offer it. In a world that prizes independence, teach us the holy strength of belonging.
Remind us again and again: we are fragile — and we are held.
Amen.
A little Table Talk for your table...
When have you experienced a moment that revealed your vulnerability more clearly than usual? What did it uncover in you?
How comfortable are you with needing other people? What makes receiving help difficult or freeing for you?
Who around you may be quietly “cold,” and how might you show up for them?
Try taking it to the Kids Table...
Have you ever been really cold? What helped you feel warm again?
Have you ever helped someone else when they needed it? What did you do?
How do you know that you are loved and held by God?
Meet This WEek’s Writer...
Khette Cox is an ordained minister who works as a chaplain in healthcare, and in her spare time is learning the piano, enjoys watching live music, and loves life with humor and a sense of the sacred. She lives in Old Hickory, TN where you will probably find her on her front porch with Felix, her Newfie mix, waving at her neighbors.
To hear more from Khette throughout the week, follow along on our Instagram!