Today God spoke to me in the supermarket.
You know what I mean: the whisperings, the nudge, the tap on the shoulder, the almost imperceptible sigh before snapping us into awareness. It happens for me when I begin to get overwhelmed with a crisis. Today was one of those days of feeling exhausted, frustrated, and on the brink of tears.
In the Old Testament, we find a strong religious challenge to always welcome the stranger, the foreigner. This was emphasized for two reasons: First, because the Jewish people themselves had once been foreigners and immigrants. Second, they believed that God’s revelation, most often, comes to us through the stranger, in what is foreign to us.
Looking back over Lents past, I have to admit my most meaningful Lenten experience happened when I spent the week before Easter in the hospital with my youngest son. It was certainly unexpected, but life doesn’t ask you if you’re prepared before it throws the unexpected your way.
My personal "immigrant" experience is very mild. I was almost 12 when the family moved from the Midwest to the Northwest.