A Reflection for the Wednesday of the First Week of Lent 

Rent. That little something that keeps a roof over your head each month. You log into Zelle, push the button, and ding! Your landlord gets paid and you don’t freeze to death in that April frost waiting around the corner. Everyone wins.

Last week, I had just paid my March lease on life when I turned the corner and saw an ambulance parked outside my house, my landlady on a stretcher. My roommates were gathered at the door with the girl from the third floor. I went to join them. We stared at the lights flashing in the dark, wondering what happens next. Who will feed her cats? Who will talk to her assistant? Do you want to make sure her faucet is off or shall I?

The ambulance left, the door closed, and turning around, I realized how much more than a roof my rent had bought me. I had two roommates who had become two best friends, a housemate who watched out for us as we did for her and a landlady who worked every day to make this house a home. I felt incredibly blessed, and also, a little ashamed.

Ashamed that I had come here nine months ago on the defensive. Ashamed that I had expected the landlady to drive a hard bargain, complain about the noise, or skimp on the furnishings. Ashamed that I had worried about separating groceries in the fridge or divvying up time in the bathroom. Most of all, ashamed that in paying rent, I thought I had bought an entitlement when I was only leasing a little time with the wonderful people God had put into my life.

In short, I was ashamed of being a Jonah when Jesus called me to be something greater. Like Jonah, I had come to a new place assuming the worst, waiting to be disappointed. I had paid for the house, but I had forgotten to pay that other rent, what E.M. Forster called “rent to the ideal, to one’s own faith in human nature.” In other words, the price we pay to trust first and doubt later.

As we move into this first full week of Lent, I hope you’ll join me in buying faith on the installment plan. Open your heart by opening your wallet. You may lose a tomato from the fridge or a book from the dresser. Your favorite mug might get broken, or maybe even your heart. But in the end, Jesus promises, it’ll be worth the price you paid.