God.

We would love to be on a mountain, away from all the confusion, and completely present with you.

To see you glowing, to be aware of your power, to be aware that you are aware of us.

That would be awesome.

To have the confidence that Peter had, the confidence that Jesus was full of power. To have the confidence that Peter had, of your words being a bright light shining in a dark place.

We are far more aware of the dark place.

Or, more accurately, of a gray place. Things are foggy in our minds, foggy in our hearts, foggy in our lives.

Rather than bold assurance, we talk to you, sometimes, with grief and questions, with confidence and confusion, with hopes and fears for ourselves and others.

We may not often enough confess that sometimes the fog is from our self-created fatigue, as we stay busy, stay up.

We may not often enough confess that sometimes the fog is from our self-broken relationships, our unmaintained connections.

We may not often enough confess that sometimes the fog is from allowing the chaos swirling above our heads to enter into our hearts, to cause us to fret.

We confess.

God, this week we can begin the season of Lent, a time not of magic but of choosing to focus on what matters most by letting go of what matters less.

Would you help us, by the power of your Spirit, to think about your glory.

About the glory of your self-sacrificial love.

About the glory of your holy motives and pure plans.

About the glory of your us-welcoming, us-washing, us-transforming, us-lifting love.

And, if it please you,

could we have a little of that glory linger on our faces as we turn back to our daily lives?

May it be so.

Amen.

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Reflecting two of the readings for today: Exodus 24:12-18 and 2 Peter 1:16-21.