Why the Sanctuary Grows Darker in Lent

Dear faith family,

Earlier this week, someone asked me a thoughtful question:

“Why do you have black curtains partially covering the beautiful stained glass windows in the sanctuary?”

If I’m honest, this is a new tradition for me as well. But over these weeks of Lent, I’ve come to experience it in a meaningful way.
With each passing Sunday, the sanctuary grows a little darker. The light that usually pours through those windows is slowly dimmed. And in that gradual change, something important is being revealed.

Lent is a season that does not turn away from darkness. Our faith does not deny that there is brokenness in the world, or in our own lives. It does not rush past grief, suffering, or injustice. Instead, like Christ, we are invited to face it—to walk through it with honesty, courage, and trust.

These black curtains are a visible expression of that journey.

They reflect the growing weight of the story we are telling together. Week by week, we move closer to Jerusalem. We join the crowd as Jesus enters the city. We gather at the table in the upper room. We follow into the garden as prayers are offered in the night. And soon, we will stand at the foot of the cross.

The dimming light helps us feel the weight of that story. It reminds us that this is not just something we remember—it is something we enter.

And yet, this is not a story of despair.

Because even as the sanctuary darkens, we continue to sing. We continue to pray. We continue to gather. Not because the darkness isn’t real, but because we trust that it will not have the final word.

We know the rest of the story.

The black curtains are not only a symbol of the darkness in scripture, in our lives, and in our world—they are also a sign that we are moving through that darkness together, holding onto the promise that the light of Christ will not be overcome.

And if you find yourself feeling overwhelmed by the darkness—whether in the world around you or in your own life—please know this: you do not have to walk through it alone. The church is here for you. I am here for you.

My door is always open.
Grace and peace,
Pastor Kevin

/by

Space for the Spirit

Dear Faith Family,

This past Wednesday was one of those days when the calendar seemed to fill every available space. From early morning until mid-afternoon I moved from meeting to meeting – planning worship music, discussing technology upgrades for our staff, exploring ways we might support justice work here in Wichita, checking in with staff, and gathering with a cohort of first-call pastors. It was a good day, full of meaningful work. But by the time the last meeting ended at 4:00 p.m., I could feel the familiar pull of being stretched in many directions.

After a final conversation with one of our youth about our upcoming performance at the talent show (Sunday, March 29 @ 6:30 PM) to support the summer mission trip, I got in the car and headed to First Presbyterian Church for their late-afternoon Taizé service.
Taizé is a simple, meditative form of worship that grew out of an ecumenical Christian monastic community in France. The chapel was dim and quiet, illuminated by candlelight. We sang short chants again and again, the music slowly building as different voices carried different parts. Praying, listening, and singing in that stillness was exactly what I needed to refocus and reset.

In the silence of the service, Pastor Emily invited us to look back over the day and notice where we had experienced God’s goodness. As I sat there, I found myself thinking about the meetings and the people I had the privilege of working alongside. What had felt like a busy, scattered day suddenly looked different in the quiet. I could see the blessings in it, and I felt grateful for the privilege of doing the work that I do.

One of this week’s Lenten devotional cards asks, “The gospel is full of stories of surprising good. What does this teach us about God?” For me, it is a reminder that God’s goodness is often already present—we simply need space to recognize it.

Many of us live days that move quickly from one responsibility to the next. Lent invites us to slow down, even briefly, and make room for stillness so we can notice the quiet ways God’s goodness shows up in our lives.

For some, that might mean joining the Taizé service next Wednesday afternoon. For others, it might be a walk in the cool of the morning, a few quiet minutes with scripture, or time spent in prayer. However it happens, I hope this season offers you an opportunity to pause, breathe, and create a little space for the Spirit.

See you in church!

Peace, Grace, and Love,

Pastor Kevin

/by

Praying for Peace in a Time of Tension

This week the news has once again turned our attention toward the Middle East, as tensions with Iran continue to escalate and the threat of a wider regional war grows more real. For many of us, these headlines stir both concern for the present and memories of conflicts past.

I remember the first Gulf War when I was a college student at the University of Chicago — the first war broadcast continuously on television. I watched with uneasy fascination as images of bombs falling over Baghdad filled the screen. Not long afterward, for my twenty-first birthday, my parents bought me a bus ticket to Washington, D.C., where I joined thousands marching for peace, carrying a homemade poster shaped into a peace symbol from newspaper images of war. Even then, I was asking a question that still matters: how do people of faith respond when nations choose war?

These events are not distant for many in our congregation. We have folks who are currently in the Middle East, uncertain when they will return home, while others wait anxiously as loved ones face possible deployment. We hold them, and all who live under the shadow of conflict, in our prayers.

This week the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) issued a statement addressing the escalating conflict. I encourage you to read it here:
https://pcusa.org/news-storytelling/news/2026/3/2/pcusa-statement-escalating-war-with-iran

Our denomination reminds us that decisions of war and peace are measured not in political claims but in human lives. The Presbyterian tradition has long affirmed that military force must be a last resort and that lasting peace is pursued through diplomacy, accountability, and international cooperation. This witness does not ignore injustice or human rights abuses; rather, it reflects our conviction that violence rarely produces the justice or freedom it promises.

As Christians, we confess that true security is not found in military strength but in justice, restraint, and reconciliation. Jesus calls us peacemakers — people who pray for those in harm’s way, grieve every life lost, and refuse to let fear define our vision of one another.
In the days ahead, I invite you to pray for the people of Iran and neighboring nations, for Israelis and Palestinians, for U.S. service members and their families, and for leaders entrusted with difficult decisions. May we seek the peace of Christ and embody hope in a world longing for it.

See you in church!

Grace and peace,
Rev. Kevin Ireland
Pastor, Grace Presbyterian Church

 

/by

Look Up This Lent

Dear Faith Family,

One of the gifts of being back in Kansas is the sky. There is something about a prairie sunset, the horizon set ablaze in orange, red, and purple, that invites us to pause and look up. Creation has a way of preaching, if we are paying attention.

This week offered an added spectacle. Just after sunset, a rare planetary parade became visible. Six planets appeared along the same arc of the sky. They are not truly lined up in space, but from our vantage point on Earth they seem gathered together. Four of them, Mercury, Venus, Saturn, and Jupiter, can be seen with the unaided eye if the western horizon is clear. The moment does not last long. The window is about an hour after sunset.

You have to be looking.

That feels like a Lenten lesson.

Lent is a season of holy attentiveness. It slows us down. It invites us to examine what usually rushes past unnoticed. In these forty days, we practice noticing the presence of God in ordinary places. In busy mornings. In difficult conversations. In acts of quiet generosity. In beauty that appears and fades within the hour.

The planets are always moving in their orbits, whether we see them or not. In the same way, God is always at work, whether we pause to notice or not. Lent trains our eyes and hearts to pay attention. To step outside. To lift our gaze. To trust that even when life feels scattered or out of alignment, there is a deeper order held together by grace.

So this week, I encourage you to watch the sunset. Look toward the western horizon. Let wonder interrupt your routine. The discipline of Lent is not only about what we give up. It is about learning to see.

See you in church!

Peace, Grace, and Love,
Pastor Kevin

/by

Stardust

Dear Beloved — made from stardust,

On Ash Wednesday morning I had the privilege of marking foreheads with ashes at the church coffee bar — preschool teachers hurrying between classrooms, parents wrangling children, members stopping on their way to work. One by one I traced the cross and spoke the ancient words:

“You are a beloved child of God.
You were formed from dust, and to dust you will return.”

At first those words sound heavy. Dust reminds us of our limits and our mortality. But in Scripture dust is never worthless. It is the very material God chooses to work with — earth shaped by divine hands and filled with breath.

And even science deepens that wonder. The elements that make up our bodies were forged inside ancient stars and scattered across the universe before becoming part of the earth and, eventually, part of us. We are dust, yes — but star-dust.

Ashes do not tell us we are nothing.
They tell us God refuses to work with anything else.

On Wednesday evening I shared a line from Jan Richardson’s Blessing of the Dust: the ashes mark not that we are less than we are, but what God can do “within the dust… and the stars that blaze in our bones.” The sign of ashes is not about shame. It is about calling.

God works with ordinary lives — busy mornings, heavy hearts, wounded relationships, anxious thoughts, distracted attention.

Lent is a season of intention and attention. We notice what draws us toward God and what pulls us away. We lay down what weighs us down — guilt, fear, distraction, habits that dim our hearts — so that we can walk with Christ toward life.

The ashes on our foreheads are an outward sign of an inward commitment: we are choosing the journey. Not trying to become someone new, but uncovering who we already are — beloved children of God, created to reflect divine love in the world.

For these forty days, may we clear away whatever keeps that light hidden and turn again toward the One who formed us, breathes life into us, and leads us toward resurrection.

See you in church!

Peace, Love, and Grace,

Pastor Kevin

/by