lenten thinking and poetry

Today is Ash Wednesday and the beginning of Lent, a part of the Christian liturgical calendar taking place in the 40 days leading up to Easter. Historically, it was celebrated by the Church as an invitation to identify with Christ's sufferings through fasting and self-denial. In this sense, it is a season for grieving our sin and brokenness, in preparation of Christ's great gift and sufficient sacrifice at Easter. 

The observance of Lent wasn't highly emphasized in the tradition I was raised in, although it is becoming increasingly common to hear of evangelicals who have found encouragement in this liturgical season and thus choose to practice fasting and penitence in the weeks preceding Easter. While I stand with the belief that Lent is by no means an obligation to the faithful, I have found it to strengthen my faith in recent years. This observance redirects my attention to the Cross before Easter, and for this I am grateful. As mentioned, I view it as an invitation to reflect upon my sin, repent, and set my affections on my suffering savior. 

This year, for Lent, I will be giving up desserts, daily reminding myself this is not a challenge nor diet nor a reason to be legalistic. Paul has chosen to give up social media, friends of mine will be giving up coffee or an hour of sleep for devotional times. By fasting, we are able to dwell on our weakness and remember that without Christ our Savior - we are but dust. 

I appreciated this Montreal blogger's encouragement to also try to "add" something to our days in the weeks preceding Easter, so as to not overly focus on deprivation but also on filling up this season with delight and joy for the Cross. I don't believe this is a must-do (and, candidly, don't believe there are many dos and don'ts for the Lenten season) but I, too, plan on enriching this season in tandem with my commitment to fasting: I will wake earlier and do my usual devotional time whilst reading Brother Lawrence's Practicing the Presence of God, with the hope that I will learn to better cultivate God's presence in this period leading to the celebration of His victory upon death. Likewise, I will enjoy some Lenten listening, namely this Lent album by the Liturgical Folk, and Resurrection Letters Volume 1 and The Prologue, by Andrew Peterson. 

Our society spends much time and energy preparing for Christmas, but little to none in making space to reflect upon or ready ourselves for Easter. I wonder if this is so because it is much easier to fit the Christmas story into our cultural narratives than the Easter story. One can water down the message of angels, wise men, and a baby in a manger, warping it to one of mere generosity and celebration. Wouldn't this explain why, even amongst secular celebrants of Christmas, we regularly find a Nativity scene or a Christian hymn as part of the largely family-oriented festivities? Such is not the case with Easter. It is a bit more difficult to reconcile the image of a slain, bleeding Savior on an instrument of torture in the Ancient Near East to a cultural spree of Easter bunny merchandise and chocolate egg hunts. 

I say this not to slander anyone's festivities but to reiterate the potential role Lent can play for the Christian. I trust that when the global Church carves out this time to set its heart on the approaching days of Good Friday and Easter, we Christians set ourselves apart as Easter people -the ones whose lives find meaning in the death and resurrection of Christ Jesus. 

I fell upon this beautiful poem for Ash Wednesday, by Old Testament scholar Walter Brueggemann, that I hope will be an encouragement to you. 

Marked by Ashes

Ruler of the Night, Guarantor of the day . . .

This day — a gift from you.

This day — like none other you have ever given, or we have ever received.

This Wednesday dazzles us with gift and newness and possibility.

This Wednesday burdens us with the tasks of the day, for we are already halfway home

     halfway back to committees and memos,

     halfway back to calls and appointments,

     halfway on to next Sunday,

     halfway back, half frazzled, half expectant,

     half turned toward you, half rather not.

This Wednesday is a long way from Ash Wednesday,

   but all our Wednesdays are marked by ashes —

     we begin this day with that taste of ash in our mouth:

       of failed hope and broken promises,

       of forgotten children and frightened women,

     we ourselves are ashes to ashes, dust to dust;

     we can taste our mortality as we roll the ash around on our tongues.

We are able to ponder our ashness with

   some confidence, only because our every Wednesday of ashes

   anticipates your Easter victory over that dry, flaky taste of death.

On this Wednesday, we submit our ashen way to you —

   you Easter parade of newness.

   Before the sun sets, take our Wednesday and Easter us,

     Easter us to joy and energy and courage and freedom;

     Easter us that we may be fearless for your truth.

   Come here and Easter our Wednesday with

     mercy and justice and peace and generosity.

We pray as we wait for the Risen One who comes soon.

--
So it be.