Much to my surprise, Lent started today. The last six or so weeks have been busy with rehearsals and performances of "Our Town," a delightful and thought-provoking play written by Thornton Wilder in the 1930s. As we were cleaning up the spaces at the church this weekend, my friend Ann (and the show's director) reminded us that we needed to do an especially good job of cleaning and resetting things so that people from St. Mark's could get ready for this week's Fat Tuesday and Ash Wednesday services. When did that happen? Last time I checked, it was late January, 2012. Turns out that it is now late February, 2012, and that today marks the beginning of that interesting season of the church calendar known as Lent.
But first, a few words about the history of our town. I mean, Lent. Sorry- lines from the show just keep creeping into everything I say or write. In my life, I didn't know about Lent until college. I had Catholic friends growing up who showed up to school with funny smudges on their faces some Wednesday morning in February, and there was always discussion about what delicious treat people were going to deny themselves, but beyond some external motivation for practicing self-control, I didn't understand it at all. In college, I learned that Lent is a season of preparation for Easter, much like Advent is a season of preparation for Christmas. We deny ourselves as we remember the sacrifice of Christ. I also learned that often in the early church, Lent was the season for the "new members" class, and Easter was the one time during the course of that year that new members would be received into the life of the church. We study and pray as we prepare to join the family of God. This year, I'm learning that Lent is the place where grace meets effort, where we work out our faith with fear and trembling even as God works within us.
Nearly every year previous to this one, I've refused to give something up for Lent, mainly because I never think about it until Ash Wednesday, and I'd hate to have my sacrifice be something quickly thought up just to fit in with my crowd (oh, and, you know, I have a perpetual self-discipline deficiency in my life). In college, I met people who took things up for Lent, which seemed like a good idea to me, so I've tried that a time or two. This year, I find myself in need of something, and as I read books and listen to music and talk with friends and strangers, I find that what I need is life. What I want is newness, joy, lightness, passion. That doesn't seem like too ridiculous of a quest. In fact, that's what Christianity seems to be about on the surface, right? What I want is Easter- resurrection, rebirth, renewal.
What I don't want is Lent. I don't want to examine the ways in which my life is broken, to discern my faults and failures. I don't want to submit myself to the rule of God and the will of others, to practice disciplines even when I don't feel like it. What I don't want is, in fact, that which has to come before space can be created for new life: death.
This year, I'd like to give up Lent for Lent. But something tells me that even as every bit of me longs for life, every bit of me must first submit itself to death. There are no short cuts. Life that I can drum up for myself is not life at all- just more shadows and poorly crafted attempts at the real thing. Life summoned out of death, now that's something God can work with.
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