Lent began yesterday - Ash Wednesday - with services to mark its beginning, and ashes to mark our brows. We are reminded that we are dust, and to dust we shall return. We enter into this season willingly, but why?
David Lose is the the president of Lutheran Theological Seminary at Philadelphia. He is a gifted writer and theologian. My entry this week are his words on Lent.
The Trouble (and Blessing) of Lent by David Lose
Let's face
it. Lent is in trouble.
Let me
explain. Most of us have favorite holiday seasons. For some it's Christmas,
with the family get-togethers and presents. For others it's the Fourth of July
and summer, filled by a sense of national pride and beach vacations to boot.
But each year at just about this time, it strikes me that very few of us would
pick Lent, a season that seems to most of us as grim as the weather that
usually attends it.
Think about
it: crossing off days on the calendar until Ash Wednesday; leaving work just a
little early, saying "I've got to get my Lenten shopping done;"
advertisements on billboards and television reading "only 12 more days
'til the day of Ashes;" or little kids going to bed, asking their parents,
"How much longer 'till Lent is here?" It just doesn't happen.
The trouble
with Lent, I think, is fairly clear. It's buried right in the heart of the
primary reading for Ash Wednesday, from the Sermon on the Mount in Matthew 6:
"And when you fast, do not look dismal, like the hypocrites, for they
disfigure their faces so as to show others that they are fasting. Truly I tell
you, they have received their reward. But when you fast, put oil on your head
and wash your face, so that your fasting may not be seen by others but by your
Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward
you." (Sigh) Actually, you don't have to read the whole verse, as the
brunt of the problem of Lent is in the first four words, "And when you
fast...."
And
when you fast?! C'mon. Except for the occasional crash diet before summer
vacation, who fasts anymore?
And there it
is in a nutshell, you see, the trouble with Lent: it feels like this strange,
weirdly anachronistic holiday that celebrates things we don't value and
encourages attitudes we don't share. No wonder that each year fewer and fewer
churches observe this age-old (fourth century!) tradition -- it's too
old-fashioned, too "Roman," too medieval for many contemporary
Christians to handle.
So let's
face it. Lent is in trouble. I mean, even among those traditions that do honor
the season, rarely is there the same kind of enthusiasm or expectancy which
greets Advent. Notice we don't sponsor Lenten Adventures for our kids; we don't
have an Adult Lenten Dinner and Party. We don't pine to sing Lenten hymns ahead
of time. Lent is in trouble.
I don't
know, maybe it's that there are no presents at the end, and no fun and games
along the way. Or maybe it's that Lent asks us to give up things. I mean, my
word, haven't we had to sacrifice enough already to get our kids through college,
to save for retirement, to put that new roof on the house, thank you very much.
Why should we give up anything more for Lent?
Or maybe
it's the themes of Lent that trouble us. Penitence. Sacrifice. Contemplation.
These are the words of Lent, and I, for one, have a hard time believing they
were popular even with the Puritans (you remember, the folks that actually held
competitions to see who could resist the greatest temptation or avoid the most
pleasure) let alone now.
Lent, I'm
telling ya, it's in trouble. And so each year, as I listen to my
non-Lent-observing friends knock it as "works theology" and my
Lent-observing friends complain about it as a pain in the @&!, the same
question inevitably demands loudly to be answered: Why Lent? I mean, who really
needs it?
But you know
what? Each year, whatever my feelings approaching Lent may be, the same answer
comes whispering back: I do. Just maybe, I need Lent. Just maybe I need a time
to focus, to get my mind off of my career, my social life, my next writing
project -- and a hundred other things to which I look for meaning -- and center
myself in Meaning itself.
Just maybe I
need a time (is 40 days really enough?) to help clear my head of the
distractions which any involved life in this world will necessarily bring and
re-orient myself towards the Maker of all that was given for my pleasure and
which I have let become merely distracting.
Maybe I need
the opportunity (and perhaps deep down I crave the chance!) to clear my eyes of
the glaze of indifference and apathy which comes from situation after situation
where I feel nearly helpless so that I can fasten my eyes once more on the
almost unbearable revelation of the God who loves God's children enough to take
the form of a man hanging on a tree.
And maybe,
just maybe -- and this takes the greatest amount of imagination of them all --
just maybe Lent really isn't mine to do with whatever I please. Perhaps Lent
isn't even the Church's to insist upon or discard at will. Maybe Lent isn't any
of ours to scoff at or observe. Maybe Lent is God's. Maybe Lent is God's gift
to a people starved for meaning, for courage, for comfort, for life.
If it is, if
we can imagine that Lent is not ours at all but is wholly God's, then maybe
we'll also begin to recall, at first vaguely but then more strongly, that we,
too, are not ours at all, but are wholly God's -- God's own possession and
treasure.
Seen this
way, Lent reminds us of whose we are. The "sacrifices," the
disciplines, these are not intended as good works offered by us to God; rather,
they are God's gifts to us to remind us who we are, God's adopted daughters and
sons, God's treasure, so priceless that God was willing to go to any length --
or, more appropriately, to any depth -- to tell us that we are loved, that we
have value, that we have purpose.
Yes. I need
Lent. I need an absence of gifts so that I might acknowledge the Gift. I need a
time to be quiet and still, a time to crane my neck and lift my head, straining
to hear again what was promised me at Baptism: "You are mine! I love you!
I am with you!"
I need Lent,
finally, to remind me of who I am -- God's heir and Christ's co-heir -- so
that, come Easter, I can rejoice and celebrate with all the joy, all the
revelry, all the anticipation, of a true heir to the throne.
And so yes,
I need Lent. And to tell you the truth, I suspect that you do, too. You see, if
Lent is in trouble, it's only because we're in trouble, so busy trying to make
or keep or save our lives that we fail to notice that God has already saved us
and has already freed us to live with each other and for each other all the
rest of our days. And so we have Lent, a gift of the church, the season during
which God prepares us to behold God's own great sacrifice for us, with the hope
and prayer that, come Good Friday and Easter, we may be immersed once again
into God's mercy and perceive more fully God's great love for us and all the
world and in this way find the peace and hope and freedom that we so often
lack.
---
I would agree - I need Lent. I invite you to join in the journey these next forty days.
Peace,
Pastor Charlie