Ash Wednesday always sneaks up on me. It always shows up when I’m doing my best to get through the interminable weeks between packing up the colour and shine of Christmas and beginning to feel the warmth of spring. I’m never ready to think about a spiritual discipline or what I need to give up. I want more chocolate, not less.
If I’m honest, I simply do not like Lent. The way it has been presented to me is that it is a season to deprive myself of something I enjoy to sharpen my focus on God. I’ve also heard it explained that it’s a time of intentionally taking on something difficult as an expression of solidarity with those who suffer in the world. Either way, I hear it as having to do with deliberately creating discomfort for myself.
This is an echo from my childhood and young adult experiences. In those early environments, the unspoken message was that anything that brings me delight is a distraction from my relationship with God. And yes, I use the word “God” deliberately here. That God was a harsh taskmaster, who, we were reminded often, loves us so much that He (yes, male gendered always) hates anything that takes our focus away from Him. The greater my suffering in my quest to please Him, the greater His approval.
Yeah, harsh and so very unhealthy.
While there are many who believe in the truth of Divine love, the unhealthy interpretation can be found across most Christian denominations, either subtly or more overtly. Catholic history is rife with stories of individuals going to extremes in their desire to “purify” themselves of “earthly desires.” The Puritans even taught that a solemn facial expression was a sign of piety, and a smile was considered frivolous and a sign of weak character.
I’ve never been able to reconcile that view of the Divine with my personal experience or even what I see in Scripture. One of my favourite verses is the spirit of wisdom speaking about “being daily HIs delight, rejoicing always before Him”. I see beauty, abundance and delight in nature which I believe to be a reflection of Divine creativity. I believe that which brings me joy opens my heart to receive Divine Love.
It has also been my experience that simply being human brings plenty of difficulty and suffering. If I am intentional about tending my heart, I will know heartache. I will struggle. Some of my deepest inner work has been surrendering to that reality, rather than trying to suppress it, repress it or deny it. I am most available to the gift of Grace when I am able to acknowledge I need it.
One my favourite Christian writers, Nadia Bolz Weber, recently wrote a post on Substack that gave me a new perspective on this season. Her Lenten practice this year is to notice something good everyday, and record it in some way. She writes, “To be clear: I’m not doing all this to ignore the world. I’m doing it to pay attention to it—in real time and real life. Because the doom will be there, but so will the crocus and this is just not the year to miss the good shit.” (Yes, she swears and I love her for it. You can find her writing at The Corners on Substack.)
I needed to read that. I need to to remember that. Being intentional about noticing the good and the beautiful and the joyous is just as important for soul-growth as accepting the painful, the discouraging, and the difficult. There is so much heartbreak in the world. There is so much to activate our outrage.
If Lent is a season to prepare my heart to receive the miracle of the risen Christ, I need to get used to noticing the little miracles. I’m thinking of it like the tuning dial on the car radio. I need to dial past all the static so I can get to what I really want to hear, which is the voice of Love reminding me of all that is most true—that we are all Beloved, that Grace never gives up on us, that no mater how hard life is, Love accompanies us.
This, also, I know to be true. Divine Love doesn’t need my suffering. They weep with my heartache. They also rejoice in my delight. They know both to be true, and they attend to both equally. Perhaps this is at the core of my Lenten practice this year—making room in my heart and in my awareness for both the beautiful and the difficult.
Nadia offers an additional practice, which I believe helps serve the first. She writes about giving up on beliefs that aren’t serving us. For me, this could be the belief that Lent has to be hard, or that the value of my being has anything to do with what I produce or how I meet someone else’s expectations. When I let go of those externally anchored beliefs, I get surprised by glimmers of the beauty that is my own authentic self. The more I’m able to recognize my own Light, the more readily I will see Light in others.
Maybe that’s the invitation of Lent for me—a season for allowing a shift in my perspective, a season for growing a new way of seeing.
That’s a Lent I can embrace.
Leave a Reply