Lents of Seasons Past

Every year it seems like Lent is starting all over again and for the first time. Advent as it leads us to Christmas has some kind of context, and maybe it is the combination of familiar decorations, activities such as parties and shopping, music and repetitive color combinations and bad sweaters. Maybe it isn’t some deep understanding of what it means that Christ was born here on earth which gives us comfort, and maybe it is the egg nog. I’m not really sure. But Lent always seems to be surround in a misty veil of mystery.


I think maybe we could handle a week. Holy week is some good and intense darkness that lasts long enough I do suppose. Sometimes Holy Weeks pass by without notice, and sometimes they become a ponderous dirge. I once had a Holy Week that wore me out by Maundy Thursday. My junior spring of college I studied in northern Spain in the blue-collar city of Valladolid who knew that they had the best Holy Week (Semana Santa) celebrations anywhere. Granted what they did was very similar to the flashy, touristy city of Seville, but this was not pointed out. Different guilds around the city would have parades - totaling five or more a day - traversing the city carrying the beautiful holy sculptures (usually safely encased in the churches) on their shoulders as they marched with candles if at night to the beat of solemn drums. The kicker, however, was the clothing. Each guild had their own color combinations, but the sewing pattern for each and every robe and hood worn by each and every guild member came straight from the KKK’s pattern book. For a girl who had spent a good amount of time in the south, I’m impressed that I didn’t give up before Thursday. So I spent Good Friday, Saturday and Easter Sunday back in my host mother’s apartment watching Alfred Hitchcock movies dubbed into Spanish.


That is not necessarily a pattern that I think works well for Lent. I’d rather try wearing shades of grey and brown throughout the 40 days. I’d rather eat unseasoned oatmeal for breakfast every day. I’d rather sit quietly contemplating scripture for half an hour a day. I’d rather do anything than have my world rocked and my senses blown and have to risk the horror of seeing solemn people for whom I have very cruel connotations walking down my street accompanied by some who are stripped down to the essentials and carrying large crosses on their shoulders which, incidentally, I also saw in Spain. I’d rather watch The Birds than deal with this Lent.


And then I remember that this is most likely why Lent is my favorite part of the church calendar. It is always something new and worthy of a struggle. It isn’t all happy and does deal with deep relationships that are satisfying and disappointing. It reminds me that all moments are God moments - not just the good ones. Lent remains fresh and surprising and, while definitely the somber step-sister, does not have all the baggage of expectations surrounding Christmas preparations. Lent is not about me nor does it depend on my accomplishing anything. There are no heroes in the build-up to the passion. Even Peter who was so fabulous denies Christ in the end. Even the women who weep at the foot of the cross are much too surprised when they see Jesus again when he promised all along that he would come back.


In Lent I always feel wonderfully, humanly fallible. I know for sure that everything does not depend on me, but still I am invited to participate in this drama, this journey, this passion. I feel small again and know that I need prayer more than it needs me, I need God more than God needs me, and I need all of you more than you need me. And every year I am still much too surprised when I see Jesus again while he’s been promising all along that he would come back.