Lent and Me
A very long time ago, Lent was known as the time that separated Winter from Summer until the reliable English folks found a respectable name for the season and labeled it “Spring.” Lent, as I know it, is the observation that has been practiced in various forms for hundreds of years by all kinds of Jesus followers. The Lent season lasts for 40 days, excluding Sundays, and marches the participant toward Resurrection Sunday.
Some people have a hard time getting over the idea of Lent being an obligation of certain church calendars along with many other feasts and saints’ days. As for me, I love the process of drawing in close with Jesus to intentionally prepare my heart for the big day of resurrection when God changed literally everything. The first time I enlisted an actual 40-day guide, I came up very short of Easter because I did not know about the skip-Sunday rule. I started on Ash Wednesday, just short of having ash drug across my forehead, in the sign of a cross, and ended shy of Holy Week. Not too bad for a rookie.
My initial observations were more along the lines of giving something up. I recall one year it was a break from Facebook and another year it was walking the dog without listening to a podcast, audio book, or music. These were both challenging pauses, and I will affirm that six weeks is a long time. You’ll note I did not give up chocolate or go crazy and give up sugar!
Easter was a “holiday” when I was growing up only in the sense that we had a nice dinner in the formal dining room with the anniversary China. It was always on a Sunday, so we didn’t gain anything there in the way of days off of school. We did not go to church or dress up. All of my attention, of course, was riveted on whether or not I would have an Easter basket.
I was the last of four kids and six years behind the main tribe. In my early childhood, my siblings were off with friends, involved in their own activities, and when the time came, they left home in a one, two, three cadence that aligned with their 18 months of separation in age. As I neared the age of reason, I had no co-conspirators to untangle the mystery of rabbits, eggs, and dressing up.
My childhood Lent season was all detective work. “Project Easter Basket” was a case to be cracked. Why this generous outpouring of candy in the Spring? I had no idea. I hoped this year the big chocolate Easter bunny would be solid instead of hollow. The least favorite part of the basket was the little “eggs” hidden in the grass. They were cheap renditions of jellybeans with lousy flavor, but I faithfully ate them.
The memory of years past rummaging through the basket played in my mind as I did my deep detective work for Lent. I checked the laundry room where the wicker basket with the long looping handle was stored. In the kitchen in a sticky plastic Ziploc bag the green plastic “grass” and multi-colored plastic eggs were kept. I was relieved to find the components for the Easter surprise were still available. That same tricky business that brought stockings full of goods on Christmas morning made Easter baskets appear.
So I was just like my dog, Pearl. She does not know where I am going or when I am coming back. She doesn’t know if I will share my banana or carrot until they drop into her mouth. I am sure Pearl hopes for my return, and I know by the saliva threads draining from her mouth that she anticipates food from my hand. With this same Labradorian anticipation, I would hope for the Easter basket.
As a youngster, Easter had no other draw for me but candy, and especially the big chocolate bunny. Little did I know about Jesus on Friday hanging on the cross, and the empty grave on Sunday. Over time, I heard of Jesus, and eventually the cross and resurrection. Hearing and knowing are very different things.
It took a long time to distill what Jesus did for me. I heard that Jesus died to save me from sin. “Okay,” I said with that annoying dismissive tone of the unknowing. I read the Bible in my early thirties and began to understand that my separation from God was a real problem, and Jesus was a real solution. I understood the event that set me free from sin. Believe me, I look forward to Lent and the Easter Sunday that eventually follows like my eternal life depended on it.
Jesus changed my life. As I read in my Lent devotional several days ago, Jesus fasted his glory and became a man to walk among mankind for thirty-three years. He gave His life that I could live an abundant one empowered by the same Spirit that raised Him from the grave. I laid down that crazy illusion that I was in control and put my hand in the hand of the one that created Heaven and Earth and everything in them. Jesus became my why. This is something I never want to forget.
I appreciate the methodology behind the practice of Lent. The act of fasting something for this period as a prompt to remember Jesus in his last days as a man among us is impactful. I took it a different direction in the last two years and went through excellent books illustrated by Scott Erickson with reflections by Justin McRoberts. The first 40-day guide I used for Lent ended abruptly under my own direction. I learned then that Sunday is not included in the traditional Lent practice. This year I am using 40 Days of Decrease by Alicia Britt Chole and taking Sunday off.
You know I tortured my own children with the Easter basket question. Easter baskets were a fun surprise in celebration of the resurrection. We built anticipation for the holiday by decorating eggs and preparing a special meal. Easter is, by far, my favorite holiday because on that Sunday so long ago the tomb was empty. God changed everything.