Hooray! It’s that time of year again! Time to mourn, repent, and deprive ourselves of lots of fun and goodies!
Sound weird? To a lot of Christians, it does. Most Evangelical churches don’t pay a lot of attention to the calendar anyway, except for Christmas, Easter, and Super Bowl Sunday. Lent is ranked right up there with Candlemas and Epiphany; a vaguely archaic practice that’s faded into one of the more harmless quirks of Catholicism. Before I started writing this, I asked some of the Protestants I know what they did about Lent; I was answered with a unanimous “Huh?”.
Like many Catholic practices, Lent is more widespread than most Westerners think. Besides liturgical churches like the Episcopalians and Lutherans (some of ‘em, anyway), all of the Traditional churches outside the Protestant spectrum observe it. In fact, if anything, the Catholic version of Lent is one of the least extreme ones. (Every year I’m glad I didn’t turn Orthodox, or Coptic. They have a Lenten regimen that makes ours look wimpy.)
During the forty days before Easter, Lent observers give up something they like. I usually give up TV (and movies, and most other forms of electronic entertainment). I’ve known others to give up chocolate, or the Internet (braver souls than I), or even broccoli. Anything that’s enjoyable and not a sin can be given up for Lent.
This strikes most Protestant Christians as pointless masochism. And if that’s as far as we go with it, it is. What Lent is supposed to be is a time of clearing away the things of the world so we can concentrate better on our spiritual lives.
It’s a funny thing about Lent. It starts in late February or early March (March 2, this year), which is not a notoriously joyous time of year anyway. The winter weather that looked so charming during the weeks leading up to Christmas now just looks dreary, and spring is little more than a distant dream. In the same way, Ash Wednesday (the opening act of Lent) is a reminder of the bleakness of our own souls without God’s mercy. Fasting through the day is a tummy-rumbling way to keep our eyes on Christ (and on the donuts some sadistic heathen had the gall to bring to the office). When the cross is drawn on our foreheads with ashes, it reminds us that our efforts at righteousness are nothing more than dirt. (And I find it prompts curious questions from people who see me going around all day with a smudge on my forehead. Excellent chance to share my faith while assuring everybody that yes, I do know how to wash my face, thank you.)
As Lent goes on, it gets harder and harder to stick to the routine. I start out with a sense of zeal, a desire to surrender everything for Christ. I attend church every morning (my parish schedules Mass an hour earlier so worshippers can still get to work on time), unplug the TV and set out a vigorous prayer timetable. Since one of the Catholic disciplines is abstaining from meat on Lenten Fridays (it used to be all year, but times have changed), I studiously search out fish and vegetarian recipes in the vain hope that the kids will eat the stuff. I’m on fire and ready to go! At least for about a week and a half.
Along about the second Friday, it starts to get old. When the alarm rings an hour earlier every morning, the bedsheets pull me back down like a bungee. I find myself about three days behind on the prayer schedule I swore I’d stick to. I can’t abide the taste of fish (especially given my cooking skills), and I start to suspect that tofu is a tool of Satan to torment the faithful. Once I even (I’m embarrassed to admit this) slipped into the tavern next door to my office to have a cup of coffee and watch some talk show I didn’t even enjoy. Lent becomes, frankly, a pain in the patoot.
Which is exactly what it’s supposed to be. It’s easy to proclaim my love for the Lord when there’s no hassle involved. The key to Lent is remembering. Remembering to walk past the TV the kids are watching without stopping to look. Remembering that it’s Friday – again. Remembering to pray even though I don’t really have time. Having to pay attention to the outward disciplines of Lent makes it easier to listen to the voice of God, and diverting my eyes from the good things I take for granted the rest of the year makes it necessary to focus them where they belong, on the Giver of good things.
By the time I arrive at Palm Sunday, a funny thing has happened. I’ve stopped muttering vague threats at the alarm clock. I’ve gotten used to the bean-and-rice burritos that have become a Friday staple. What looked at first like a long prison sentence has become more like a stay in a monastery. The noise and worry of everyday life has faded, and the Lord fills my thoughts even when I’m not concentrating specifically on Him. And spring seems to have sneaked up on me while I was busy watching God.
The whole thing comes to a head on Good Friday. It’s another fast day, and the liturgy that night is somber and sad. We have reached the depths of mourning with the death of the Lord. We go home without even the closing blessing, which leaves a feeling of something unfinished. And indeed, it is.
Saturday night, we return for Easter Vigil. It’s dark when we arrive, and the candles that are distributed are unlit. Then, from the back of the church, a light appears, moving slowly forward while the priest chants the Exultet, the opening words of the liturgy:
“This is the night when Jesus Christ
broke the chains of death
and rose triumphant from the grave...
“Rejoice, heavenly powers!
Sing, choirs of angels!
Exult, all creation around God's throne!
Jesus Christ, our King is risen!
Sound the trumpet of salvation!”
This is it! This is what Lent has been leading up to. The grim doggedness of Lent vanishes like the darkness in the face of the light emanating from an open Tomb. Like sin being washed away, the joy of Christ’s resurrection washes over us, and we forget that we ever lacked anything.
Lent is the metamorphosis, not only of winter into spring, but of a carnally-distracted man into a spirit-filled one. When we empty ourselves of everything else, the Lord comes in to fill the gap. But being weak, I need the enforced emptying that Lent brings.
I think St. Ephraim of Edessa summed up Lent the best:
How many times have I promised, yet every time I failed to keep my word. But disregard this according to Thy grace.
Grant forgiveness, O Lord, send also strength. Convert me, that I might live in sanctity, according to Thy holy will...
I am unworthy to ask forgiveness for myself, O Lord, for many times have I promised to repent and proved myself a liar by not fulfilling my promise. Thou hast picked me up many times already, but every time I freely chose to fall again...
How shall I recount all the gifts of Thy grace, O Lord, that I the pitiful one have received? Yet I have reduced them all to nothing by my apathy – and I continue on in this manner. Thou has bestowed upon me thousands of gifts, yet miserable me, I offer in return things repulsive to Thee.
Yet Thou, O Lord, inasmuch as Thou containest a sea of longsuffering and an abyss of kindness, do not allow me to be felled as a fruitless fig tree; and do not let me be burned without having ripened on the field of life...
If the path that leads to life is strait and narrow, then how can I be vouchsafed such good things, I who live a life of luxury, indulging in my own pleasures and dissipation? But Thou, O Lord, my Saviour, Son of the true God, as Thou knowest and desirest it, by Thy grace alone, freely turn me away from the sin that abides in me and save me from ruin.
And He does.
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