My Catholic mother made sure all of us had something to “give up” for Lent. Sometimes she chose it for me, or at least strongly encouraged what should be the object of my self-denial. I am pretty sure I gave up sweets or cussing or some such stuff, but my most prescient memory is of removing salt from my dinner table routine, mostly because my step-father was tired of watching me salt every bland thing set before me, which the way he cooked, meant everything but the salad.
But over the years, I have personally found it more useful (and frankly easier) to take on a project or habit than to give something up. Maybe I lack the self-control that would be strengthened if I was willing to spend forty days without television or cussing at stupid people or cussing at stupid people on television. Perhaps it took until adulthood to understand that the “giving up” had to be accompanied by a spiritual component, and it is entirely possible that I am not mature enough yet to pray for idiots.
So, for the past few years, I have applied myself to a variety of actions, such as adding a devotional to my daily reading or ruminating on an important document. Last year, for instance, I did some reading and reflective writing about the Nicene Creed. Several years ago, I prayed The Lord’s Prayer over and over during my daily walks and wrote short meditations about them upon my return.
I have failed. Every. Single. Time. For instance, I had hoped, when I was focusing on the creed, that I would end up with forty pithy and edifying little insights, which I, of course, would share with others for which lots of people would pat me on the back for my brilliance and “spirituality.” Yet, what I thought would be really pretty simple was something difficult to keep up with every day as I let life get in the way too often (which means I missed the discipline part). And that while I learned and understood the creed a lot better by Easter, my biggest insight was this: I was pretending to devote action to God, something that is bound to flounder.
And yet, by another measure, my failure means something far more significant and useful to me. By no means do I want to publicly self-flagellate. However, I am glad to realize how puffed up I had become, and I hope, with prayer, that the experience has delated me some, and helped me to get out of God’s way.
While Lent covers a specific period, God’s grace is not bound to time.
While Lent covers a specific period, God’s grace is not bound to time. We may hear a verse of scripture over and over as we move through life, but only at a specific, grace-bound moment may it have any resonance. We might know that is was “for our own good” that as children our parents “tortured” us by making us do chores, speak to elders a particular way, or do our homework. However, it takes years for the significance of such disciplines to take hold or have meaning. The posture or tone or an act of kindness from someone who ministered to us years before can be seemingly buried in memory, but blossom at the moment it is most needed.
I’m sure that for many the customs of Lent seem either dogmatic or silly or both. However, I have found these forty-day spiritual workouts to be beneficial, not only spiritually, but physically and emotionally as well. Did I get anything out of from giving up salt for six and a half weeks? At first, I gained the insight that I didn’t need as much as I thought. By the time the ordeal (and some days it was just that) was over, I began to do what my step-father said could happen: I began to enjoy my food. It would take several years for me to be grateful to God for the joy of well-cooked meals and the delight of good company. But a seed of grace was planted there.
Perhaps Lent is a season for sowing more than for improving habits. We turn away from ourselves, maybe just a little bit, and God meets us partway. But the encounter is not a one-off. At least I hope that when we turn back, it is with the seed of grace we can grow with the Lord’s help, even if it takes a long time to produce visible fruit.
