"There is confidence everywhere in Ash Wednesday, yet that does not mean unmixed and untroubled security. The confidence of the Christian is always a confidence in spite of darkness and risk, in the presence of peril, with every evidence of possible disaster…" Thomas Merton
One of the things that I miss the most about attending a
liturgical church is that there is no formal church year. Nondenominational churches don’t really
do the whole waiting of Advent, fasting of Lent, or long ordinary time
throughout the summer, and I like the rhythms that come with the different church
seasons. My two favorite are
Advent and Lent, not always in that order.
There is a coldness, a holy darkness, a sense of divine
expectation in Advent that seems to mirrored in the long cold nights of
December. There is purposeful waiting
in this time, not simply a stillness, but a stillness that is about to burst
forth into brilliant light and action.
Lent is more stark.
It feels like the trees look outside right now on Ash Wednesday, the
official first day of the Lenten season.
There’s something—especially this winter—that feels dead outside right
now. Once the latest batch of snow
has melted away yet again and the not quite alive grass and trees become highly
visible the land seems dead. The
potential of life to come doesn’t quite seem to be there yet. But I know that it is.
That’s what I love about Lent—the discipline, the denial,
the moderation, and the general starkness--it doesn’t seem to lead to abundant
life. But the ending of Lent is
the most abundant life out of nothingness that ever occurred in this
universe. And so Lent is also a
time of waiting, of waiting for life to appear in the midst of
nothingness. Not necessarily even
of despair, but just of ordinary time—for the amazingness of life to appear.
Some time in high school, or maybe even in college, I
started giving up something for Lent regularly. My current church does a three week fast in January to get
started for the year, and I enjoyed that as well, but this one is a little more
intense and I like to still keep it up.
This year, unlike most other years when I’ve given up chocolate or
sweets, I’m giving up alcohol.
It’s a strange choice for me, and one I didn’t really consider before,
but one that I’m determined to do for several reasons.
#1 It’s a new challenge and something that I haven’t given
up before so I’d like to try it.
#2 It’s going to be a specific challenge socially. Around here, for people my age to meet
up and try to get to know each other, it frequently happens over drinks. And so to avoid that I can have two
choices I suppose—avoid people altogether, or directly address why I’m not
drinking. Not drinking on a date,
not drinking at a going away party, not drinking over St. Patrick’s Day weekend. Honestly, personally, I’m not really
that upset about any of those things.
The real test of willpower is to be able to be out with people who are
consuming alcohol and hope that they will understand that I’m not judging them,
but that I’ve made a different personal choice for the next 45 days. People that I know and love
can handle it pretty well I’m sure.
And since I practically made a career of turning down alcohol before I
turned 21, I’m pretty sure I still remember how to do it. But it will be interesting to see how
it changes the dynamic of things.
I’m not going to lie—I’m going to miss movie, popcorn, and
wine nights with Meg. But somehow
I’m pretty sure the most important part of that combination isn’t the part that
will have to be missing (for me) for the next seven weeks. It’s the person or people that I spend
time with, it’s the life that’s already there. We don’t hang out as an excuse to drink, we happen to drink
while we spend time with each other.
It’s just a slight perspective switch, but an important one to remember
for the next 45 days. I’m going to
miss it, I’m going to notice it—it wouldn’t be worth giving up if I didn’t—but
I’m hoping that Lent isn’t (this or any other year) defined by this one thing
I’m abstaining from, but by the life I lead—knowing that to walk by faith is
worth it, even when I can’t quite see where the path is leading. Knowing that out of giving something up
there will come an increase of blessing.
Being sure that while even the weather seems to have given up on spring
and new life this year, there will come a light and a life that nothing can
ever defeat. Lent is about
preparing for Easter. Because
Easter, in its truest, most potent form, is not something we can handle without
serious preparation. Life out of
death doesn’t just make sense when it’s just us on our own.
