Fat Tuesday is over. The season of Lent begins today—forty days of preparation to celebrate the Easter resurrection of Christ.
Forty days of saying “No” to the self and what it wants.
I am not good at this.
Growing up Lutheran, we were challenged to “Give up something for Lent.” I tried to give up solving equations, practicing the piano, drying the dishes.
I was urged to be sober. Sorry. Reflective. “Think about Jesus sleeping on stones, fasting in the wilderness, facing off with the devil,” one Sunday School teacher suggested.
Pretty big assignment for a kid.
Fat Tuesday
In adulthood I learned about the Mardi Gras tradition known as Fat Tuesday: a day for parades, costumes, masquerades plus a city-wide, all-you-can-eat bash before cinching the belt, on Wednesday, for leaner meals during Lent.
Because the church teaches that curtailing our appetites frees up time for soul-searching and repentance, Fat Tuesday offers the last hurrah for a good nosh.
Here’s a quick global survey: on Fat Tuesday . . .
Spaniards dine on omelets with juicy pork
Lithuanians feast on doughnuts
Icelanders savor salted meats and peas
Swedes enjoy cream-filled pastries
Brits, Australians, Canadians and the Irish relish gourmet pancakes
Some Christians empty their homes of butter, lard, and sugar. Which would mean discarding that leftover pie and those Maui Sweet Onion Chips. (We finished ours last night, so as not to waste any.)
Ash Wednesday
And now, the Fat Tuesday aftermath: the countdown to Easter begins with Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent.
I could swear off coffee, or chocolate. Movies. Books. Or I could fast. Cut back on social media. One year I gave up decorating magazines.
If I’m honest, saying “No” to things I enjoy makes me grumpy. Or smug.
I type this and feel selfish and sorry (and not only for those fatty chips I consumed). Truth is, I want what I want when I want it.
The word humility comes from humus, the Latin word for earth. Ash Wednesday is more than a ceremonial smudge on the skin. It reminds me that what is fallen, and weak, can rise again.
And therein I find peace.
Today many pastors will thumb a sooty cross on the foreheads of those who come forward and kneel. This mark identifies believers who wish to make an intentional, inward journey, who wish to repent of self-reliance and self-serving actions, who then gratefully receive, afresh, God’s grace and forgiveness.
But to re-imagine the Cross, the scourging of Christ, the scalp-searing crown of thorns, feels overwhelming.
My vision blurs. I don’t want to picture the weeping, the hill like a skull, the string of betrayals.
I’m tired of death. An urn still holds the unscattered cremains of my mother, my brother. More friends have recently died. Couldn’t I flee sorrow this year? Dodge remembrance, sidestep the earthy symbol of love?
This year I may skip the ritual cross on my brow. I will try to reabsorb the thought in this song I wrote decades ago, try to take in the prayer at its heart: content to be dark soil where something new and fresh can grow.
“Shalom,” Bill and Laurie Klein, arranged and produced by Chris Lobdell
Beautiful to hear again…….I love you two…….Laurie, give me a shout at regular email….
Thanks, Chris, but I have to add: beautifully enhanced by your lush arrangement, dear friend!
I love it that we are in some “Other” time zone somewhere…….on your site!!!!! It’s all relative anyway!!!!!
(Just having fun!)
Beautiful song. I lost my grandson in April 2014. He was six months old in his mommy womb. I will never know his smile or his voice or hole him or kiss him. This time of the year is extra hard but I will get through it again.
Thank you for the beautiful song.
Dear Rosalinda, I am saddened to hear of this wrenching loss to you and your family.
I thank you for your kind words about the song and pray you will find beautiful things to notice and comfort you each day during this painful season of remembrance.
Thank you for taking time to read the post and leave a comment.
Laurie, I love this song and all it suggests of the completeness of our lives hidden in Christ. Yes and Amen to these words too: “content to be dark soil where something new and fresh can grow.” In the paring back which grief and sorrow bring, we may pause to ponder new beginnings and long for them more than ever before. I’m new to Lenten traditions and can attest to wanting to emphasise life and hope more than reflecting on loss and death. Why wait until Easter Sunday itself to see the way God has provided for our brokenness and woundedness? We have that hope and precious promise every day of our lives. Great food for thought here. Thank you. <3
Joy, thank you for your response (and for listening to the song!). I appreciate your desire to live these Lenten days focused on “life and hope . . . and precious promise(s).” There is so much to say “Yes” to!
When I was in Norway in 1975 I walked through the churchyard of the church were my great grandparents were married before they immigrated to the USA. Walking among those graves I realized that some of these folk buried here are related to me by blood. They were the unknown ground of my being. Across the way from the church was an old farmhouse, which now served as a childcare place. Walking through the hedgerow gate I came to know that I too will be the unknown ground of someone else’s being. Lent is not so much about what I will give up for myself but what I will give forward, even if, for now, that means giving something up- or taking on a challenge.
Lynn, what a profound realization you had in that Norwegian churchyard! This is a span worth pondering: “The unknown ground of my being . . . and someone else’s being.” I am glimpsing something too big for words. It elicits longing. I catch sight of the the earthy yet elegant continuity of ancestry plus legacy and it strikes me as deeply restful, compelling in its logic, humming with quiet possibility.
Oops! I picked up Carol’s name after reading her comment to you! I’m sorry, LAURIE!
I, too, love your heartfelt prayer, Carol–the one you included at the end of your post: to be content as dark soil where something new and fresh can grow. I’m thinking: dark soil does indeed appear dead and worthless. But when Christ plants his life in us, oh my! Miraculous transformation takes place! Perhaps gratitude could supersede the grief, and allow contentment to grow–even during Lent. P.S. Also love your song, “Shalom.” SO beautiful, soulful, and inspiring!
Nancy, I’m leaning in toward the screen as I read your answer, rich in metaphor, hope, and trust. May gratitude envelop us all in these weeks ahead. Already I feel my chin lifting . . . 🙂
Yes me too – “I’m tired of death… More friends have recently died. Couldn’t I flee sorrow this year? Dodge remembrance, sidestep the earthy symbol of love?”. There’s a line I need to look up from “Out of the Silent Planet”, the just of being that as humans we need wisdom as we view the inevitability of death. I’ve been turning that thought over since rereading Lewis’s book a couple weeks ago.
Hi Diane. Send me the Lewis line when you find it, would you? It may be time for me to re-read the space trilogy. I started Out of the Silent Planet last summer but online classes took up my attention and I shelved it again. I would like to grow in that wisdom! May we both find peace, in this passage. Amen
You will understand I feel the same way about Lent. A few years ago i went to my first Ash Wednesday service and came away angry and sad. From Aug to Jan I had remembered/marked 3 death anniversaries and 4 birthdays of people I have lost. I knew all too well I will return to ashes…all of my family of origin have done that already. I like what you say here. I have been asking how i can lean into Lent without going back into sadness and grief..
How I wish we could sit down and have a cup of coffee together and chat about life and all that goes with it. but Spokane just isn’t on the way to anywhere….except hopefully in the next year or two we will fly out to Portland, (my son lives there) buy a car there and drive home going the northern route through Montana. (buying a car there seems to be a good idea rather than buying one in Chicago where it has been weathered with snow, salt and lots of ice). Hoping our 16 year old Toyota with 250,000 miles lasts till then!
meanwhile, shalom. thanks for the lyrics below and the music. it is good for my soul this morning.
Thank you for this piece which gave me a lot to think about to start the Lenten season. I love the song. Can you post the lyrics for us to ponder?
Deanna, thanks for your comment and request.
Here are the lyrics (which include several synonyms for the word shalom)
Shalom, there is peace for the seed,
safety and health and prosperity,
joy for the Sower, who tends the field.
When he passes by me, I want to be
like the rich, brown earth beneath his feet.
Come, plant your life in me,
the seed is your word.
I want everyone to see
I’m the planting of the Lord.
‘content to be dark soil where something new can grow.’ Amen.
Jody, thanks for lifting out that line, the one that shimmers for me, too. I sure appreciate you taking time to read and comment.