Being left behind can be traumatic: left behind as the bus drives away, left behind when the plane takes off, left behind as the ship departs.
It can happen in less significant instances, too, like when I was a child and my mom and older brother, Dougie, were leaving to run an errand.
“Do you want to go, Davey?” Mom asked me, allowing me to go or stay home with Dad and my older brothers. I decided to stay, but then, too late, I changed my mind. Mom and Dougie were backing out of the driveway and couldn’t see me running after them, waving for them to return and get me.
Left behind.
Lent began last week with Ash Wednesday. Now that the season of Lent has taken off and the 40-day countdown to Easter has already started, isn’t it too late to climb aboard?
Lent started cross-ways anyway, beginning on the same date as Valentine’s Day, knocking some people off balance. The date on the calendar that called for repentance also invited romance.
If Ash Wednesday is only about attending a church service and receiving ashes, it doesn’t matter, really. And if Lent is only about giving up something you enjoy between dates on a calendar, then those who didn’t observe Ash Wednesday are hopelessly left behind, for it will never be 40 days till Easter, at least not this year.
But it’s not too late, and the spirit of Lent, of contrition, repentance, and transformation, does matter. Lent is more than acts of self-denial beginning on a particular Wednesday, just as romancing your love is more than ogling that special one over a candle-lit dinner on Valentine’s Day.
Lent is about opening ourselves to God and perhaps giving up some things that have kept us from intimacy with him.
We can set aside seasons when we dedicate ourselves to giving up certain habits or pleasures to focus more intently on our first love, who, for the Christian, is supposed to be Jesus Christ.
Expressing that love within a community of like-minded believers is wonderful, but it doesn’t necessarily have to be so. Jesus himself told his followers, “Whenever you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in the secret place, and your Father who sees in secret will reward you” (Matthew 6:6). He spoke those words because a group of religious hypocrites were making a public show of their fasting and praying.
What matters is intentionally pausing our lives to reflect on and reevaluate what’s keeping us from a closer walk with God. Then, we can open our hearts to Him. That can happen after Ash Wednesday.
I like something Paulo Coelho, the Brazilian novelist, said. “One day or day one. You decide.”
We can wait for “one day” to come when it’s the perfect time to return to God, the day when it’s convenient for us to give up what’s keeping us from God, the day when the universe seems to be smiling on us, the sun is shining, we’re in perfect health and debt free, the day when the kids and grandkids are all safe, happy and healthy, and gainfully employed.
That “one day” will never come.
We can, however, begin “day one.”
But Coelho is right: we must decide. “Day one” can be today, as imperfect as this day is. It’s the day we decide it’s time. It is the day we do what we know we should do but may be afraid to do it. It may be the time to allow God to wrap his fingers around our tiny, frail ones ever so gently, and we, having warmed to his touch, grasp his hand, letting him take us on the adventure of a lifetime.
You can call it Ash Wednesday if you want.
I prefer to call it “Day One.”
It’s the day you decide not to be left behind.