It begins with ashes on the forehead as worshippers exit the sanctuary on Ash Wednesday. It ends with Easter lilies on Easter Sunday. It flows from lament to praise, from a 40-day trudge up the hill to Golgotha to a celebration dance at an empty tomb.
It’s called Lent, ending either on Maundy Thursday or Holy Saturday, preceding Easter Sunday. Lent originated in the early days of the Church as a preparatory time for Easter, when the faithful rededicated themselves and church leaders instructed new converts as they prepared for baptism. Each year, Ash Wednesday marks the beginning of Lent. The 40-day period represents Christ’s time of temptation in the wilderness, where he fasted and where Satan tempted him.
Growing up as a Southern Baptist in Oklahoma, I’d never experienced a community that observed Lent until I lived in Louisville, KY, while in seminary. A friend, having been to Ash Wednesday service, walked into a graduate seminar, took a seat close to me, and (thank God I didn’t say it before the whole class) I whispered, “What happened to your forehead?”
When practiced best, Lent is a private matter, not meant to be a public affair, although wearing the ashes can declare one’s faith and even prompt questions from others, which the believer can (hopefully) answer.
Lent is about an inner transformation over a designated period in which believers take inventory of their spiritual account—their life, and ask, “Where am I in my walk with Jesus Christ? What am I allowing to distract me and even trip me as I journey? What’s blurring the vision of Him? What can I do without to grow within and enjoy a closer walk to my Master?”
Jesus warned us about displaying our spirituality as if we can flash a 5-star spiritual status, elite religious performers we think we are. He warned his followers about such people: “Everything they do is for show” (Matthew 23:5). Jesus seemed to prefer his followers to keep it to themselves: “When you pray, don’t be like the hypocrites who love to pray publicly on street corners and in the synagogues where everyone can see them…But when you pray, go away by yourself, shut the door…and pray to your Father in private” (Matthew 6:5-6).
If the point is to pause and examine our motives while looking outwardly to Jesus, then Lent can be for anyone with the tiniest desire for the life Jesus offers. Public displays in themselves rarely transform the heart and more often reveal a desire for a recognition that Jesus’ inverted kingdom shuns. The spiritual elite have trouble tearing up their Religious Gold Card, becoming spiritual beggars, and donning a crown of thorns rather than a religious medallion.
If, at the end of Lent, we say, “I’m glad that’s over; I did my religious duty; I can go back to being me,” then it was a meaningless journey. Lent should give us a glimpse of what we can be spiritually, of what God created us to be. Benedict of Nursia is supposed to have told the monks in his religious order that they should live a Lenten-like life all year.
But living a Lenten-like life sounds drab, a bit too austere, and certainly not sustainable. It’s undoubtedly asking too much, we conclude, as we mount our defense for something more palatable to our more worldly tastes.
But think again. Before there was anything like religious holy orders, a small band of believers looked to Jesus in desperation and chose to step towards Him when He said, “Follow me.” And they did, not even sure how they could do it. And in that step, they knew He had already grasped their hand and had come alongside them.
When it’s all said and done, that’s all that matters: the desire to join a band of believers on the road to the Cross and follow Him, even if we stumble when we do it. We take that step and then another, hopefully for 40 days—even more, after celebrating the resurrection.
And we do it together: one step at a time.
Beautifully said! Amen and amen!