Welcoming Lent

Regrettably, I did not grow up observing Lent. In the conservative Southern Baptist churches where I worshipped for over half my life, Lent was not mentioned. Looking back, I realize the subtle anti-Catholic bias present in all of those congregations contributed to the neglect of the season. Many folks in the Baptist world I inhabited believed Lent was strictly the purview of the Holy Roman Catholic Church. I had no idea that other Christian denominations also followed a liturgical calendar that carved out sacred space for a season of preparation leading up to Easter. As a result, my understanding of this season was severely stunted for decades.

Fifteen years ago, I observed the season of Lent with a congregation for the first time, shortly after beginning my tenure as associate pastor at Immanuel Baptist Church in Nashville. By the time we joyfully celebrated Easter together, I realized how much I had been missing. I am deeply grateful to that congregation for broadening my spiritual horizons.

This year I have found myself anticipating Lent with a mix of eagerness and desperation. In the midst of chaos that drains my energy and fuels my fears for the well-being of my neighbors, I need to focus on my spiritual health. I need to devote time to life-giving spiritual practices, trusting that the Spirit of God will use them to guide me to know what is mine to do.

For many people, Lent is a season to give up something, like desserts, caffeine, or social media. I have found it more helpful to take on a practice or two during the weeks leading up to Easter. This year I will be reading Walter Brueggemann's A Way Other Than Our Own: Devotions for Lent each morning. Over the course of the season, I also intend to write forty brief essays recounting moments when I have encountered God in mysterious, powerful, transformative ways. By reflecting on my own sacred story, I believe I will gain wisdom and courage for the living of these days.

During the Ash Wednesday service at First Baptist Church of Asheville, I will welcome the season of Lent as I ponder anew the words that accompany the imposition of ashes: “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” Those words once sounded ominous to me; now they exude hope. Being reminded of my human frailty is a blessing. Life is short. How then shall I live?

Blessing the Dust
For Ash Wednesday

All those days
you felt like dust,
like dirt,
as if all you had to do
was turn your face
toward the wind
and be scattered
to the four corners

or swept away
by the smallest breath
as insubstantial—

did you not know
what the Holy One
can do with dust?

This is the day
we freely say
we are scorched.

This is the hour
we are marked
by what has made it
through the burning.

This is the moment
we ask for the blessing
that lives within
the ancient ashes,
that makes its home
inside the soil of
this sacred earth.

So let us be marked
not for sorrow.
And let us be marked
not for shame.
Let us be marked
not for false humility
or for thinking
we are less
than we are

but for claiming
what God can do
within the dust,
within the dirt,
within the stuff
of which the world
is made
and the stars that blaze
in our bones
and the galaxies that spiral
inside the smudge
we bear.

Jan Richardson, Circle of Grace: A Book of Blessings for the Seasons, pp. 89-90.