a very small lent...

As I take stock of my Lenten journey with Jesus on the way to the Cross and the Resurrection, I must confess that it has been an uneven sojourn for me so far. I keep returning to the invitation, but seem to have little passion for the traditional practices this year. I very much like the way the Taize community set the stage for this season:

The season of Lent is a time of retreat for the whole community. In the spirit of Jesus in the desert, we take 40 days to practice the essentials of our spiritual lives. 

Sadly, while my spirit is willing, both my flesh and imagination are weak. Usually the three Lenten disciplines -  quiet time for contemplation; letting go of selfish thoughts, words and actions; and sharing simple acts of kindness with those in need - resonate with me. Traditionally we speak of them as prayer, fasting and alms giving. But I can't use the old words any more nor can I muster much juice for practicing them. It is my hunch that people inside the community of faith are too worn out by the old expectations to care about Lent this year, and those beyond our sanctuaries are clueless about why it might matter. Not ignorant, mind you, for God has placed within each of us something of the divine image that we all yearn to strengthen. In this, I fully renounce my Reformed heritage that teaches we are miserable sinners cut off forever from grace without Christ. If Jesus means anything it is that we are all God's beloved - often wounded, to be sure - and regularly confused, but still souls filled with a sacred capacity to live our lives with integrity as the beloved of the Lord.

Imagine my surprise at feeling energized upon reading the gospel text for the Fifth Sunday of Lent: John 12: 1-8.

Six days before the Passover Jesus came to Bethany, the home of Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. There they gave a dinner for him. Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those at the table with him. Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus' feet, and wiped them with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume. But Judas Iscariot, one of his disciples (the one who was about to betray him), said, "Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?" Jesus said, "Leave her alone. She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial. You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me."

It is an invitation - and encouragement - to do something beautiful. For God. For another. For creation. For ourself. "Doing something beautiful for God is one of the ways we show the world gratitude," I once wrote. And that still makes sense. Some of us may do it with visual art. Others with music. Some with poetry. Or movies. Or cooking. Still others will feed the hungry or visit the lonely. Some will patiently care for their children. Or their parents. Or even a stranger. Whatever our calling we can each do something beautiful for the Lord. Usually this will be small. It may not change the world in obvious ways. But it will bring refreshment to at least one other being. And Jesus was explicit that whenever we help one person, we are helping him. I think this is how I have come to live into Lent this year.