Church Graphics Illustration
Lent
We would rather not be reminded of it, but following all the anticipations of Advent, all the celebrations of Christmas, and all the warmth of the light of Epiphany there is the shadow of Lent, looming, unwelcome, like a gathering storm. This dark side of spirituality begins with the intonation: “Remember, thou art dust, and to dust thou shalt return.” It ends with the brooding darkness of a used cross.
The home in which I spent my teen years had a large picture window that faced west. One could see forever across the fields. From time to time a cloud would appear on the horizon, then grow larger and darker as it moved toward us. Distant lightening and thunder, then the stirring of the wind and the scattering of the birds, then the deep shadow of the storm with its lashing wind and rain. Then it ended, the sun came out, sometimes there was a rainbow. After the storm we would go outside and check to see if there was any damage. It always amazed me: how clear the air was! and how clean the earth smelled! The bird songs were glorious. It was like life had been breathed into the earth again.
If one is careful, there is a metaphor here. The shadow of Lent is like an approaching storm. It intrudes. It enforces its own reality. It can be frightening, even dangerous. It forces one to look inward. It can cleanse and clear the air. In time, it can reawaken song and can lead to new life.
I don’t like Lent, but I need Lent. I need the disciplines that we associate with the season - the times of silence that quiet my own voice so I can hear the voice of God - the deep reading of scripture that pushes me to see the radical grace and truth of the divine - the rich times and new forms of prayer that move me beyond ‘my stuff’ to compassion for the needs of others and the needs of the world - the reflective gatherings of the community that bring a corporate dimension to my faith. I need the insights these disciplines typically reveal. I need the transforming power of the Spirit that the insights call forth.
When I was in seminary, I came home during a spring break. It had been a tough few months. It felt good to be back among the people who had nurtured and encouraged me. After worship I was sitting on the edge of the stage in the Fellowship Hall talking with Alma, a beloved mentor. “How’s it going, Richard?” I confessed that it had not been easy. We talked for a long time. Somewhere along the way she said to me: “You know, Richard, all sun makes a desert.” Her wisdom took me aback, and it has served me well from that day to this. Thanks to her I saw the shadows and the storms differently.
We are coming again to a season when the shadows of Lent will remind us that it is important to attend to the spiritual disciplines that make us whole. We cannot skip from Mardi Gras to Easter without doing damage to our spiritual life. There will be shadows and there will be storms, but if we use them as occasions for new insight, we will be ready for the fresh start of life that will surely follow.
In his hymn, “God Moves in a Mysterious Way,” William Cowper wrote: “Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take; the clouds ye so much dread are big with mercy, and shall break in blessings on your head.” So, I invite you to look for the blessings and let them sustain you through the shadow of Lent. May the peace of the Lord Christ go with you wherever he may send you; may he guide you through the wilderness and protect you through the storm; may he bring you home rejoicing at the wonders he has shown you!
The Rev. F. Richard Garland is a retired clergy member of the New England Annual Conference.