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I was away from religion and the church for a couple of decades of my life. It’s a long story, but somehow I made my way back. One of the things that I was so smitten with in the church was the liturgical seasons. I saw that they provided different rhythms of life that corresponded to the natural world. In Advent, we have the excitement of fresh snow and the holidays that go along with the birth of Jesus. There’s this joyous merriment in the air, but Advent offers a countercultural way to hold the season where we hold off the big celebration until Christmas day when we pull out all the stops.
During the season of Epiphany, in the depth of winter and darker days, we are given the mystical inner renewal of the star of Bethlehem.
During Easter, we have the bursting forth of brighter days, flowers, and wildlife that go along with the resurrection of Jesus. During the summer, the church takes on a simpler role during ‘common time’ and allows us to be in the world more enjoying the longer days and the sun before the church year starts over in Advent.
We’ve lost our natural rhythms in recent times. Our ancient ancestors were far more tuned into them. We had specific ways that marked the movement of life throughout the year. Not that you have to be religious to do this, but in my experience, church gave this to me.
Right now, we are knee-deep in the season of Lent. Lent can seem kind of like a drag in the church year. We have the after-Christmas blues and we just want to get straight to the happy-happy-joy-joy of Easter.
But, with Lent... We can’t. For we can’t get to the lightness of Easter and the resurrection without going through the heaviness of the crucifixion on Good Friday. Lent is the season that marks the low point in that journey.
Yes, this is a church thing. But isn’t it a real-life thing also?
Three weeks ago - the day that I saw the headline: “Covid infections plummet 90% from US pandemic high, states lift mask mandates”, I scrolled down to see the next headline that said that Russia was preparing to invade Ukraine (which is now taking place on the ground, of course). As soon as I delighted in seeing the cashier’s full face at our local grocery store for the first time in two years, I wondered if he’d soon be called up in the draft.
It’s like we can never celebrate too fast. Because something catastrophic always has a way of arising at the most inopportune time.
It’s honest to ask - why can’t life just be... Easy? And safe? And awesome? Like, all the time?
But the pain of life is (inconveniently) integral to the human experience. Just as there are plenty of mountaintop moments in life, those wouldn’t be so without the deep, dark valleys. There’s something about taking an honest look at the sorrow and brokenness and temporariness within all of us that deepens us into the heart of what it means to be human. Something about trudging through the valleys makes us more compassionate towards ourselves and our neighbors who trudge along with us. For we all have heavy burdens to carry in various forms.
Lent is a season of self-examination and existential reflection. But man, why now? We’re so tired. In both the macro and the micro realms of life. We all have our micro stuff going on that you don’t see in the news or on social media - from addictions to hangups, broken relationships, disappointments, etc. But then, on the macro (big-picture) side of things, we just jumped from a global pandemic to a possible precursor to WW3.
Can we take a moment to just... Breathe... This is a sacred time to illumine our winter darkness. A time to name the things that ail us - not to just roll around in the muck and the mud of it all. But to shine a light on it. To see it, NAME it, and be sung through it.
This is human. And this is the season of Lent. Even the natural world teaches us this particular moment in the cycle of the year. We can’t jump to the brightness and bounty of Spring too fast. We have to have a season of MUD and wetness and unwelcome snow storms first.
This is where and when Lent finds us. It’s earthy. It’s real. It is... Us.
A time to be in the valley