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by Sarah Parsons
Some people see the season of Lent as a time of prolonged self-flagellation, of wailing and gnashing of teeth. Kind of like what the poor townspeople go through in the movie "Chocolat." If you saw the movie, you'll remember how the people longed to taste the tempting sweets in the new chocolate shop, but initially, because it was Lent, felt too guilty to do so.
When I first heard that take on the season, I was a little confused. As a child, Lent had always meant big fun for me -- a time to be "bad."
Here's an example: The church my family attended held potluck suppers every Wednesday night during Lent. After supper, the adults listened to a lecture, and the children were herded off to a room where a movie projector had been set up. Our chaperone for the evening would close the doors, turn out the lights, and expect us to sit quietly watching the movie until the lecture was over and our parents came to take us home.
I have to admit the movies usually were pretty good. For example, I remember actually watching Michael Jackson's "Thriller." Nevertheless, my friend Gwynn and I had a little routine after the Lenten suppers. We dutifully went to the movie room with all the other kids, whom we secretly considered suckers. But we always sat near the back of the room, and when the lights went out and the movie began, we crawled along the floor to the back door, cracked it as little as possible, and escaped.
THE RUSH OF BEING "BAD"
In that moment, I always felt the rush of a rule-breaker: Gwynn and I were renegades, we could get caught, and who knew what our punishment would be? We were wild. So for the next hour and a half, we ran ourselves silly up and down the church halls. Eventually we'd pass a few more bad kids running by, or a pair would step quietly from a darkened Sunday school room, and we'd merge with them to form a single bad-kid pack. Together we sneaked leftover food from the kitchen. We even went out to the darkened playground and talked to escapee boys on the jungle gym. We were that bad.
Understand that I was by no means an everyday bad kid. I was very, very good -- too good, in fact. I restricted my own playtime to make sure I got my homework done. I always minded my parents, my teachers, all adults; I went beyond minding to earn their approval. I worked so hard. I was especially good at school: from the first time a teacher gave me a grade, I worked to keep the A's rolling in.
LEARNING A HEALTHY BALANCE
After so much conscientious effort, I craved those Lenten potluck suppers, and what came afterwards. Gwynn, the movies, the lack of any serious consequences -- all these came together to offer me a taste of wildness, to balance my goodness with a little innocent badness.
Lent invites us to grow spiritually, to draw closer to God, which essentially is to become more alive. One Lenten passage, from Ephesians, reads:
"God, who is rich in mercy, out of the great love with which he loved us even when we were dead through our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ -- by grace you have been saved"
-- Ephesians 2:4-5, NRSV
BECOMING WHO GOD MADE ME TO BE
God was rich in mercy to me on those childhood Lenten nights. God freed me from the bonds I had imposed on myself, offering me greater freedom and greater life. Lent became a chance for me to be more myself as God had made me -- a child with a strong need to play, not a mini-adult focused on her homework. By grace, I was being saved from myself and from my own best efforts. I became more alive by allowing myself to act like a child.
So in a strange and certainly unplanned way, my escapes from the movie room were my Lenten discipline. People often talk about giving something up for Lent, some bad habit, their favorite little vice. I unwittingly gave up something for Lent as a kid: I gave up trying to be perfect. And when I let perfection go and played for a few hours, I became more fully alive, which is just what I believe God wanted for me, what God wants for all of us.
REMOVING THE BLOCKS
Lent is a time to search out the blocks in our lives -- the habits, thoughts or patterns that weigh us down and deaden our hearts. In that sense, Lent is a heavy season. But it is also a time to choose one of those deadening blocks and to clear it gently away, allowing natural love to flow back and forth again between ourselves and God. Lent is an invitation to self-examination, not as an end in itself, but as a means to fuller life.
So take this long time, these forty days, and be gentle with yourself. Quietly survey your inner landscape and seek out a part that needs tending. It may mean taking thirty minutes of rest each day: time with the phone and computer turned off, the door closed, reading a novel or doing anything that seems like fun.
You won't be able to do everything you need to do in forty days, but that's okay; Lent will be back again next year. Just begin to come back to life.
Sarah Parsons is a social worker Nashville, Tennessee. Check out her Upper Room Book, A Clearing Season: Reflections for Lent.
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