So I really dropped the ball this Lenten season. I sort of forgot about it until yesterday,
when at lunch, a friend asked me if I was giving something up for Lent. I asked her why and we discussed our own
motivations for “fasting” from something—be it a food, beverage, or
routine. We both agreed that food could
be tricky. Because giving up something
for Lent is not about dieting for Jesus.
But food IS tangible. We hunger. A lot.
And that hunger can point us to our deepest hunger—union with
Christ. And all too often we settle for
so much less than God’s grace. We settle
for the comfort of a Hershey’s kiss, a glass of wine, an additional friend on
Facebook, or a Downton Abbey marathon.
The objects of my affection are not in and of themselves bad for me, but
my dependence upon them is a pathway to death.
If I give my heart to created things, there will be nothing left to give
to my Creator.
And typically during Lent, I’ve been more successful when I’ve
committed to doing something rather than foregoing something. Our first year of marriage, Sloan and I
committed to praying together every day during Lent. And it became a habit. But a Lenten fast isn’t about quitting bad
habits or success—it is about being drawn into the heart of Jesus. So something that perhaps sets me up for
loads of repentance is just the thing.
So in my usual fashion, this year I will be giving up
something: SODA and committing to something:
Daily Lectio Divina. (Full
disclosure, as I type this I am drinking a Diet Dr. Pepper. I didn’t select this until today, and I like
it because it will force me to be more intentional and really is just an inconvenience
but one born of habit, ease, and comfort.
And my own comfort is a pretty big idol in my life. If I could constantly wear flannel and
elastic waist pants, I would. Giving up soda will be uncomfortable for
me. Obviously. So I’m having my Fat Tuesday soda today. Deal with it, people, I’m not a Pharisee.)
Lectio Divina is an ancient monastic approach to the reading
of Scripture. I studied it in Seminary
and its odd form and counter-productive approach to union with Christ struck me
to my core. Lectio Divina isn’t about
reading scripture for comprehension. It
isn’t even about learning, per se. It is
about entering into the very heart of God and resting there. Its four components—lectio
(reading/listening), meditatio (meditation), oratio (prayer), and contemplio (contemplation)
are free formed. So it is a bit awkward
at first. There are no questions to
answer, sentences to write, word studies to complete, or pronouns to circle in
a text. There are simply words and
phrases to repeat, listen to, say aloud, write down, an respond to.
I have chosen this because what I desperately crave is Sabbath. At our church we sing a hymn with the words “Jesus,
I am resting, resting in the joy of what thou art.” I don’t even know what those words mean
anymore. I don’t know what that would
look like. I’m struggling to have
patience with the Lord in our adoption, which is spiraling into a short fuse
and impatience with my children.
I crave
to rest in God’s lap “like a weaned child in its mother’s arms.” (Psalm 131:2)
I will be coming alongside others in my church using my church’s Lenten Blog and guide. With scripture,
accompanying paintings and songs, I will be attempting Sabbath. Perhaps for the very first time in my life.
I’m kind of afraid. Which is a
perfect way to approach Lent.
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