A Journey of Lent

These past few months have been long, bitter, and generally sad times for me. The trauma of life as a college graduate has affected me in unexpected ways in my personal life, and this season leaves me feeling generally dry, frustrated, and unable to see what the future holds. The only things that seem clear are the present moments of work, rest, and glimpses of joy that serve as the light of a candle would: only a small circle is lit, but it serves well as a reference that indeed there is light in the darkness.

That is why this season in our Church's observance, that holy season of Lent, has become so precious to me of late. I heed the call of the prophet Joel, whose words mark the scripture that is recognized on the first day of the Lenten season, Ash Wednesday:

Even now, declares the Lord, return to me with all your heart, with fasting, and weeping, and mourning; and rend your hearts and not your garments.  Return to the Lord your God, for he is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love; and he relents over disaster.

These times surely seem appropriate for me to take this word and see it expressed in how I choose to deal with grief, sorrow, and the general feeling when life doesn't seem to be going my way. This journey with Jesus is one also that he told me he would be bringing me into; it is one in which I am called to deny myself, take up the cross, and follow (Mark 8:34).

I know where this journey ends; with Jesus on the cross, yes, broken and dying, calling out in agony and wracked with fear and doubt. But beyond that, there is resurrection, which transforms the necessary journey of death into something that shatters the cosmos, that reorients all of human existence, and invites us fully into this work that he has started. It stirs within me the groaning desires that my condition will be redeemed, that the injustice in the world, around me, and that comes from my own guilty hands can somehow be formed anew.

Here, in this Lenten season, I am challenged to view the cross from above, as in Dali's haunting painting of Christ. His body looms massively over a darkened world, cloudy with uncertainty, but altogether subjected to the purity and light that emanates from that flawless body nailed to the beams. This threatens me, because I am loosed of my control, my vision, my ability to grasp, understand, and be right about what I am dealing with and that which affects me so deeply. I hope your Lenten journey, if not marked by some other form of sacrifice, can further draw you into more intimate union with this Christ who looms over all, and beckons that we follow him fully.