I grew up Catholic, which included not only going to Mass every Sunday with my dad but also attending mandatory Ash Wednesday services at my Catholic school. Lent calls to mind scribbling things I would give up onto elementary school worksheets–”This year, I’m giving up pop for Lent”– and seeing ashes smeared all over everything in the classroom by the end of the day.

eMy first introduction to Lent as a practice was when my daughter came home from church youth group. She told me what she had learned and said she was trying to decide what to 'give up' for Lent. I was drawn in by a middle school youth talking about giving up social media. During the next week I dug into the history and meaning of Lent. Lent is actually a word that simply means the season of spring. It has been a Christian practice first acknowledged in the early 300's AD. It is presently celebrated in the church calendar year (Liturgical Calendar) year.

My folks started a Baptist church (Salem Baptist, now Gracepoint, in New Brighton) along with three couples who were all affiliated with Bethel Seminary. We were new to Minnesota because my dad had taken a job at Honeywell. The year was 1961. The other families attended Elim Baptist in Mpls. Nordeast and wanted to expand to start a second church, which was considered mission work. We had just moved to Minnesota from Illinois for the first time (there would be two more moves back to Minnesota). I was four years old.

I didn’t grow up with Lent. Attending a non-dom, e-free church meant we didn’t consider Lent as long as we were saved - born again. Our focus was on saving others; there was evangelizing work to accomplish. But as an adult, I was introduced to Lent while attending an episcopal church and experienced it in the same way I’ve been introduced to folk dancing; I tend to get tripped up lost in the fundamentals.

In Christian tradition, Lent echoes the forty days Jesus fasted and was tempted before beginning his ministry. The story of those forty days is set “in the wilderness.” In this story, the wilderness is a barren place, harsh, devoid of food and water. It is seen as a place of difficulty, where Jesus was tempted against the test of despair. In memorializing the wilderness of Jesus’ place and time, we are asked to give up something, to do without.

For years, my friend Maggie and I have been wishing each other a “Happy Lent.” The spring we gave up sugar, the spring she was waiting for her first child to be born, the spring I went on antidepressants, the spring we tried the “add a practice” alternative to Lenten deprivation—each of these years it was the same: a text from her in Michigan to me in Minnesota, or vice versa: “Happy Lent!” with some kind of celebration emoji. This doesn’t on the surface make much sense; Lent is not liturgically earmarked to be a happy time. So why the delight in its arrival? I’ve been trying to think about that.

For years, my friend Maggie and I have been wishing each other a “Happy Lent.” The spring we gave up sugar, the spring she was waiting for her first child to be born, the spring I went on antidepressants, the spring we tried the “add a practice” alternative to Lenten deprivation—each of these years it was the same: a text from her in Michigan to me in Minnesota, or vice versa: “Happy Lent!” with some kind of celebration emoji. This doesn’t on the surface make much sense; Lent is not liturgically earmarked to be a happy time. So why the delight in its arrival? I’ve been trying to think about that.

In my childhood, Lent meant 7 weeks of the mystery & beauty of seven Wednesday evening candlelit liturgical services added to our family’s otherwise dull routine. The lights were dimmed each week during the pastor’s sermons to help people focus on the pulpit - the only other illumination being the flickering altar candles until the closing hymn when the house lights came back. As a sleepy toddler, I was allowed to stretch out on the pew bench and doze during the sermon. I loved those special moments in the quiet sanctuary with its soaring ceiling, huge windows (now dark) and the somber solemnity and ritual. So to me, Lent — with its looming dramatic shadows of Jesus’ cross — primarily meant adding extra worship rather than sacrificially giving up something.

In my childhood, Lent meant 7 weeks of the mystery & beauty of seven Wednesday evening candlelit liturgical services added to our family’s otherwise dull routine. The lights were dimmed each week during the pastor’s sermons to help people focus on the pulpit - the only other illumination being the flickering altar candles until the closing hymn when the house lights came back. As a sleepy toddler, I was allowed to stretch out on the pew bench and doze during the sermon. I loved those special moments in the quiet sanctuary with its soaring ceiling, huge windows (now dark) and the somber solemnity and ritual. So to me, Lent — with its looming dramatic shadows of Jesus’ cross — primarily meant adding extra worship rather than sacrificially giving up something.

I had the good fortune this month (March 2022) to visit Southern Nebraska to observe the Great Migration of the Sandhill Cranes.  It was one of those bucket list things.  In my over 60 years of living, I have seen the Cranes on the prairie and heard them in the skies of South Dakota as they moved in the Spring and Fall but never before now, did I have the opportunity to see the great gathering of Sandhill Cranes along the Platte River.  The two days that I chose in March were filled with clouds and snow, not the beautiful sunsets filled with cranes that the photographers capture. Even in those less than perfect viewing conditions, I was moved.

Lent is actually my favorite church season. Unlike Advent, during Lent I give myself permission to plod along, to be thoughtful in my daydreams, to delight in my successes, to ponder my shortcomings and to wonder about God’s purpose for me in the world.

By both nature and nurture I am a planner. I'm organized and make plans for the future days, weeks and months ahead of time. I plan for worst and best case scenarios and everything in-between. In my work I move quickly between projects. The pace of my workday does not leave time for my mind to process and reflect on one meeting before I launch into the next.

The season of lent is a time of preparation and mourning for us members of the Christian faith for the suffering that our saviour Jesus Christ had to endure in order to sacrifice his life for our sins, over two thousand years ago. ("Passions Zeit")-Regarding lent, we are reminded that our congregation was started in 1886 by immigrants from Germany and Switzerland.

By both nature and nurture I am a planner. I'm organized and make plans for the future days, weeks and months ahead of time. I plan for worst and best case scenarios and everything in-between. In my work I move quickly between projects. The pace of my workday does not leave time for my mind to process and reflect on one meeting before I launch into the next.

I saw a Tweet that said, “For Lent, I’m giving up.”

I think there is supposed to be a bit of dark humor to it as we enter the third year of a pandemic that didn’t have to be this way, continued systemic racism, yet another war, and countless other tragedies.

Ash Wednesday has become one of the most meaningful days for me in the liturgical calendar. I love the realness of it. I love the truth being spoken of the reality of our impermanence. I love the profound, simple and intimate act of having the minister dip their thumb in ash and mark my forehead while they state: You are dust and to dust you will return.