Fast

[Editor’s Note: below is a response to the writing prompt “Here’s a Lenten sacrifice I made and what I learned from that choice…”]

“And the Spirit immediately drove him out into the wilderness. He was in the wilderness forty days, tested by Satan, and he was with the wild beasts, and the angels waited on him.”
Mark 1: 12-13

In 1974, Ash Wednesday fell on February 28. My United Methodist youth group had committed to fast, not only on Ash Wednesday, but every Wednesday during that forty-day season of Lent. Each Wednesday evening, we met at the church after sunset, read scriptures, sang hymns, and prayed. At the end of the service, we would break the fast when we took communion.

The tradition of a Lenten fast is primarily observed in the Catholic Church, where fasting on Ash Wednesday and Good Friday are obligatory, and abstinence, usually from meat, is practiced on Fridays (hence the ever-popular Friday fish fry!). Although I had a lot of Catholic friends, I had never fasted before, and I had no idea what to expect. But when you are a teenager, and lots of your friends in youth group decide to fast, well, there are worse choices you might make.

At first it was fairly easy to avoid eating on Wednesdays, but as the weeks went on, it became more and more challenging to wait for that morsel of bread and shot of grape juice on Wednesday evening. At school, I would sit with my youth group friends during lunch lest any of us were tempted to eat solid food.

The choice not to eat from sunrise to sunset on Wednesdays was a spiritually and psychically formative time for me. I still remember it as a season of sacrifice, but one that was chosen and shared. The experience of shared denial was one that forged strong relationships as we all came to know and understand just a wee bit better the sacrifice of Christ in the desert for those forty days and nights.

I have practiced many spiritual disciplines during the seasons of Lent that have transpired since then. Some have been the practices of letting go, others the experience of taking on something new. All of them have taught me things about myself that were edifying. However, the decision to fast during that Lenten season of 1974 became a touchstone experience, one that I recall with gratitude whenever Lent arrives.

-Leigh Goodrich

Gifts

[Editor’s Note: this year, as in each of the years since SUMC’s Lenten Devotions ventured online in 2019, we’ve provided potential writers a list of open-ended “writing prompts” with which to work, if they chose. Each year, there’s been something of a theme running through them. This year, that connective idea is the title of Pastor Leigh’s planned Lenten study: “Embracing the Uncertain: a Lenten Study for Uncertain Times”.]

I am having a tough time getting started with writing my response to this prompt. This is the prompt that got my attention, though, so I am thinking it is the one I need to write about.

I lost a dear friend, recently. She came into my life because we both wanted to share what we had been given. I never would have met her, if things weren’t really, really bad for some folks that we each grew to love; and from that love, we loved each other.

We loved differently, she and I knew that, and we learned things from each other through some really, really hard times. We valued our ability to talk together, and cry and laugh, and we knew more because we knew each other.

It was easy to point a finger and blame someone for this really, really bad stuff we were dealing with, and we seemed to take turns doing the blaming. And one of us would remind the other that blaming didn’t help, right after we vented at the other. I was thankful for my friend, and pictured us growing old together, being there taking turns with other joys and frustrations.

Then, she got sick and died, which was the latest in a string of way too many losses lately. It was, and still is, a thing so sad to process.

The thing is, though, that I have been given a way to see the light in our relationship, even though I can’t see it in her eyes anymore.

Which brings me to that writing prompt. I am afraid others are not receiving the Gifts I have been given.

I am most concerned about things that I can’t do a great deal about. I can’t end any of the wars that we hear about every day. I can’t feed all those that need to be fed. I can’t do a whole lot of things. I have been able to accept that, because I knew I had joined a whole lot of people doing what they could to make the world a better place.

Lately it seems I am hearing and reading a whole lot more than I used to that says “Christ says I am right, and you are wrong”.

This really troubles me. And, I try to remember I am usually more apt to see better in the days of light than I am in the shorter, colder days. So, I give myself pep talks and/or lectures, and remind myself that sometimes, it takes some really, really bad stuff to bring us into light and love that makes all the difference. I may have lost lunches with a dear friend, but my life is stronger because I met her, knew her, and we loved each other, even though we were different. I am a better person because of that love.

I want us to remember that this time, Lent, is one that is hard, and is always followed with the Resurrection story. I am having difficulty at times, no question; I am not always really fast at looking for the Light, even knowing it is there. It seems that writing this may be the reminder I needed. There is a lot more than I can control that makes a difference in my life, and there are some who use words to inspire fear, or promote selfishness, and that has been true in different ways for a long, long time. Light and Love are ours, what we do with these gifts is the decision we control. I Thank God.

-Cindi Bockweg

A Poem for this Ash Wednesday/Valentine’s Day

by Maren Tirabassi

If I speak in tongues of justice or spirituality,
but do not have ashes,
I am a self-congratulating vigil,
a Sunday service inspired by itself.

If I have social media outreach,
a labyrinth in the church garden,
Bible study in the brew-pub,
and if I have a capital campaign,
to remove pews, put in church chairs
and even add a coffee shop,
but do not have ashes, I am nothing.

If I give to church-wide offerings,
and go on mission trips so that I may boast,
but do not have ashes, I gain nothing.

Ashes are awkward; ashes are dirty;
ashes, like love,
are not envious, boastful, arrogant or rude.
Ashes do not insist on a perfect Lent;
they do not even need to be in church
or be a gimmick getting folks to church;
they do not inventory wrongdoing,
especially the wrongdoing of others,

but rejoice in the precious now,
the very fragility of life.

Ashes bear love, believe in love,
hope in the possibility
of forgiveness for everyone,
endure even times of lovelessness.

Forgiveness never ends.
As for spiritual practices,
they will come to an end;
as for precious old hymns
and passionate praise songs,
they will grow quiet;
as for theology and faith formation,
believe me, it will shift and change again.

For churches are always reaching
for a part of things,
while those who flee church
reach for another part,
but, when the full forgiveness comes,
it will look more like Valentine’s Day.

When I was a child, I said “I love you,”
I cut out pink and red hearts,
I sent them to everyone, even the bullies,
but when I became an adult,
I decided to make it more complicated.

Now in our churches and lives
we have become too fond of mirrors,
but some day we will see each other
face to smudged face.
Now I love only in part;
then I will love fully,
even as I have been fully loved.

Today ashes, dust,
and a child’s pink paper art abide, these three;
but the greatest of these is the heart.

-[submitted anonymously]

Schedule Conflict

“I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. 35 By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.”
John 13:34-35

Happy Valentine’s Day!

Also, hello Ash Wednesday.

Of course, while doing my due diligence and planning for Lent as a choir director, I wondered, “goodness! When was the last time THAT confluence of events occurred? I can’t remember!” Since there are a finite number of days upon which the beginning of Lent may fall, it has to have happened before … but when? WHEN??

I scrambled to my local laptop and looked that up, like a good little journalism major.

Um, 2018.

Six Lents ago. Only.

Huh. Clearly I can’t remember.

Similarly, a number of news outlets sent their cub reporters on missions to track down the answers to this breathless question: Can You Celebrate Valentine’s Day on Ash Wednesday?

For its part, the National Catholic Register is very, very clear on this point: um. no. No discussion, no debate, not a shred of doubt about it, thank you and good night. You want to have a lovely romantic night out? That’s what Fat Tuesday is for.

(Not to miss an opportunity, many online articles on news websites were punctuated with dynamic ad insertions along the lines of: “Lent 2024: Calling all fish lovers! Here are 17 must-try local restaurants to get fish”. The ads seemed a rather jarring intrusion.)

Given that Valentine’s Day, in all likelihood, is a more recent invention than Ash Wednesday… yeah, at the very least it’s a “who got here first?” issue, a liturgical playground-banter “nuh-UHHH” question. Fair is fair.

Also, yes, as a wise person once said, “if you fail to plan, plan to fail.” Given the dogged determination of people to celebrate Valentine’s Day ON Valentine’s Day, a February 12th or 13th dinner reservation might not have been that difficult to score. Two birds, one stone.

Anyway, there’s not a lot of historical proof to suggest that St. Valentine was anything remotely like a hopeless romantic, worthy of a hearts-and-flowers holiday. So, like an unwelcome interloper, that idea is properly grabbed by the upper arms and hustled out of the room, struggling and protesting.

And why should we support that big ol’ Enforced-Romance-Industrial Complex anyway? I mean really.

These are, of course … excuses.

Ash Wednesday, as the beginning of Lent, represents the start of the journey that brought Jesus to the cross, to death, and resurrection … a journey undertaken out of love for humanity, and a love that clearly cannot be adequately expressed by boxes of chocolates, bouquets of roses, or nights out on the town.

Hmm. Seems obvious, now that I write it out.

And, for the next thirty-nine days, you will get to read more Lenten devotions, written out by members and friends of Sudbury UMC.

Hope you love them.

-Rob Hammerton

[Editor’s Note: If you enjoy these Lenten Devotions, why not consider writing one of your own? Send Rob an eMail at rhammerton@charter.net and ask how!]