Give It Up or Embrace It?

Mention Lent and most people think deprivation. Fasting. Penitence. I get all that. But the fact is, part of my unique version of humanness is that I don't do well with deprivation or hair shirts. So Lent works better for me if I can reframe it as something I can welcome, embrace, and still go into the wilderness in some way.

For many years now, thanks to a beautiful young woman who is now an Episcopal priest, I have been "giving up" car radio for Lent (among other habits and practices that could use a course correction). But this year, it dawned on me that I could do so much more than give up car radio, which really amounts to whatever happens to be airing on Vermont Public Radio when I am driving.

I could embrace silence in the car. Easy for me to say. No kids in the back seat clamoring for attention. A pretty stale set of playlists on my iPod. Not a lot of other drivers in bad traffic to tempt me to yell. What I did not figure on was my own voice. Talking to myself.  Not exactly embracing silence.

Living in a small town means I usually have very short trips behind the wheel (NEXT Lent I might consider embracing walking more). But fairly frequently I also have hour-long drives on I-89, the postcard-beautiful highway where I regularly thank my lucky stars that I live in Vermont (as in "Oh my God, I am so lucky to live in Vermont!" said out loud with a little squeal and a big sigh). But I-89 is where the embrace-the-silence challenge comes in.

It's hard to shut up. Focus on my breath. Love those views and feel grateful. Listen. Listen. Observe without too much judgment where my mind goes. Bring it back to the breath. It's my wilderness. Imagine an overactive extrovert in the desert. That's me in my quiet car during Lent this year.

Don't get me wrong. There is a great freedom in the silent car. There is a vastness to explore there, lots of ideas and other chatter to note and walk away from.Most of the time, once I break the habit of turning on the radio immediately after turning the key in the ignition, I actually feel relieved. Alone at last, I think. Maybe alone with God. But definitely in a space I seldom inhabit otherwise. I recommend it.


And oh--lest you be be concerned I am driving around in a meditative fog and not paying attention, I can only assure you I think it is no worse than usual.

Ashes to Go or Not to Go?

Those "In The Episcopal Know" may be so over this question. Others may not care one whit or just wish we could get over ourselves. But I think the question is worth pondering. It is about so much more than ashes and even Ash Wednesday or Lent. Or maybe even The Church. I think it is about love and I am really big on love.

Background: On Ash Wednesday this week some very prominent leaders in the American Episcopal Church decided to take ashes to the people under the rubric "Ashes to Go." The Bishop of Washington, DC, the Rt Reverend Mariann Edgar Budde herself stood at the Foggy Bottom Metro Station offering to make the sign of the cross on any comer's forehead and repeat the phrase, "Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return."

In fact, priests across the country--some in response to the urging of their bishops--did the same, some of them with very human trepidations about looking stupid, being laughed at or ignored. Others, including some who decided against doing this, felt a genuine concern about whether the rites of The Church were being offered up on the cheap, out of context, just a stunt. Sort of Humility Lite, in contrast to the traditional blessing of the ashes offered in the context of a whole service (see

http://justus.anglican.org/resources/bcp/formatted_1979.htm) celebrating the beginning of Lent.

When I first heard about this outreach event, my Inner Cheerleader-for-Change came bouncing forward, pom-poms at the ready. Talk about Radical Hospitality. Not just welcoming people when they come through the doors on Sunday, but standing outside with the ashes on offer to anyone who might be walking by. I could hear the concerns, the worries about the church's sacraments, and I respect those concerns. One thing I have learned about trying to make change happen is that it is critically important to listen very, very carefully to the naysayers. But, I thought..."What is the absolute worst thing that can happen here? No takers? A few sneers?"

My two favorite anecdotes from surfing the Ashes-to-Go Stratosphere are these:

From The Reverend Kym Lucas, Rector at St. Margaret's Episcopal Church on Connecticut Avenue in Washington, DC--Twenty people stopped at St. Margaret's steps: some out of curiosity, some in gratitude, some not even sure why they stopped. A bus driver ran across 6 lanes of traffic; a harried traveler passed me by but doubled back to make time for a prayer and ashes. The weather held, and the liturgical context was made by the presence of the Spirit. And I realized in the process that I was being blessed.

From the recently ordained Reverend Auburn Watersong of Christ Church Episcopal, Montpelier, VT, the place I call home--I was expecting maybe 3 folks (rushing by during their lunch hour) might stop. 18 folks actually stopped for ashes - and my favorite: the 20-something gal who left the arm of her (slightly surprised) boyfriend as she exclaimed "I love Ash Wednesday!" then took one giant, enthusiastic step right up to me, looked me straight in the eyes and said "Lay it on me!" AWESOME.

My Inner Cheerleader is even more pumped than usual about Radical Hospitality. My head is popping with ideas for creating new paths to spiritual awakening, including my own. Ashes-to-Go was an outward and visible sign of love and welcome in some of the most unexpected places. Meeting people where they are. Giving them what we can of what they need. Upside unknown, but surely promising.

The Gift of Lent

Just about the time I don't think I can hug myself any tighter against the cold and dark that settled in about Thanksgiving, the light starts to change more dramatically each day and I feel restless to throw off the heavy coat of winter. It's Lent again, a chance to let in the new light and do a big tidy up.

For many childhood years "straightening up my dresser drawers" was on the weekly chores list. In my family, the rationale for this was to avoid the mortification that would surely ensue if we were suddenly taken to the hospital and someone needed to get clean pajamas from a messy dresser.

It seems to me Lent always comes at the moment when my "dresser" is at its messiest and I just can't take it any more. Forget about whether someone else could find my pajamas. The new light is revealing all the dust motes. I have bought yet another size 4 16" circular knitting needle and gone home to find two others. I have failed to pay one bill and paid another one twice. This year, my first since I retired from paid work, my head is spinning with alternate answers to the "What next?" question.I don't know whether I am coming or going. I choose to think this is a transition (as opposed to an utter and irreversible disintegration) and we all know that while transitions by definition come to an end, we don't know where, how, or when.

But here comes Lent. To the rescue. A time to take a big, deep spiritual breath. To rest open for awhile, waiting for that nudge that will push me toward new paths. I don't know who pushes the Nudge Button. Maybe God. Maybe God Within. Maybe the Great Spirit of the Seasons. Maybe none of the above. What I do know is that resting open -- heart, mind, and soul -- is a prerequisite to the nudge. I will not feel the nudge without it. I will not feel the nudge if I am hugging myself tightly against the cold dark.

What a gift this time is. Simply to rest open, to be open, to what will come. And to tidy my dresser while awaiting the call.