Entering the Wilderness

I often think to myself that Lent is one of my favorite seasons. Which is kind of funny, since I also seem to be particularly bad at it. As a former Catholic, I still tend to associate Lent with self-deprivation-- a season of fasting, of giving up luxuries like television and chocolate. And as a Catholic, I was never very good at self-deprivation. I remember years that I gave up chocolate, and finding ways to sneak a bite before Easter Sunday came around. I remember one year in particular, when I decided to give up sweets, and then, about halfway through Lent, my order of Girl Scout cookies came in. Needless to say, my Lenten discipline went down the drain in about as much time as it takes to open a box of Samoas.

Every year, I gave up something. And every year, I failed miserably. Yet Lent has always remained my favorite liturgical season. I guess the only explanation is that it has nothing to do with me, and everything to do with the meaning of the season.

I love Lent because it is a time when we get to be explicit about our foibles and failings as human beings. It is a time when we don't have to pretend to be perfect. It is a time for us to recognize our own brokenness, and the brokenness of the world around us, without feeling like we're killing the mood. Lent is all about being in the wilderness-- it's all about journeying into the dark places of our lives, and having faith that we can make it out again come Easter time.

To help me reflect on the meaning of Lent this year, I have been reading the theology of Sallie McFague. She uses a metaphor that I find particularly meaningful as we enter into the Lenten season. She lifts up the metaphor of the world as God's body. Every aspect of creation, she says, is a part of the very Body of God. As the creator of the world, God is "radically present" in every part of the world. This Lent, I would like to keep that metaphor in front of me as I seek yet again to enter into the wilderness. If I see the world as God's body, how does that change the way I interact with it? How does it change the way I interact with other people? With creation itself? In so many ways, it seems, the world is broken. If I see the world as God's body-- would I not see it as imperative to try and mend it? And if I see the world as God's body-- am I not a part of that as well? Is not my own fate connected to the fate of all God's creatures? Is not their peril my peril?

This Lent, I seek to interact with the world as if it is indeed God's body. I seek to act on the knowledge of my connection with all of God's marvelous creation. If I give up anything, it is my own complacency and apathy-- which may turn out to be a much harder thing to give up than chocolate. But I suppose if I'm serious about my faith, then I have to try. Who's with me?