On Lent and Liturgical Living

Lent is a season I have never participated in. This comes from my church background: the two churches I was a part of in my adolescence were not too big on the "liturgical year."

The Mercy House—the past several years especially—has been looking back to rich, historical Christian traditions for the bolstering of the community and of the individual's stance before God.

This church, my church, as its sister churches and mother church (Muncie Alliance), teaches through Scripture chapter-by-chapter. Other than on holidays—holy days, if you will—we step through the Bible at a slowly measured pace. I believe it took the Mercy House six years to go from Matthew to the final word in Revelation. And now we're in Genesis.

At times I wonder how this targeted focus on chapters affects our ability to speak to the new visitors, to the skeptical or unbelieving that may be in the crowd. It doesn't take long to remember that the fact and concept of the "Good News" is really spread throughout the Bible; in Genesis we find the first seeds and hints of it, emitting an aroma anchored in memory, such as when you visit a new place that has the smell of your grandmother's basement.

Sometimes I think of the step-by-step teaching approach and wonder whether more focus on encouraging community from the "pulpit" would benefit our church. Again, the reality is that the essence of community is woven throughout Scripture, whether it's the importance of the Israelites to cherish their traditions together or it's Jesus' calling of twelve men—among many other committed followers—to live in particular community with.

Community comes out of a coming together. It comes out of the collective desire to meet; to share equally in joy, mediocrity, and pain; to become one mind and one heart, driven by individual minds and hearts.

Today is Ash Wednesday. I will be attending the Mercy House's first Ash Wednesday service, as well as my own. Whether or not I will return with ash on my forehead like acquaintances in high school did or not I cannot say. But already I am clinging to the concept of giving up, of sacrifice.

Here's the impetus for this post: I have wrestled for a long time with wondering why I "do what I do not want to do, and do not do what I want to." Why I can visualize who I want to be, who I can be, how I want to spend my time. To be explicit: I am an introverted morning-person at heart. But I haven't been living like that for a long time, and it has taken a toll. This morning, reflecting some on Lent, the following (approximate) words came to mind:

Becoming is unbecoming. To say "yes" to one thing is to say "no" to another. The removal of self is so often the removal of unnecessary weight that allows one to rise to the call.

So, today, I am drawing a line in the sand. Several lines make up this big line. My self-discipline "muscles" are atrophied and tired but the only way to regain strength/grow stronger is to exercise them.