Lint.. er...Lent

I never grew up with Lent. Without counting Christmas and Easter, I never grew up with any knowledge of the liturgical calendar. All the other Christian holidays or events I knew about were associated with the ocean of popular Roman Catholic culture that I grew up in. While my Protestant minister parents didn't demonize Catholics as many of the other people in the missionary community did, there was definitely a sense of otherness between "us" and "them." It is little wonder, for even our most basic expressions of faith were very different. Even today, the Protestant church in Spain rarely embraces any traditional liturgical forms, for most of the Spaniards who convert to the Protestant branch of Christianity are often looking for an encounter with Christ separate from the Roman Catholic culture that has oppressed their country for centuries. Though I feel somewhat apologetic to any Roman Catholic readers, I use the word "oppress" in a very conscious way. The state and the church have been involved in a series of mutually beneficial power plays for the past 6 centuries. Most people are shocked to find out that the notorious Spanish Inquisition was still active until the first half of the 19th century! Even in recent memory, the church and state continued their dangerous dance during the ultra-conservative dictatorship of Francisco Franco. That is not to say that great Christian figures didn't emerge from these shadows; many inspiring figures, such as the spanish mystics or St. Ignatius of Loyola, have come from Spain (though it is worth noting that the Inquisition persecuted all of those people...). And it is not to say that I have not personally met Spanish Catholics whom I felt were honestly trying to reflect Jesus as well as any protestant. But growing up, especially in the protestant milieu, all things Catholic were associated with all things dark (see note below). Including its liturgical forms and traditions. All this to say: I had never even heard of Lent until I arrived in college.

My college was a Christian one, though very different from the environment I grew up in. Not only was it devoid of denominational conflict, it actually celebrated differences of expression. It was also a school where much of the faculty, not to mention most of the staff from the "office of spiritual life," came from liturgical backgrounds. It was there that I discovered Lent, Advent, and several other aspects of traditional Christianity that I would come to appreciate and relish. My year in England, with my frequent attendance at an ultra-"high church" Anglican community, cemented this affinity.

And how was I not supposed to like liturgy and Lent? The kind of angst ridden young man that I was (and in many ways continue to be, I'll begrudgingly admit) suddenly found a Christian tradition that demanded silence instead of ecstasy, one that recognized my innate sense of worthlessness and shame and did not look down on it. The Christian experience is a dichotomy between our innate worthlessness and our innate transformation into beings made newly worthy. The denominational expressions of my youth emphasized the latter in a way that I never could fully identify with.  Liturgical traditions did not make me ashamed of my human sense of inadequacy and unworthiness; rather, they accepted it, confronted me with it, and covered it in sackcloth and ash. Lent especially relishes this. It says, "You are ash. You are nothing. Dwell on this." It is a very powerful experience that asks its observers to simplify one's external life in order to see oneself more simply. To do so, most people enter a time of fasting.

Fasting is generally associated with giving up all or certain types of food, though in this modern age people often give up many different things in order to shake themselves out of the comforts of routine and engage in reflection and meditation. I have given up all forms of visual distraction or entertainment, which translates into tv, films, videogames, and non-essential internet use. It is amazing how much time I suddenly have, and how much reading, writing and thinking I am getting done. Self-denial has strangely given me a sense of peace and purpose that is welcome at this stage of life when it is easy to ignore the deeper things in life in favor of distractions and work. And while a lifetime of navel-gazing can often be unhealthy, it is good to look down at your navel from time to time and clear out the lint. What better time to do so than Lent?



Note: It is interesting that when I came to the US for college, I was suddenly introduced to a Catholicism that didn't have any spanish cultural baggage. It was an eye opening experience that radically changed my view of Roman Catholicism, its clergy and its laity. In fact there was a time where I tried quite hard to convert myself, with the help of John Henry Newman, to the church of Rome;  but unable to swallow its emphasis on the authority of church tradition, I dejectedly gave up.