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 When I was a child, I never had to walk to school uphill in the snow—both ways. It was south Texas and I rarely saw as much as a flurry. When it came to school transport, I rode in style—on a bus with my older brother and our friends.
I do, however, have my own version of that generational classic: When I was a child, I went to church on Sunday morning, Sunday night, and Wednesday night. In high school I also attended youth Bible study most weeks, so, including various classes and choir practice, I put in a minimum of nine church hours each week. This is incomprehensible to my children, who are at church activities a third of that time.
Members of our church joined another congregation for the Ash Wednesday service this year. My sons hadn’t exhibited any major attitude problems until they looked at the service booklet, flipped to the end, and realized it had fourteen pages. They couldn’t BELIEVE we were going to be there long enough to go through fourteen pages. They hoped we could sneak out after the imposition of ashes and before communion.
I had been looking at the same booklet, anticipating the beautiful words from The Book of Common Prayer, and having random thoughts about the seasonal decor in the sanctuary: “It looks like the cross has been caught in a purple butterfly net.”
The service was completely beautiful and came in at just under an hour. As we walked into the parking lot afterwards, I could tell the boys still thought it was above and beyond the call of duty. I said, “So you think Lent shouldn’t inconvenience you?”
The truth is I have no complaints about the hours I spent in church when I was growing up. I usually enjoyed it. I do experience the “inconvenience” of faith from time to time, though. Observation of the liturgical seasons has acquainted me with the idea of penitential seasons which last for weeks. When I’ve given up sweets or meat, or am practicing a challenging new discipline, forty days seemed like a long time.
I recently read a book (The Jesus Prayer) by Frederica Mathewes-Green, who converted to Orthodoxy as an adult. One of her observations about Orthodoxy is that they never stop repenting. Their understanding is that self-deception is so ingrained that you never reach the point where repentance is unnecessary.
Rather than being a gloomy practice, though, persistent repentance leads to a deeper understanding and experience of grace. Grace, in turn, nourishes peace, joy, and all things good. So I plan to immerse myself in this season of ashes, penitence, and sacrifice. It won’t be always be fun or convenient in the short run, but who in their right mind wants to live for the short run?
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