It is Lent, that season of the liturgical year when we are to reflect, repent, retreat into a private God-space. This year I intend to post a few times a week throughout Lent, with the hope that writing Lenten Thoughts By the Number will help me to center.
Yesterday was Ash Wednesday, a special day in my view for many reasons, the most important of which is that my father, Bert Odell Bishop, died on Ash Wednesday in 2009. He actually died on 2/25/09, but it was Ash Wednesday, and that matters.
So, Daddy and Lent. Well, he was raised Baptist in a little southern Illinois church. Lent wasn't especially important to Daddy, due largely to the fact that he was born in 1917, making him 12 when the Depression hit. For southern Illinois, as for much of the South, "Somebody told us Wall Street fell/But we were so poor, we couldn't tell" (Alabama's "Song of the South"). Going without, sacrificing, was so much a part of life he didn't need a special reminder from on high. Daddy later completed a Master's degree, with work toward a Ph.D., but at 13 he had to drop out of school to work. Sacrifice. Doing without. Just part of life, shrug it off and move on. The early experience in Daddy's view exempted him from the practice of giving something up for Lent.
When I was little, I saw Ash Wednesday as belonging to the Catholics. Now, many United Methodist churches offer Ash Wednesday services, but I don't remember them in my youth. Lent, however, we did. The altar vestments were purple, the mood penitent. We sang hymns like "O Sacred Head Now Wounded," words from the Latin, music by Bach. Impressive, even without a pipe organ.
Juxtaposing my dad's life with Lent is likely interesting only to me, but it does help me to reflect on sacrifice. The 40 days are modeled after Jesus' time in the wilderness, when he resisted temptation while sacrificing comfort. For most of us, that translates to giving up something we like, coffee or cigarettes or beer or chocolate. Or maybe we add on something, like reading from classic theologians, or increasing our time in prayer--or writing more regular blog entries. A little artificial, perhaps, but still the act of reflective, penitent souls.
Daddy didn't do Lent, but he did life. Jesus calls us to do both.
This first of the series reads a bit preachy. I promise not to do much of that!
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1 comment:
First, let em say that I love Alabama's "Song of the South," but I never really noticed that line. Thanks for that.
It's interesting to think about the ways in which Lent evolves over time, and how it manifests for different people of different faith backgrounds. For example, my Greek Orthodox great-grandparents were really pretty poor, too, but my great grandma Zoi kept every aspect of fasting for Lent so strictly that toward the end of her life the priest made a special point of telling her to stop because of her health.
The other side of the family, staunch Methodists, no doubt reveled in the purple vestment, singing "Sacred Head Now Wounded" or "Wondrous Cross," and giving things up, as I did in my youth. (I grew up Methodist, too.)
You say, "A little artificial, perhaps, but still the act of reflective, penitent souls." I'm not sure I'd say it's artificial, but I definitely say that I cannot even fathom the depth of sacrifice required, and I know my writing and thinking doesn't even skim the surface of where I'd like to be.
Nice post. I enjoyed it and your challenge. :)
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