The Joy of Lent

In a previous diocese, I once heard my bishop say that he was suspicious of people who like Lent. At the time, I did not have the temerity to tell him that I am suspicious of bishops who say that they are suspicious of people who like Lent. Looking back, however, I am fairly confident my bishop already knew that, at least in that regard, we were a little suspicious of each other.

I love Lent. During this penitential season, we sing some of my favorite hymns. The readings from the Daily Office and the Sunday-morning lectionary are particularly poignant. We are set free from some of the cultural strictures that ordinarily prevent us from have honest and open conversations about taboo subjects like sin, judgement, mortality, and death. More than anything, this feels like a season when normal people—not just church geeks like me—actually want to come to church and are willing, if not eager, to show up more than once a week.

I do not think that people are eager to come to church to hear a message of guilt, shame, and misery. We already get too much of those things from the world. If the only thing that Lent had to offer us was more of that kind of suffering, I would not want to be here either, and I would join my former bishop in being suspicious of anyone who did. But Lent is not a time for manufactured shame and misery. It is an opportunity to experience the joy of a real and meaningful return to God.

Every year during Lent church attendance goes up. People whom I otherwise never see in church show up as if a homing beacon implanted in their soul has suddenly switched on. While it is true that many of our Lenten offerings are unique to the season and offer opportunities for spiritual engagement that we cannot get the rest of the year, I believe that many of us who grew up in the Christian tradition but who have since wandered away feel a strong pull to return to the basics of Christian practice during the season of Lent. It is as if even the least dedicated churchgoer remembers that these forty days are a time to get ready for something important and worthwhile.

This week, as Lent begins, I feel a strange and unexpected joy filling my heart and making me smile. It is the joy that comes from resting more completely in the arms of God. It is like the satisfaction of a good workout, which is harder than we want it to be yet exactly as challenging as we had hoped. The chance to be intentional about our relationship with God and express that relationship in physically demanding ways like fasting, waking up early to pray, sitting in silence, and kneeling in God’s presence is ultimately clarifying. The practice of Lent helps me be the person I truly want to be—the person God has made me to be—but that kind of renewal does not come cheap.

The spiritual disciplines of Lent can be especially arduous. For most of Christian history, the faithful gave up not only meat like chicken, beef, and pork but also eggs, cheese, butter, and milk. Even today, many Christians practice the sort of strict fasting our Islamic siblings practice during Ramadan, giving up all food and drink—even water—from sunrise to sunset. As Episcopalians, we are more likely to give up chocolate, sodas, alcohol, or caffeine, which may not seem as significant, but any sacrifice we make for the entire season of Lent is meaningful.

Even those who do not fast experience the rigors of penitence. This Sunday, we will begin our worship with the Great Litany, and we will start every other Lenten Sunday except Palm Sunday with the Penitential Order, both of which means extra time kneeling in church. We give up saying “alleluia” in worship, which may not sound especially difficult, but our congregation feels the cumulative consequence of holding back that part of our joy.

The reason this season of spiritual renewal comes with such a high cost is that our renewal is accomplished by living into the truth that this world and its value-system are not the source of our true joy. All of the things we associate with the “good life” in this world—money, security, beauty, full plates, and creature comforts—cannot sustain us for the life to come. In one way or another, they are the very things the disciplines of Lent invite us to give up. Remembering that not only with our minds but with our whole selves requires us to sacrifice some of the things that make us happy in this life so that we can shift our attachment away from them and back to God. The process is hard, but the results are totally worth it. 

Spiritual disciplines are not supposed to be easy, but they are supposed to bring us joy. Even two days in, if your Lenten practices are not nourishing your spirit in profound and joyful ways, you might need to find a new Lenten practice. Keep in mind, though, that joy and happiness are not the same thing. Disney World may be the “happiest place on earth,” but true joy—that deep, soul-satisfying, purposeful fulfillment that we need to be complete—is found by returning to our Maker.

I remain suspicious of anyone who refuses to accept that the challenging journey of Lent is not worth it. If we do it right, this season will bring us deep and abiding joy. It may cost us a lot to get there, but the fruit of this spiritual labor is nothing less than a return to God.

Yours faithfully,

Evan D. Garner