It is a perfect Saturday afternoon. Coffee with my love this morning. Spent time at the Y with the family around lunchtime. Polishing, buffing, and spit-shining the HOG out in the garage this afternoon whilst the late-great Stevie Ray wailed on his guitar for me from a cheap, old garage-worthy jambox.
As I write this unusual Saturday-afternoon entry, I can see Highway 59 from my bedroom window. A veritable parking lot. Construction all weekend that we locals know to avoid at all costs. It is certainly not a down time for them. But for me, with the sun shining in my window as I type with grease under my fingernails and brake dust on the backs of my hands, I find myself overwhelmed with gratitude to God. For this day? Yes. For more? Absolutely. And most of that "more" has to do with the way God has been working on me for the past couple of months.
This year has turned out to be the most meaningful experience I have ever had with Lent, or the "Pre-Easter Season" as my non-Catholic inclinations tell me to call it. Whatever.
When I entered this season on what feels like a forever-Wednesday ago, I decided not to eat bread. Strangely enough, going without this staple of my life has brought clarity and peace like I have never felt before. Other than a couple of special occasions that I will tell you more about some other time, the season has been bread-free.
But tonight, the family and I will dine at the home of new friends we have made through our kids' school and the Y. The menu: Pizza. Oh, glorious, loveable, kissable pizza. I feel about pizza the way I feel about beaches. When it's good, it's really good; and when it's bad, it's still pretty good. If I can adapt an old-American saying for my own purposes: "Pizza is proof that God wants us to be happy."
But what about Lent? Pizza is made on bread. Wonderful, whey-protein infused bread. So what gives?
Tomorrow is Palm Sunday, the beginning in many traditions of a seven-to-eight day period called "Holy Week."
When I lived in Tyler, my church that I went to in order to be an anonymous congregant was Christ Episcopal downtown. It was where I could just go "be." Not in charge. No responsibility. Go be grateful. Go be a recipient. Go be a soaker in the hot tub of grace. It was there that I became enamored with Holy Week, and the daily worship that went with it. We did "Eight Days of Worship" at Glenwood a couple of times, but without a history of such rhythms, it is hard to pull off year-after-year.
But for me personally, tomorrow marks the beginning of my favorite week of the year. In some ways, it is a ramped-up version of the past couple of months. So tonight, as I prepare for this week, tonight is a time for celebration. For friends. And for pizza. Thanks be to God.
Tomorrow begins a week of fasting. Not going a week without food, mind you. But some other, more specific, deeply personal things that in the tradition of Jesus' teaching on fasting in the Sermon on the Mount will remain six feet under the surface of my own heart.
The one public part of this week is what I will begin this coming Tuesday, a four-day-in-a-row series of reflections on the ancient tradition of the Stations of the Cross.
I realize these kinds of traditions are not for everyone, particularly if you grew up in a setting where the very things I am describing here were used against you in oppressive and manipulative ways. I get that. Different things fire the hearts of people in different ways. In all fairness, the one thing I have neither understood nor appreciated about Lent is the idea that the pre-Lenten days are a time for indulgence and willful sin. That does not make sense to me. Never has. It strikes me as counter to a gospel of new creation. I hope that does not come across as holier-than-thou. I do not claim to better than anyone. (Well... except people who ride scooters.) But as one who is being saved by grace, I do not understand Mardi Gras. Sorry. It just doesn't make sense.
But some things do make sense:
Practicing trust in God.
Seasons of prayer.
Recommitment to faith.
Recommitment to calling.
Reconciling bitterness that manifests present wounds.
Joining Christians around the world in celebrating the death, burial, and resurrection of the Lord.
Gathering with others who confess Jesus week-after-week-after-week.
And pizza. Pizza that in some ways will be a shared meal that from my personal perspective on this particular Saturday will include gratitude to God, gratitude for new friends, gratitude for reflective impulses, and gratitude that when it comes to devotion, God desires mercy far more than sacrifice.
