The Fast and the Feast

By

“Dust you are. To dust you shall return.”

I don’t know what I expected, but somehow the way ashes felt as they smeared on my skin surprised me. There was nothing airy and mystical about this ritual. It felt as ashes probably should, like grit and earth, holding lightness and weight together. I didn’t feel the somber emotions I expected either, but I quietly took my place back in my seat for the rest of the service.

I’ve practiced Lent off and on for the past few years, ever since I realized I was tired of Easter sneaking up, but this February marked my first step into the Ash Wednesday tradition. Chris had to work that night, so I took the step mostly alone. Somehow though, I kind of liked it that way — just me in the middle of the pew, contemplating how very short life is. The service ended in quiet and darkness. Some of us filed out in silence, while others stayed, heads bowed, until who knows how late.

After the service, I pulled my beanie down over my smudged forehead, drove around Providence in the dark (mostly lost, unfortunately), and stopped at our favorite bakery to buy two Valentine’s Day cupcakes. Strange to go straight from meditations of death to pretty little indulgences. Such is the tension of Lent.

***

Recently, I read this was the best season of the church calendar because there was no way the rest of the world would hijack and commercialize it to death. It makes sense. A world bent on consuming, selling, “Eat drink and be merry”; a world that uses slogans like “Because You’re Worth It” to convince us to buy something as boring as shampoo; a world that encourages every individual to be come a little god at the center of a little universe — how would that kind of world know what to do with a season of grief, reflecting on the the way our temporal bodies fade, fade, fade like summer grass? What can you do? Is Lent even a thing to celebrate?

And odder still, I wonder if even the best of us ever face this season with pure motives. For the first time in a few years, I “gave something up.” Do I think to pray when I catch myself wanting the thing I gave up? Am I going around with death on my mind, with sin and penitence coloring all my conversation in gray? Isn’t that how you’re “supposed to feel”?

This morning, as I was opening up the shades, I saw a little rustling movement on the tree outside my bedroom window. Two sparrows, hopping around in the branches, no doubt enjoying the warmer turn in weather. Spring is starting to crack the shell of winter all around me. It’s kind of hard to mourn forever.

***

Perhaps, that’s part of the beauty of Lent, the part that’s easy to miss when we’re tallying how we did giving up chocolate or Facebook or whatever it is. I used to think it was a solid six weeks of self-denial and moping about how awful I am. But traditionally, Sunday is a feast day, and interspersed in this season are moments of hope and celebration. We are reminded that we are dust. We are also reminded of fierce love and resurrection. We are still to gather together in hospitality, feasting, wild hope.

All of our life on earth is an exercise in learning to live in tension. We need solitude, yes, but we need other people. We are dust, but we are more than that. Our bodies are both the least and the most important aspect of our whole selves, so intwined with our souls. When religious folks, no doubt the sort who would actually do Lent “right,” took offense at Jesus’ feasting, he countered “Why would you fast when the bridegroom is here?”

We fast because we still wait. We feast because he was and is here.

We live in a remarkable state of both ashes and glory, of withering and flourishing, of sacrifice, darkness, pretty cupcakes and laughter around the table. We dream of what’s coming and what already is.

This celebration doesn’t make much sense in a soulless economy. But to us, it’s the fast and the feast worth celebrating.

Jen was born and raised in central Florida, but now lives in the strange land of southern New England. Her words have appeared in TS Poetry’s Every Day Poems, CCM Magazine, and other publications, and she recently released her first poetry collection Ruins & Kingdoms. Some of her favorite things include used bookstores, good coffee, messing about in the kitchen, and local adventures with her husband Chris.


4 Comments

  1. Julie Witmer

    Thank you for sharing this, Jen! That tension is something I have been thinking about lately while reading “Parables of the Cross” by Lilias Trotter. She beautifully illustrates with pen and paint how the natural world shows us this truth about the already/not yet. (highly recommended!)

    But you can also see it by just looking outside this spring. Seek out a plant that is still holding on to ragged foliage and stems from last year, but already also starting into bud! The clematis vine, hardy geraniums, tall sedums, ornamental grasses… they all send out new growth while still being burdened by the decay from last year. Somehow that encourages me to be more at peace with my own muddle of green & brown.

  2. Hannah H.

    This Lent has been such a struggle in tension for me – a season of reconciling what is already here with what is still to come. Your piece was exactly what I needed to read going into the weekend. Thank you so much.

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