The timing of Lent, which this year begins on February 17^th, has always felt rather counter-intuitive to me. For the most part, the church year follows the seasons, with Christmas, and its promise of light, falling at the darkest time of the year, while Easter coincides with a glorious bursting forth of new life in the natural world. Most of the lesser festivals similarly have parallels with phases of the sun and moon, the waxing and waning of the seasons. But to instigate a lengthy period of self-denial at what is arguably the hardest time of the year, when most of us feel as if we’re hanging on by the skin of our teeth until spring comes round again, seems odd to me.

You might say that the secular world has got it right in identifying January as the time for self-discipline, with Dry January, Veganuary, and all the other contemporary responses to the excesses of Christmas. (Starting with New Year resolutions, of course.) Lengthy preparations for what we now refer to as the ‘festive season’ also make perfectly good sense, as we plan our slap-up meals and our present-giving, and spruce up the house ‘in time for Christmas’. In this way we gain some insight into the meaning and purpose of Advent, even if it isn’t marked in a way any purist would recognize.

Perhaps part of the problem with Lent is that our celebration of Easter is now so sadly diminished. Of course, the Church celebrates Easter, but for those who don’t go to church, the risen Christ has been displaced by the Easter Bunny and an indecent quantity of chocolate eggs. And while we might cook a special meal for Easter Day, we don’t on the whole plan for housefuls of relatives and week-long celebrations as we tend to do at Christmas.

Historically, anyone who wanted to be initiated into the mysteries of Christianity started in the period we would recognize as Lent: they were taken step by step through the Christian catechism, preparing with discipline and self-examination, before undergoing the joyous ceremony of baptism on Easter Day. I imagine the collective aspect to this experience must have played a significant role, and that the candidates would have derived support and inspiration from one another.  

We retain an element of this in our Lent groups, together with the idea that we focus on Christian learning and development during Lent. Clearly this is one of the reasons why Bishop Steven has introduced the ‘Come and See’ initiative this year, for those spiritual seekers who might want to find out a bit more about Christianity and its practices. And the assumption that we ‘give something up’ for Lent has its basis in the discipline of those early initiates, as well as the model of Jesus spending forty days in the desert reflecting on the nature of his future ministry.

Sadly, though, it’s all too easy to conclude that Lent is about Christians beating themselves up, yet again. There can be something punitive and joyless about the moral obligation to ‘give something up’ – or even to ‘take something on’, as we’ve been encouraged to do in recent years. And particularly in this year of lockdown, when just getting through the day can feel like a major achievement, I’m not sure that’s particularly helpful.

So here are a couple of thoughts about re-framing Lent. My first is about spring-cleaning (and this from a woman who is constitutionally averse to housework!). The word ‘Lent’ is derived from the archaic German word ‘Lenz’, which simply means ‘spring'. No-one wants to do housework when the light is so poor that you can’t even tell where the dirt is. But on the other hand, when the sun comes out, it’s obvious how badly the windows need cleaning, and how many spiders have found sanctuary in the corners of the ceiling. At that point it’s quite therapeutic to get the vacuum cleaner and the window-cloths out, and you can really spot the difference when you’ve finished.

The same is true on an emotional and spiritual level. I’m reminded of a verse from 1 Corinthians, part of which we use as an introduction to the prayer of confession: ‘Therefore do not pronounce judgement before the time, before the Lord comes, who will bring to light the things now hidden in darkness and will disclose the purposes of the heart.’ (1 Cor. 4:5) Sometimes it helps to take a long, hard look at yourself, and resolve to do something about the bits you don’t particularly like. It can be only too easy to fall back into apathy, or else to get caught up in unhelpful feelings of guilt. Yet the verse from Corinthians concludes, ‘Then each one will receive commendation from God’ – which is to say that God, unlike human beings, doesn’t rush to judgment, but always rejoices when we try that bit harder.

My second thought relates to my recent resolution to shed a few lockdown pounds by learning to run (again, not something I ever thought I’d do). In common with half the country, I’m following a programme called ‘Couch to 5K’, which aims to take you through the whole uncomfortable process as painlessly as possible. The goal is to finish up being able to run for 30 minutes – but the starting point is to run for a minute at a time (and then walk for a bit). The course lasts for nine weeks, and you’re not allowed to run more often than every other day. This seems to me a very good model for self-discipline, and the very opposite of the all-or-nothing ‘no chocolate/biscuits/alcohol/cake and woe betide you if you fail’ approach to Lent. Start small, aim for something you can actually manage, and be kind to yourself along the way.

And finally, a thought about prayer. I suspect I’m not the only person who is coping with the difficulties of this particular year by ‘keeping busy’ – and I wonder if I’m the only person who has found it very hard to pray of late? Just recently the penny dropped that if prayer becomes another thing on the to-do list, then it is our relationship with the living God that will suffer. If we fall into the trap of thinking God judges our prayer by how many pages of the prayer book we get through, then we won’t hear God even when God speaks.  As with everything else, it takes two to pray: one to speak, and one to listen.