Thought for the Week: Lent
John Punshon reflects on Lent
It’s a funny old world nowadays. You can have strawberries when you want them instead of just at the beginning of June; you can have daffodils all year round and hot cross buns at Christmas. That is fine if you grow daffodils and strawberries in the Andes and fly them over to the UK, or even bake buns in the factory down the road. But for those of us who grew up without the advantages of modern life, there is something odd about abolishing the seasons.
It doesn’t feel natural. Seasons are a reality where we live and even in our own lives there is something of spring, summer, autumn and winter. We lose sight of this at our peril, I think. In my own life, I am on the cusp of autumn and winter, and even if I wanted to behave as if it were still summer, it isn’t. I cannot now do many of the things that were formerly within my power.
These thoughts came to me when I read a letter in the Friend a week or two ago about the discovery of Lent. It was an interesting reflection, because, as we know, Friends generally do not follow the seasons of the Christian year. This is an overstatement, I guess, because it would be a bold or courageous Friend, particularly a parent, who decided to give up Christmas for the sake of conscience.
I was brought up among folks who thought of Jesus as a great moral teacher – he agreed with them about almost everything – but any interest they had in his life was little more than curiosity. One of my personal turning points was when I realised that the gospel record of the events in Jesus’ life, what he did and what happened to him, are as significant as what he actually said. It tells us who he was. The calendar carries meaning. It is more than a record.
So, now it is Lent. Personally, I do not give anything up. I simply drink water. This produces the recurring urge to have a cup of coffee or a glass of the old vino at any time during the waking hours. But it is also a constant reminder of the gap that has opened up between my desires and my obligations. I have been given a moment in which, in accordance with my original intention to observe the fast, the opportunity for prayer and reflection is imposed upon me.
The significance of the fast (though fasting is not really what I am doing) is that of life in the desert, with its deprivation and discomfort, where we retrace the steps of Jesus, as he meets the tempter and decides on the true nature of his vocation. It is undertaken in faith and its rewards come in understanding and fulfilment. If one takes it seriously, one faces and then finds an answer to the question Jesus poses: I have given myself for you, but what are you willing to give up for me?
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