Lenten Blog: Post Four

during this season of lent, we have invited some of the many voices at journey to contribute to our blog... to share their thoughts and experiences about lent. enjoy!

This Lenten season, I'm giving up deodorant, toothpaste and books written by Joel Osteen. So far, it's been a real struggle, considering the social consequences. Dallas Gingles would be proud of how much this has already changed my life. Joel Osteen, on the other hand, probably would not. He would probably think I'm not living my best life now or becoming a better me.

Okay, okay, I'm only kidding. So I haven't worn deodorant in weeks, but that's only because I ran out and haven't gotten around to buying more. Toothpaste -- well, who uses that anymore? And Joel Osteen books? Sadly, I can't afford 'em, probably because I haven't given enough money to Kenneth Copeland's ministry lately.

This Lent, really, I gave up chocolate. I swear, I'm the biggest chocoholic I know. None of my friends thought I could go 40 days without chocolate. Unfortunately, they know me all too well, because I'm writing this after I just had a relapse: one of my co-workers waved Ghirardelli underneath my nose. It was a successful seduction; I'm way too easy. The funny thing is, it didn't taste as good as I thought it would. Somebody must've seasoned it with way too much guilt.

And as it goes with Lent, so it goes with sin in my life as well. Of course, being the apple-eating, finger-pointing daughter of Eve that I am, I always have a very reasonable excuse (or two) . . .

"I'm tired today."

"Jesus understands how I feel."

"I'm still doing better than most people!"

"I don't believe in the rapture anymore."

"I'll stop sinning tomorrow."

. . . but I've learned that the bitter aftertaste can last for years . . .

During Lent, we purposefully deny ourselves some unnecessary thing or behavior in which we find comfort or pleasure. In this denial, or death, we are reminded that death is not only necessary, but also ultimately good. In this way, observing Lent is like an opportunity to attend our own funerals. At mine, I want the preacher to say something like, "Today, we are gathered together in this place to bury everything about Wendy that rendered her less beautiful, less pure, less loving, less holy, less human, less Christlike." Impossible? Yes, for Lent is also a time to feel, if only for a time, as hopeless as Christ's disciples must've felt the day Christ's dead, broken body disappeared into the tomb. Sometimes, this journey feels so futile, God's promise of hope as distant as the stars.

I watched Hotel Rwanda for the first time the other day. Afterwards, I spent the better part of an hour sobbing on my blood-red couch, relating more to the murderers than to that courageous guy with the funny last name. I've never killed anyone at the point of a sword, but how many of my friends, family members and acquaintances have died at the point of my tongue? In my sorrow, the satisfaction I feel in dishing out a good tongue-lashing slowly began to die. And in that death, something else was being birthed. Something new, something beautiful.

It's these sort of events that have convinced me that you haven't really lived until you've allowed your heart to be ripped out a few times and wallow in sorrow over the sin and evil in this world and your contributions to them. That's what Lent is for, to mourn the fact that we haven't died, and allow our grief to drive us to seek death in order to find new life. For when the season of Lent has passed, and the joy of Easter has dawned, we will remember that futility isn't our fate, be reminded that only God can raise the dead, and rejoice that resurrection is still His forte.

Not to mention all that Easter chocolate. I'm really looking forward to that as well!

- Wendy Scoggins