What’s Ash Wednesday? What’s Lent?
The questions surprised me. I’d spent all of my life either as a Roman Catholic or an Episcopalian. Lent is common to both groups, as is the whole idea of a liturgical year divided into seasons. The questions came from, not one, but several of the guests at our church’s emergency shelter. They were watching with great interest, if no understanding, as our music director and my husband laid out a labyrinth in our parish hall for the Lenten season. They knew that the next day, Ash Wednesday, we would have services during which I would rub ashes upon the foreheads of people who would come just for this gesture. And in working to explain Lent and the meaning of ashes, I found myself nearly overwhelmed by the cultural gap that existed behind their questions.
I was lucky. I was asked the questions, and given the time and space to respond. But the idea of hundreds of thousands of people in the world who have no idea what Lent is, or why we impose ashes, absolutely daunted me. How do we explain our faith to people who have no history, no familial tradition, and often no interest? How do we answer questions that are never even asked?
Our shelter guests were curious. They’ve been with us for Thanksgiving and Christmas. They’d wandered about at our Coffee Hours, joined us in church now and then, and even, at times, sang in our choir. They entered our space in places that we made accessible. But tonight, after Shrove Tuesday pancakes, we moved the furniture aside and, armed with painter’s tape, constructed a labyrinth on our Parish Hall floor. This was not in the same ballpark as Christmas and Thanksgiving; this was new and different. This had to do purely with arcane church stuff. We entered their usual evening space to do this, and they wondered what it was all about.
Hmmm….we entered their space. I think there’s something in that. All the months we allowed them to enter our space they did so. But it was only when we came into their space with our tradition and belief, that they asked the questions. Perhaps we are meant to go the world, rather than expecting the world to come to us. I think we might love the questions.
The questions surprised me. I’d spent all of my life either as a Roman Catholic or an Episcopalian. Lent is common to both groups, as is the whole idea of a liturgical year divided into seasons. The questions came from, not one, but several of the guests at our church’s emergency shelter. They were watching with great interest, if no understanding, as our music director and my husband laid out a labyrinth in our parish hall for the Lenten season. They knew that the next day, Ash Wednesday, we would have services during which I would rub ashes upon the foreheads of people who would come just for this gesture. And in working to explain Lent and the meaning of ashes, I found myself nearly overwhelmed by the cultural gap that existed behind their questions.
I was lucky. I was asked the questions, and given the time and space to respond. But the idea of hundreds of thousands of people in the world who have no idea what Lent is, or why we impose ashes, absolutely daunted me. How do we explain our faith to people who have no history, no familial tradition, and often no interest? How do we answer questions that are never even asked?
Our shelter guests were curious. They’ve been with us for Thanksgiving and Christmas. They’d wandered about at our Coffee Hours, joined us in church now and then, and even, at times, sang in our choir. They entered our space in places that we made accessible. But tonight, after Shrove Tuesday pancakes, we moved the furniture aside and, armed with painter’s tape, constructed a labyrinth on our Parish Hall floor. This was not in the same ballpark as Christmas and Thanksgiving; this was new and different. This had to do purely with arcane church stuff. We entered their usual evening space to do this, and they wondered what it was all about.
Hmmm….we entered their space. I think there’s something in that. All the months we allowed them to enter our space they did so. But it was only when we came into their space with our tradition and belief, that they asked the questions. Perhaps we are meant to go the world, rather than expecting the world to come to us. I think we might love the questions.
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