Day 2 of Lent. {making beauty out of ashes}
Yesterday was “Ash Wednesday”.
For my new friends who might not be familiar with liturgical practice (I was not familiar for a very long time), Lent is the day that begins with Ash Wednesday, 40 days before Easter. The exact date varies, as does the exact day of Easter Sunday, but the ritual and theology have never changed:
“During Lent, let us find concrete ways to overcome our indifference.”
In full disclosure, I am not Catholic, though the above quote is Pope Francis. I’m Protestant, born and bred, and all the best hours of my life spent studying Scripture - and those hours are many - haven’t done a single thing to alter that fact. Theologically, I beg to differ with some of the doctrine and practice of the Catholic Church. (And I am sure that they beg to differ with me…)
However, liturgy has been their means to preserve the precious truths about God, down through the ages since (Catholics say) St. Peter. I respect that.
A bit of liturgy, fundamentally, helps us remember. And, most importantly, liturgy helps us to remember the same thing. After all, our faith must not rest on “he said/she said”. There are fundamentals pertinent to following Jesus Christ that have never changed and will never change.
And while I do not officially participate in Ash Wednesday, here is what I love about it:
It involves the outward sign of an inward, invisible truth: we were made from the dust, and to the dust we will return.
Practicing Catholics attend a service where the sign of the cross is made with ashes on their forehead. Since I’m not Catholic, I painted the cross on the back of my hand, using a mixture of ashes and iridescent black paint.
What a sobering reality. This cross is a visible reminder of what for some might be a dark truth: death is the ultimate statistic. This cross on the forehead, for Catholics, is also a visible reminder of the sin of the individual, and the sin of all collective humanity. Consider the following verse from the book of Ezekiel:
So why do I, who am not Catholic in any sense, why do I think at all about Lent?
First of all, again I will tell you that I find a bit of liturgy (another term for liturgy might be “heartfelt ritual”) to be helpful to me as a human. At the risk of seeming reductionist and offensive to my Catholic friends, I find the observance of some liturgies to be simply charming. It makes for an artful life.
I enjoy the sense of continuity that comes with having the same thoughts, reviewing the same truths, and engaging the same practice, year after year after year. It’s why I celebrate a form of Advent at Christmas. Both Lent and Advent are a means of slowing time down just enough to live what I call “a well-considered middle”.
The older I get, the faster time flies. I am looking for ways to mark the time, to consider the cross, and to rejoice in such an overwhelmingly scandalous salvation.
Historically, the objective of these 40 days leading to Easter, is to spend the time in a degree of introspection and total (or near total) abstinence from some besetting weakness or sin. Personally, I believe the Gospel teaches us something different. Jesus Christ has forgiven all my sin, past - present - and future! (That alone bends my brain…it blows my mind. Totally.)
And while my Gospel does teach repentance from sin and dead works, there is a far greater emphasis on the finished work of Christ.
I make the sign of the cross on the back of my hand to celebrate trading my ashes for beauty.
“The Spirit of the Sovereign Lord is on me,
because the Lord has anointed me
to proclaim good news to the poor.
He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,
to proclaim freedom for the captives
and release from darkness for the prisoners, a
to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor
and the day of vengeance of our God,
to comfort all who mourn,
and provide for those who grieve in Zion—
to bestow on them a crown of beauty
instead of ashes...”
Here’s a short time lapse of the art that came from today’s celebration of scandalous forgiveness - a 9x12” collage on paper:
On Being A Safe Person {...and do all witches wear pointy hats...or do they go to church...}
There’s a great deal of teaching in some Christian circles on the subject of “witchcraft”, or a “spirit of witchcraft”. The internet abounds with instruction (and rightly so) about how to deal with controlling spirits, Jezebel spirits, and the like.
What makes anyone susceptible to that kind of darkness? What makes anyone succumb to those influences?
Answer: Deep disappointment.
…a detail of a self-portrait. I have met “the enemy”, and she is me…
Here’s the thing: you’re never at more risk of becoming an unsafe person than when you’ve experienced a great hope deferred, deep disappointment in oneself or someone else, or when you’ve been legitimately hurt or betrayed. You know. That church that hurt you. The spouse who cheated. The parent who abused you. The false friend who betrayed you. The dream that did not come true. The outcome you hoped for, but did not happen. Those experiences can make US toxic for others.
Yes, YOU. Yes, ME. We are at risk for becoming unsafe people because we will be tempted to carry that pain. We will be tempted to build whole thought-strongholds around that deferred hope, around that betrayal. We will also, and even more dangerously, magnetize wrong relationships and false teachers to our lives - other people, and teachers, who themselves have been deeply hurt, and their disappointment has made them dangerous.
There is more than one way that “hurt people hurt people.”
We will be haunted by an insecurity that makes US as capable of causing as much pain as any dashed dream or lost hope. We will function from an insecurity that makes US as dangerous as the person/people who betrayed us.
Insecurity is a pain that can and will make us profoundly self-centered.
Legitimate pain can become a black hole that drives us to seek validation, and to treat every relationship as a means to that end, using almost everything and everyone to feel better.
Our pain from our own dashed dreams or deferred hopes, creates a shame and anxiety that percolates invisibly. Even when our externals are mechanically or theologically correct, our affect on others is toxic. Because we do not impart what we say. We impart who we are. If the streams that are flowing out of us are coming from a deep seated bitterness - if something is polluting our unguarded heart, it is a toxic overflow.
I believe God does give us dreams to chase. But I sadly believe that the most important component to having a healthy dream is missing from an entire generation of middle aged women: a well soul.
There are two reasons to dream: 1. Overflow. We dream out of our friendship and fellowship with God and with others. (Truth: you will not fulfill your destiny without others. And not just “any” others…you must cultivate right relationships with the right others!) OR 2. Idolatry. We dream because we are grasping - always trying to get something from people, events, or possessions, in order to fix a broken or unwell soul.
We must do the work of repentance. Repentance literally means to choose another thought. We have a responsibility to find true and deep healing (no, not in art - no, not in the Enneagram - no, not in essential oils - no, not in attaining your goal weight - no, not in marriage - no, not in money…) in the Gospel of the Finished Work of Jesus.
Only the healing that flows from THAT place can give you the sort of quiet confidence that makes you a safe woman. Righteousness as a gift, applied by faith to our deepest pain, makes us safe friends, safe ministers, sage and safe mothers, safe sisters, daughters, bosses, business owners, artists and creatives.
God is safe to trust. Jesus Christ has fully received you. And He is enough.
From that place, we no longer need new landscapes. We have new eyes. Eyes that choose to dwell only on what is good and beautiful in others and in ourselves.