Every year I think Lent will be the death of me. At least, I hope it will. Marked for death by the sign of the cross, anointed with oil and the charred stuff of earth, I remember that I am dust and to dust I will return.
But Death has already been died for me, and I have stepped into Life. So what, then is the meaning of Ash Wednesday, with its call to remember our mortality?
A few years ago I stumbled upon this lovely collection of Wendell Berry poems in choral settings. One poem in particular has haunted me with the invitation to wonder about the meaning of death. As I sit with this mystery again on the precipice of Ash Wednesday, I remember forward to that other pair of dark days, Good Friday and Holy Saturday, the threshold through which we enter Easter. I will not listen to this song again until Resurrection Sunday, but here on the edge of Lent, I do. Berry’s words are as follows:
The little stream sings
in the crease of the hill.
It is the water of life. It knows
nothing of death, nothing.
And this is the morning
of Christ’s resurrection.
The tomb is empty. There is
no death. Death is our illusion,
our wish to belong only
to ourselves, which is our freedom
to kill one another.
From this sleep may we too
rise, as out of the dark grave.
~ Wendell Berry
Wendell Berry’s haunting invitation to wonder is found in the line "There is no death." What does this mean, in a world where we have all been touched by grief and loss? I do not think he means that we won't die; Berry is closer than most to the earth’s rhythms of life and death. But as I ponder this mystery, I think he touches on something important: death might not what I think it is. When Christ died, He defeated Death, once and for all. He died my Death, and I died with Him. What, then, is the death that I will die at the end of this stage of life?
Death does not extinguish the Light, it merely puts out the lamp because the dawn has come.
~ Rabindranath Tagore
I first encountered this quote in The Meaning of Blue by Luke Bell, OSB. So here I am, again, contemplating the mystery of death and, with it, what it means to live. I don’t have answers, but I think I’m beginning to think differently about what it is to die. If it’s not something final, something then, then perhaps it’s something formative, something daily, something now. Perhaps the ashes of this day urge me to contend not with my body laid to rest someday, but with my will demanding its way today. This is the death of Not my will, but thine be done. The death of my will invites the kingdom of God here, now, in my home, in my neighborhood, boldly declaring Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.
There is an unhurriedness about life in light of eternity. When we think of death as the end, we must fit it all in before we die. If the end has already been done away with, then we must only do what habituates us toward the rhythms we will hold in eternity. Eternity which, is not then, but also now. And so we seek first the kingdom of God. And in the kingdom we find work and rest, solitude and community, constant companionship with God, anger that leads to justice, compassion that leads to mercy, and knowledge that leads to humility.
In doing so we enter into the rhythms of Lent, with fasting, praying, and almsgiving. And pray it will be the death of us all.
Published Work: The Unmooring Journal
Today I’m celebrating my first published artwork, and I’d love for you to celebrate with me! I have two pieces in Volume 2, Issue 1 of The Unmooring Journal, a painting and an encaustic piece. I’d love for you to head over to The Unmooring Journal and take a peek!
A Practice: Lenten Art
For the last couple years I have found myself intentionally engaging with art as part of my Lenten practice. The paintings in this post are the results. This year I will, again, work on a piece of art throughout Lent and we will see how both it and I are formed in the process. Whether you consider yourself an artist or not, I encourage you to find a way to play with art over the next 40 days.
Maybe you want to dabble in watercolor, and find it a refreshingly peaceful way to sit still for 10 minutes and listen to the Holy Spirit.
Maybe you want to pull out the old acrylic paints you’ve had on the shelf for too long and paint over a canvas every day for 40 days, finding that you can let go of perfectionism knowing that tomorrow you’ll paint over it again.
Maybe you want to cut out pictures and words from the stack of magazines in the garage and create a collage in prayerful consideration of the ways you are experiencing God’s abundance in this wilderness season of your life.
I am not yet sure what my Lenten art practice will look like this year, but I know that I will be joining my spiritual director for a 6 week creative Lenten journey centered on the theme of Water in the Wilderness. The theme of water in the wilderness is one that God brought up for me last year during Lent and is one that has continued to be an ongoing theme throughout my year. I don’t know what the path looks like this year, but I know the journey will be worth it.
I read this publication at the conclusion of a trying day that left me feeling, well, crushed, and with a heavy spirit. Considering that death is something other than an end, something other than what we think of it as... It somehow alleved the sorrow I was feeling while keeping that sorrow present. Thank you for sharing your thoughts and words! They are a gift to read.