Lent When You're Sad: Psalm 51:15-17

My usual approach to Lent is to stride confidently forward, full of determination and certainty.  The sacrifices that I spent the last days of Mardi Gras season picking out have all been selected due to my assurance that they are reasonably difficult but nothing that I will fail at.  I face Lent head-on and plow through with the goal of Easter and the end of my temporary sacrifices waiting for me at the end, like a finish line of a race.  Lent is easy when you're confident and sure.

This is the year first year that Lent has actually seemed hard.  This year, I didn't stride into Lent with head held high.  This year, I limped into Lent, broken and sad, physically and emotionally.

Going into a day of fasting and abstaining the day after our brutal drunk driving accident was difficult, to say the least.  I casually made the remark that we were down one major physical possession and that this year's sacrifices, the things we'd go without, were definitely going to be different.  And it's been true.  I entered Lent with a lot of anger, a lot of sadness, a lot of physical pain, and a lot of emotional pain.  And that was just because of the accident.

For the past several months, before any of this happened, I've been carrying a few different crosses, and this was the first time I ever carried (dragged) my crosses into Lent with me.  It has been difficult and it has been emotional.  There's been a lot of late night crying, complaining, Bible reading, hope, let downs, and frustration.  Lent seemed like the perfect time to examine why I have these crosses on my back and how to let them go and hand them over to God.

But we're halfway through, and I'm still carrying them.

Why is it so difficult to give up our crosses?  These heavy burdens, these crass and base issues and feelings, full of shame, guilt, fear, anger, jealousy, and pain.  Who doesn't want to let go of their pain and misery and put it in the hands of the only person who can lighten the load and take it on entirely?

Do I actually like carrying my crosses?  Do I seek out this self-suffering martyrdom on purpose?  While I do think I have the tendency to "act the martyr," I don't think that's the case this time.  I think this time, it's just hard to find that perfect faith and trust.  Letting go of the familiar, even when the familiar is heavy and heartbreaking, is tough.  It's an act of faith.

It's been a strange and different Lent, and it's probably the "realest" Lent I've ever journeyed through.  It's not fun, to say the least.  But hopefully I'm learning.

Although the other crosses existed prior to all of this, I do think the car accident was the catalyst that sparked this need for self-reflection and cross-examination (sorry; I couldn't resist).  Nothing evil comes from God; I do not believe the accident was his doing, but everything good that happened as a result has been from his guiding hand.  And even though this journey has been painful, he is leading me through it.

And if I can't give up my crosses, it is not for lack of trying.  I will pray and offer and offer and pray until I finally let go.  One at a time.

O Lord, open my lips, and my mouth will declare your praise.  For you have no delight in sacrifice; if I were to give a burnt offering, you would not be pleased.  The sacrifice acceptable to God is a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise. (Psalm 51:15-17)