Lent begins today: the Christian season of repentance, reflection, and renunciation. I went to the noontime services at the cathedral, and when the priest came down the aisle with the bowl of ashes, I rose -- but only reluctantly -- to receive them. It probably would have been more honest to stay in my seat.
After two years of a pandemic that has taken so many to an early grave, and convinced most of us of our mortality if we didn't accept it before, I felt resistance to this reminder, symbolized by the ashes and the accompanying words "Remember you are dust and to dust you shall return." In a time of aggression and horrific war, I do not need a reminder of the human lust for power and too many rulers' disregard for life. When we are told that we come from the dust of the earth, and will return to it, I already know all too well the intense pressure the earth is under because of human behavior, and what the future is likely to hold because of climate change.
Furthermore, all of these things are related. Like many of you, I've been reflecting on the failures of institutions and governments, as well as the behaviors of individuals, for two years now. I've felt helpless, and also tried to see where I could be of help, extending myself to others, and feeling immensely grateful for the people who have extended themselves to me. Many of us have tried to do this, and a lot of those efforts have been successful: building and nurturing supportive relationships and groups who have met and sustained each other in creative new ways.
What we do not need right now is guilt, and unfortunately Lent tends to go either in that direction, or toward the superficial, as if giving up chocolate is really going to melt human hardness of heart. Sincere reflection on how we can be more courageous, more loving, more open to each other, and more aware of the interconnection of all living things is always needed and welcome. But as I looked around the sanctuary today, the people I recognized in the pews were people who already do this, and try to live their lives responsibly and lovingly. These are not people who think vaccines should be withheld from poor countries, or people who don't recycle and drive massive vehicles, or who support white supremacy, or think that despots who want to overthrow legitimate governments are admirable.
And yet these are precisely the problems we are facing, along with many others. What would make me feel some movement this Lent, instead of turning to individuals and saying "This is on you, admit your faults, repent," would be to hear our institutions and governments say, "We have been reflecting on how we have failed in our tasks and our mission to you. We have been self-serving, short-sighted and hypocritical, and we want to repent, to reform, to change, to do better."
You laugh, and you're right to laugh: it will be a cold day in hell before that happens. Our apparent powerlessness in the face of so much that we know is wrong has been one of the most sobering lessons of this time in history. Look at what is happening in Ukraine at this very moment.
And yet. Change seldom comes from above, unless we are fortunate enough to nurture and support truly visionary leaders. Most of the time, we must try to work outward and upward, starting with ourselves, then moving to small groups of like-minded people with passion for justice and change, and then banding together into new institutions, or working to shape and hold accountable those that already exist. Unless we do that, the status quo will prevail, because institutions and governments are not nimble and flexible, but heavy, ponderous, and stuck in their ways, and so they tend to focus on self-preservation rather than change.
If churches clearly stood for justice and "the dignity of every human being", as we proclaim in our baptismal covenant, and were seen to be working openly toward those goals, I think we would actually attract more people. In the case of my own church, we have had active ministries for the homeless, for social justice and the environment, for anti-racism, for the LGBTQ+ community and for young people. We have taken part in the Truth and Reconciliation process with Indigenous Canadians about the abuses they suffered, which, to this former American, was a remarkable example of humility, listening, admission of wrongs committed, and desire to change -- but we're not very good at letting the outside world know about any of this, and our inability to meet in person until recently hasn't helped.
In the public sphere, democracy is threatened everywhere, even here in Canada; all we have to do is look to our southern neighbor to see what could happen. The rest of the world, which once saw America as a bastion of democratic values, sees the hypocrisy, as do those Americans who have been marginalized: the pandemic has shown just how unequal that society is, and how dangerous a hyper-emphasis on personal freedom can be, over the shared good of all. Rather than truth-telling, I'm afraid what we see is perpetual myth-making about American exceptionalism.
But, in the end, change still has to start with me, as with each of us, and it needs to come from positive energy, love for others, and passion for shared goals, rather than guilt. My practice this Lent will be to try to meditate every morning, to discourage feelings of helplessness and despair, and reflect instead on what I am being called to do next -- which may simply be a continuation of what I am doing now; I don't know. I will also bring some of these thoughts to a small group of which I am a part as we reflect together. I think this process of discernment is perhaps the real purpose of Lent, as we seek positive movement in ourselves while the earth moves toward spring.
