It’s Mardi Gras week—and you know what that means.
Beyond the party-till-you-drop bead-throw fest in Nawlins and costumes for Carnevale in Venice, the week has spiritual significance. “Mardi Gras” means “Fat Tuesday.” And Fat Tuesday precedes Ash Wednesday, which marks the beginning of Lent. Lent is the forty-day season leading up to Easter.
In parts of Europe people call Mardi Gras “Pancake Day” (Shrove Tuesday), and they eat stacks of syrup-covered cakes in celebration. Pancake Day is the liturgical polar-opposite of a last-chance workout. People snarf up all the stuff from which they’ll fast for the next forty days. The mentality is sometimes, “Gorge while you can.” Traditionally items included in the “fast” list were sugar, butter, flour and eggs—the stuff that batter’s made of, thus the stacks on Tuesday before austerity sets in.
Some of us have grown up in traditions that connect Lent and its accompanying practices with legalism. And people boil it all down to one question: “What are you giving up for Lent?” And I can’t really blame them. Some folks flaunt what they give up. I’ve seen people who plan to give up alcohol get falling-down-drunk on Tuesday. Really? Doesn’t that kind of defeat the purpose?
As my friend Ruth Haley Barton says, “The real question of the Lenten season is how will I clear out the junk and garbage in my life so that I can be restored to God in some fresh way? What are the disciplines that will open up space for God to create a clean heart and new spirit in me?”
Still, some of us find meaning in observing a season of penance, prayer, and self-denial during Lent. The reason to give up chocolate or snacks between meals or Facebook or new purchases or meat or shoes is constantly to remind our flesh that the Son of God gave up everything for us. In the words of Keith Green, “Jesus rose from the dead, and [we] can’t even get out of bed.” It’s this flesh-driven mentality against which we wage war in our Lenten observances.
This, then, is a worthy goal, regardless of our denominational affiliation. So I offer here some suggestions. Consider these options to guide the Lenten season.
O remember what my substance is; that I am:
dust and ashes, grass and a flower,
flesh and a wind that passeth away,
corruption and a worm,
like a stranger and a sojourner,
dwelling in a house of clay,
days few and evil, today and not tomorrow,
in the morning and not so long as till evening,
now and not presently,
in a body of death,
in a world of corruption,
lying in wickedness.
Should we feel led to participate in this way, whatever we do, we must draw as little attention to ourselves as possible. In the words of our Lord, “When you pray, go into your room, close the door and pray to your Father, who is unseen. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you” (Matt. 6:6). How cool would it be if every follower of Christ gave up something truly significant for Lent: spiritual pride?
Author Sandra Glahn teaches at Dallas Seminary, where she’s editor-in-chief of Kindred Spirit magazine. Among her 17 books are the Coffee Cup Bible Studies.
[Feature Image courtesy JezobelJones on Flickr]