Lent as I knew it growing up offered a whole theology of self denial, giving up, suffering, with the promise that this harshness would . . . what? Make us better by Easter?(Better what?) Teach us the godliness of self denial? I took those lessons to heart. My friends gave up candy for Lent, I gave up my pillow. I’m that person who sleeps even now burrowed into a nest of softness – flannel sheets and nightgown (too much information?) – fluffy duvet, home-knitted throws and pillows. Candy . . . I didn’t care so much. But no pillow for forty days plus Sundays. That was a penance. I’m pretty sure it didn’t make me better.
This Lent I’m taking a different tack – more pillows. I need cushioning to protect all of the tender places that I’ve developed or discovered in the last two years.
I’m taking to heart the reassurance of Hawai’ian poet and activist Rashani that,
‘There is a brokenness
out of which comes the unbroken . . .
and a fragility
out of whose depths emerges strength.’
For now, with intention, I’m going to take that brokenness and that fragility in hand, tend them gently and without judgement. I’m going to trust that seeking that softness will help me find, as Rashana’s poem continues:
‘The place inside which is unbreakable
And whole,
While learning to sing.’
This Lenten practice has a greater likelihood of actually making me better – certainly making my soul better – and may even lead me toward my own Easter resurrection.
Annette Atkins
