Ash Wednesday

Four years ago, I gave up meat for Lent. It was the first time I had given anything up for Lent. It was not spiritually edifying for me. Perhaps for some, the surrender of a too-beloved food or activity is a spiritual practice, but for me it was just a dietary change. The sentiment I have heard from some Christians observing Lent of "Jesus died for me; the least I can do is give up ___ for him" became utterly ridiculous to me. And my change from semi-conscientious eater of meat to vegetarian did not achieve the asceticism of early baptismal candidates, who spent the forty days before Easter fasting and praying.

After that meatless Lenten season, I gave up on giving up vices for Lent and decided that if I chose to observe Lent, I would do so by making time for a spiritual practice. Since then, I have chosen to meditate on scripture. I've found it much more meaningful.

I have chosen Psalm 139:1-18 as my meditation text for Lent. I had saved it as an option last night when I was looking for one, and it was one of the texts used in our Ash Wednesday service this evening. It is 40 lines, one for each day of Lent. Reason enough.

Psalm 139:1-18

O Lord, you have searched me and known me.
You know when I sit down and when I rise up;
you discern my thoughts from far away.
You search out my path and my lying down,
and are acquainted with all my ways.
Even before a word is on my tongue,
O Lord, you know it completely.
You hem me in, behind and before,
and lay your hand upon me.
Such knowledge is too wonderful for me;
it is so high that I cannot attain it.

Where can I go from your spirit?
Or where can I flee from your presence?
If I ascend to heaven, you are there;
if I make my bed in Sheol, you are there.
If I take the wings of the morning
and settle at the farthest limits of the sea,
even there your hand shall lead me,
and your right hand shall hold me fast.

If I say, 'Surely the darkness shall cover me,
and the light around me become night',
even the darkness is not dark to you;
the night is as bright as the day,
for darkness is as light to you.

For it was you who formed my inward parts;
you knit me together in my mother's womb.
I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.
Wonderful are your works;
that I know very well.
My frame was not hidden from you,
when I was being made in secret,
intricately woven in the depths of the earth.
Your eyes beheld my unformed substance.
In your book were written
all the days that were formed for me,
when none of them as yet existed.

How weighty to me are your thoughts, O God!
How vast is the sum of them!
I try to count them -- they are more than the sand;
I come to the end--I am still with you.

During these forty days, I will have to deal with some big, life-changing decisions -- some made by me, some not. I am waiting to hear back from the one medical school I have a chance to get into. If I get in, Ross and I will start the process of leaving a place we love dearly, and we will need to make difficult financial and personal decisions. If I don't get in, I will need to reevaluate my career and educational prospects, a process I have already started. I will travel to Europe for two weeks, which will be a significant -- and hopefully very good! -- experience. There may be some significant changes at work, the details of which I don't yet know. This is a time when I sometimes hardly feel like I know myself, and I need to believe that I am part of something beyond myself. So, I'm looking forward to engaging this text.