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The Quiet, Fruitful Season of Lent
About three times a year I take a road trip through Western and Central Pennsylvania where my family calls home. As I have grown older, I have learned to love the natural beauty of my home state. I ran from this for years, focusing on run-down steel towns and increasing feelings of poverty throughout the Rust Belt that permeates many of the small towns in the Western part of the state. Today I choose to see the potential of the in-between places that used to seem lost and dying to a young person.
As I traverse the rolling countryside, often choosing tiny county roads versus highways, I drive through and by communities that offer a slice of life that seems otherworldly to me. Towns that do not often have a red light, or odd names like Nanty Glo, Alum Bank, and Scalp Level. I find myself wanting to stop in a corner store to feel the life of the people who live there. I often do pull over to small churches and wonder about the families this long-standing community may have supported over the years. Do their problems and wants and desires mirror mine? Do they struggle to pay their bills? Do they hope to be a larger congregation one day or is this it? While I am at it maybe aliens inhabit this lost part of the world!
On these excursions from place to place, I have developed my own micro ministry of praying for people that I encounter along the roadside. Not only do I pass by accidents but also the people attached to abandoned vehicles, truck drivers sleeping, illness along the way, the protection of those assisting others, and the animals who have gotten in our way by saying, “Lord, have mercy.”
February in Pennsylvania is not what it used to be. The snow totals have decreased significantly from my childhood, and while you may have a day hovering in the low twenties or teens, the following may be quite tolerable at 50 or 60 degrees. However, the temperature and landscape do not account for the feeling of stillness the late winter gives here, snow and grey skies or not. If rest had a feeling, rural Pennsylvania is it. This quiet season seems to fit internally, though. Especially when comparing it to our liturgical season of Lent.
While Lent traditions like Fish This Friday advertisements are not as common today, a sense of contemplation and abstinence remains from living a weather-influenced, country life. The cold pulls you into the easy chair as early darkness descends. Outside activities are restricted to necessary chores and travel unless you enjoy the cold. Abstinence comes naturally while you wait for the weather to turn. The growing season is months away when the air is crisp. Patience is not hard to come by.
When I take my usual hike, I may pass a few other humans and their furry companions enjoying the briskness of the air, but often my tracks are lonely. I find praying easy in Shawnee Park on Route 30 in Shellsburg, save for the want of beauty assaulting my eyes. At times I can find myself doing this for the better part of an hour. I am focused. The highway sound is far off, but close enough to be comforting when there are no leaves on the trees, and a buffering snow layer covers the trail. I revisit the closed-off and dormant places in my mind, only the places I want to share with God because I am embarrassed to share these failings with humans. I find sorrow, and healing in confessing and talking with my maker in the beautiful world He created. Where will this sanctification walk take me? I cannot see it. I have not been able to for years. But I can feel a sense of peace and anticipation as I traverse through and to it. Despite the lack of clarity, there is humbleness and hope as Easter approaches.
I challenge you to visit the places along the way on your journey to wherever. Experience a moment of life that seems foreign to you. I would bet that while the geography we live in affects our life’s movement, we are all the same flawed and amazing beings no matter where we find ourselves. Use this season to go into those places in your Christian Walk we do not dare go lest we tear off the scar we have so diligently sought to heal over. You may find the initial pain brings true healing, or a start of it, and clarity of the road ahead. If not, at least the ability to hold steady as you go.
Jesus died for us so we could be born anew, forever. There is great hope in His message and death. Won’t you spend time with Him this Lent?
The Talebearer