Mardi Gras

The people of New Orleans set their watches, or at least their calendars, to Mardi Gras. The festivities begin right after Epiphany, and climax on the Tuesday before Ash Wednesday. The festivities are held with an eye toward Lent, and people feel compelled to get things out of their systems before the forty days begin.  

After moving to New Orleans, I was determined to embrace Mardi Gras fully. I attended every ball to which I was invited, ate as many varieties of king cake as my stomach could endure, and bought an expensive costume for the day itself.

I chose an ape costume, more for its complete coverage than meaning. I put it on and made my way to St. Charles Avenue, the uptown alternative to the French Quarter, where I wandered throughout the crowd trying to scare all the students from my new school. It was fun to be silly when no one knew it was me, and I have to confess the freedom of the costume made me do and say things I otherwise wouldn’t.

Looking back, I realize that wasn’t the only time I’ve worn a costume. I've worn many others over the years, and while they might not have been as dramatic or noticeable as the ape, they, too, offered a level of disguise and caused me to act differently when wearing them.

Costumes make us feel safe. People see the costume, not the person inside, so we’re safe behind one more layer of distance.

Costumes send messages. Maybe one says, “high powered lawyer,” another “holy man,” and another “really deep artist,” but they’re only costumes. They’re not real. They’re easier than being real.

Buying a custom-made suit, French cuffed shirt, and shiny cufflinks is easier than being a talented lawyer. Buying a clerical collar, robes, and colorful stoles is easier than living a life true to such a calling. Wearing a wrinkly shirt, smoking and drinking a lot, and speaking with a French accent is easier than picking up a brush and painting.

Today is as good a day as any to look at the costumes we wear, to consider the ways we create false places of safety, to admit how differently we act when hidden by our costumes, and to confess how we portray who we want to be rather than who we are. With such honest reflection, we can awaken on Ash Wednesday with the invitation of living without a costume, having ash rubbed against our faces and not our masks, and walking away from the service, into Lent, free to be our true selves.

Closets

I’ve been told, my cousin opens his closet once a year and removes anything he hasn’t worn in the last year. While maybe a bit harsh, it provides a helpful metaphor for the season of Lent, which begins this Wednesday, Feb 10.

Lent is a season to open our closet. To do so demands courage and effort, but it also provides an opportunity for tangible differences in our lives.

It can be overwhelming to open a closet, though, particularly if it hasn’t been open before, or in a long time. Taking one step at a time, one piece of clothing at a time, can make the undertaking less overwhelming. Remembering the season is forty days, not one, can also help us on our way.

Some of what we’ll find are garments that no longer fit, in either size or style. They may have once, and we’ve held onto them in hopes they will fit again, but now’s the time to let go of those things that represent who we were, not who we are. Maybe it’s a habit, a friendship, or career, but change is only possible when we're willing to let things go. In your closet, what no longer fits?

Some garments are ripped, or missing a button. Now is the time to take them out and fix them. Whether it’s a estranged friendship, a mistakes for which we have not apologized, Lent’s is a season to mend.

Finally comes the hardest part. Behind the garments, hidden out of sight, are the things we’d like to ignore or deny, from others and/or ourselves. In the dark are things we’ve held onto, things that seem less real when out of sight, but whose presence eat away at our souls. This can be the season we really clean out our closets. We can face the habits of which we are ashamed, can look at the mistakes we’ve wrapped in blankets of guilt, and question the resentments and stories we’ve been telling ourselves so long we think they’re true. Lent is a time to bring them all out into the light.

In the end, Lent leads to new life. Yes, it leads to an empty tomb, but we must go through the cross to get there. There’s no Easter without Good Friday. So, too, the promise of a clean and spacious life lies in our willingness to open the doors, look inside, admit, throw away, and mend.

Because of the grace we’ve already been given, may we find the courage to open those doors, do that work, and find the new life awaiting us all!

Yoga

Yoga is hard. Being around people wearing clothes I couldn’t fit into in third grade, and setting my mat beside others who are wrapping their legs around their heads, is intimidating enough, but, it’s yoga itself that’s most difficult. While I know the various poses, I’m incapable of keeping my balance. Sometimes I hold on, but usually it’s a matter of time before I’m on all fours looking up at others, shaking my head in dismay. Losing balance is part of the deal, I suppose, but it’s frustrating and embarrassing never the less.

I’ve been taught to look for a spot on which to focus. I’ve also been instructed to use breathing and mindfulness to stay balanced. In varying degrees, these techniques have helped, and I suppose with practice they could become increasingly effective. I only wish I could apply them to my spiritual life as well.

I’m embarrassed when seeing people whose faith is stronger than mine. I’m intimidated when others do the kinds of things for others of which I can only dream. Like yoga, though, I need to remember comparing will only lead to giving up and walking away. Instead, I need to set up my mat and get going! Unfortunately, I always seem to lose my balance. Sometimes it happens quickly, other times slowly, but inevitably I end up on all fours, shaking my head in dismay.

One reason I lose my balance is I get distracted. The countless distractions surrounding me serve as invitations to wobble and fall. Like in Yoga, I need to focus on a fixed point, a fixed something or someone that will keep me balanced. Focusing on something permanent causes other distractions to loose their power. Looking back, I can see I lost my balance because wasn't focused on anything permanent.

Breathing and mindfulness are other tools to use. Slowing down and breathing, reminding myself of the person I want to be, the faith I want to profess, and life I want to live can balance me in significant ways, but too often I choose to race through my day, thinking of nothing but the immediate challenges before me. In other words, I lose my balance and miss significant conversations, meaningful moments, and beautiful sunsets. 

As I approach the season of Lent, perhaps it's time to work on balance. I may even go to a yoga class.