Front Row

There was a humorous advertising campaign showing Bob Ueker being told he was in the wrong seat, and his mistakenly thinking he “must be in the front row.” He was then shown to his new seat, high up in the rafters in what are often referred to as the “nosebleed seats.”

Although never intended as an invitation to Lent, it does beg an important question as we head into the 40-day season of reflection: Where’s our seat?

Our lives take place as if on a stage, or arena to use Theodore Roosevelt's image, and Lent offers us the opportunity to stand back, take a seat, and examine our lives. We can choose seats far away, where we can see what’s going on, if we squint our eyes, hear most of what is being said, if we lean forward, but the performance takes place at a safe distance. Some prefer such a seat, where we don’t have to get too close, or see and hear too much. From far away, our lives look fine.

The seats up front, however, are a different matter. From them, we can see every expression, hear every word, and even notice mistakes or smudges in make-up. From these seats, there’s no hiding.

As we enter Lent, we’re invited to come take a seat. We can head toward the rafters where we can relax and look on from a distance, and go on as if all is as it should be, or we can courageously sit closer, knowing we’ll see and hear things we might rather not? The choice is ours.

The lights in the lobby are dimming, the ushers are calling us to take our seats. Where will we sit?

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!