Whenever I want to give myself a good dose of Lenten gloom, I have to look no further than some of the hymns which have been written for singing during this solemn  season.  A particularly good source is the Old English Hymnal where I find I can rejoice  that "rising from the bed of death, I am  o’erwhelmed with guilt and fear",

Though one of my all-time  favourites is:

Have mercy, Lord on me
As thou wert ever kind;
Let me, opprest with loads of guilt,
Thy wonted mercy find.

 

The Second verse  is even better:

Wash off my foul offence,
And cleanse me from my sin;
For I confess my crime, and see
How great my guilt has been. 

Not perhaps the most cheerful of hymns produced by Tate & Brady, the dynamic 17th century duo who gave us When pants the hart for cooling streams and While shepherds watched their flocks by night  but there is a certain thrill in being able to charge each other with loads of guilt which has  been a favourite tool of some in the Church who want to convict others with their utter sinfulness, foulness and vileness (words much favoured by some hymn writers).  Not that the Christian Church has a monopoly – there is a Jewish saying which goes:

Jews own guilt; Catholics just rent it!

Hymns like the ones I have mentioned represent an approach to Lent which concentrates on the negative aspect of the human character and which therefore links the giving up of things like chocolate with a concentration on self improvement. We stand full of guilt and vileness and we must overcome this by self-striving and self-loathing.

Ash Wednesday, especially in the Imposition of ashes, has much the same effect– the cross of ash is our equivalent of the Jewish custom of  sprinkling the head with ashes and dressing in a garb of sackcloth to indicate mourning, remorse for sin and the need for moral purification.

Our mortality is emphasised by the old words used at the imposition – “Remember, O man that you are dust and to dust you shall return.’ In other words, mend your ways or else!  Originally, these words were part of early Christian burial rite, spoken as ashes were sprinkled over the dying man (it was always a man!) and he was closely interrogated about the state of his soul. One hopes that he always had time and energy to respond else he might be cast into outer darkness!

Gradually, this ritual was connected to the observance of Lent with its emphasis on penance and preparation of the soul for Easter. The concentration was still on a reminder of mortality with its implication that only self-denial and self-improvement can save the day.

Though the old words of imposition are still permitted, the Church allows for an alternative – used here – which changes the emphasis a little. We now say:

“Christ claims you for his own, receive the sign of his cross. Turn away from sin and be faithful to Christ.”

The first part of this corresponds directly to the words used at the signing of the Cross at Baptism and this serves to remind us that the Sacrament of Baptism opens to us the hope of eternal life contained within our Life in Christ. Once we are baptised our destiny and the potential for our lives has changed. Physically, we may indeed be mortal and shall return to dust but eternally, we are bound for glory – for a share in the saving promises of Christ. Negative forces may still act upon our lives but all is transformed by the Cross of Christ in whose victory we have a share.

Lent, thus becomes not so much a wandering with Christ in the wilderness  (whatever that means) but rather, of meditating on His Passion. This is not a time of total introspection or well-meaning pious devotions. It is a time to grapple with the realities of the Cross and understand the implications of its Victory.

Part of that understanding does involve a stripping away from our lives of those things which are not ‘of God’ and that includes sin and our lack of love for God. So there is still the encouragement to turn away from sin which is always part of the Lenten teaching.  We are to repent – to turn  ourselves around to the love of God again but our heart is fixed on that love.

We deal with our own failings much better if we have something to measure them against and what we have is the sheer love of God – a love, which in the words of Walter Matheson, in the hymn we shall sing shortly, will not let us go.

In the face of this love, Lent becomes a striving not after our own goodness but of God’s.  Be faithful to Christ is the final command at the Imposition of ashes, and faithfulness involves deepening our resolve to live as Christ’s companions in the world, and becoming living statements – or sacramental signs - of his love for humanity – a love which took him on the Holy Week journey to the Cross and beyond.

This has consequences because to be signs of God’s love in the world, we must demonstrate certain qualities which can be summed up as Fruits of the Spirit listed by  St. Paul  in  chapter 5 of his letter to the Galatians.

If Lent does not make us more loving, more joyful, more peaceful, patient kind and good; if it does not lead to more faithfulness, gentleness and self-control then perhaps our programme of Lenten observance needs a re-think.

But there is more to it than a concentration on our virtues, vitally important though this is.  In the Eastern Orthodox Liturgy  for this season there is an acclamation during Lent which includes the line:

Glory to you, O Lover of mankind  and this acclamation begins with an image of Lent as a season of spiritual Spring when the flower of repentance bursts forth.

The acclamation Glory to you turns our thoughts and actions towards God and not inward.  This is not a time for guilty introspection but a time for concentrating on God Himself and chiefly on what He has done in Christ.   And – here’s the important thing – what God can still do in us.

A Lent which seeks God -  his forgiveness and help in becoming the people he longs us to be - is more likely to be a fruitful, spring-like time, if we concentrate on God and not on our own achievements.

We can’t forgive ourselves, not in any divine sense. We cannot manufacture our own grace; we cannot experience the Cross in a devotional way or through glibly talking about ‘suffering together with Jesus’. We can’t  spiritualise the crucifixion – that bloody and messy form of death – and make it a means of developing a warm, feel-good factor of self-achievement.  That will always fail.

What will succeed is if we recognise that what Lent bids us do is come humbly to our God with open, penitent and longing hearts and let him do the rest.

Years ago, I saw a powerful film called The Mission.   The central character is Mendoza,  a slave trader in Latin America who, at the beginning of the film captured five members of a native tribe. He murders the son of the chieftain – right before the eyes of a Jesuit Christian mission which was powerless to stop him.  Later, as is often the way, and as a result of another, very different incident in which he killed his own brother over a woman, he was wracked with guilt. The head of the Jesuit mission visited him and Mendoza made a self-accusation. The priest offered him a way out of his guilt. He was to carry his burden up the mountain. As a symbol of that burden, his armoury and weaponry was strapped to his back and he had to drag the heavy burden behind him up the mountain. They were to go to the tribe Mendoza had wronged and Mendoza, knowing for certain that the chief of the tribe would kill him, agrees. It is the only way he can deal with his guilt.  The journey is a harrowing one as the bundle on his back impeded his progress up the mountain. Having pity on him some of the Jesuits cut away his burden  but Mendoza retrieved it.  Eventually they reached the tribe and the chief awaited them – his spear poised.  As Mendoza slowly and painfully crawls up the mountain to reach the chief of the tribe, his breath is rasping, his face caked in mud.  The camera focused on his face as it came to rest, inches from the chief’s feet.  The chief drew his knife and the tension was unbearable as everyone expected the worst. Mendoza knows it is the end and a calmness is on his face.  At last, his guilt is to be dealt with.  The chief moved forward and the knife swept down. It flashed behind Mendoza and suddenly there is a roar as the weaponry tumbles down the mountain. The chief had cut the cord which bound it to Mendoza’s body. He has been freed of his guilt by the one he wounded most.  Here is a parable for Lent.

As our thoughts concentrate on the wounded Christ – our Crucified Lord - who in the face of human failure and sin, turned not to vengeance but to love, we experience a love so powerful that only he can save us. Only he can cut the cord which binds us to those things within which are not of God.

This is what must excite us and draw us this Lent – and everything should be concentrated to this end. It is not a time for self improvement or for self-guilt. It is a time when we are faced with a God who loves us so much that in Christ he will do what he does in freeing us and lifting us up to sheer glory and sheer love.

Our Lenten observance must not deny him that right – to be God – to be lover of men and women – for only that will free us – only that will allow the Lenten spring to flower in our hearts as Jesus invites us to Resurrection joy.

To God be the glory – and not to ourselves.