Lenten Musings

"Do you guys celebrate Lent?"

A new sixth grader asks the question as we sit down on the cool concrete of the floor, the youth pastor just ready to begin his talk.

Yes. No. Sort of. Not really.

We're not a liturgical church, and the days on the calendar mean little beyond the occasional need to set up more chairs, or the vague chance of dresses and ties. But, we do this time of year. 

Lent. Spring.

This something that eats at their bones and stirs in their souls until it begins to feel like we've been here, done this before.

Growing, learning, settling into the cusp of summer and the changes that it brings.

Talking about Haiti over the heads of little people about to begin music or while cutting plastic and denim to be turned into shoes. Pulling cardboard from the recycling bin and scrawling over it with the week's verse - word by word copying out truth.

Normalizing the transition to middle school and running, running, running when the crazy-makers don't have it in their bodies to stay still.

Mixing moments and eye rolls and smiles and exasperation.

"With us and responsible." "With us and responsible." 

"Responsible." "Responsible." "Responsible." Until the kids are saying it too. Leaning a little closer. Fidgeting a little more. Growing like weeds and not sure what to do with themselves.

Because, we're spinning our wheels in this mud, slowly making traction, stick by careful stick. And, I have to remind myself to breathe a little deeper. Slow down. Don't rush the end of the story. Remember.

Remember that we've done this before. This bit where they glue themselves to my elbows and my knees. Where M*t** reappears from his spot at the front and starts to sit near us again. Where they slip in and out of my space, just wanting to say something. Show a magic trick. Take a picture. Offer a cookie. Be seen.

Remember that this is Lent.

This, with my phone in the pocket of a sixth grade girl, while some of the seventh grade boys pass around the badge part of my name tag, the lanyard around someone else's neck. The clapping hand shakes with Ch*d that wouldn't happen any other time of year. And, the slightly discombobulated feel that we ought to be moving faster than we are.

Like we were hurtling forwards and someone hit the breaks.

Stop. Breathe. 

Look back on old behaviors and new growth.

See how far they've come.

Watch the hands slip into the air in worship. Stay with this one who still can't stand the intensity of feeling that it brings to the room. Let him be uncomfortable. Let him grow.

Let them count the number of camps that they have left. The number that they have already seen.

Let them slip away, back into a room that they haven't been in for months. Let them fall into habits that only come back when it feels like their world is not quite right. Let them scramble a little in this mud. Together.

Together, even when I don't quite catch the cues. When the boys circle up for the game and then send an envoy in confusion, because, where am I? Why do I already have this circle that has formed around me? Didn't I know to come find them?

When we release the girls too early or let them get too loud. When the kids aren't the only ones spinning their wheels, fighting for traction.

When we celebrate Lent because we need to remember.

Remember that a King is coming. A sacrifice. To do what we could never do for ourselves.

Remember that today is never the end of the story.