Good Things to Find Out Late in the Game

Today I had to sit down and plan a baptism. Not a real baptism, mind you; rather, a baptism for our class “Liturgical Leadership” (a class affectionately known by most as “Magic Hands”). In this last semester of seminary, the class is one of several grand wrap-ups that are meant to pull together everything we've learned and send us out ready to be priests. In Liturgical Leadership we each design a service and then lead as presider (the class entails various Eucharists, Good Friday, Marriage, Funeral, etc.). I get to do a baptism. I've had to imagine the community where it will take place, drum up a willing mom and baby, find at least one godparent, and today, sit down and sketch out the service.

As I was planning the service – picking hymns, thinking over the use of space and symbols, etc. - I realized that I have done a LOT of liturgy planning over the course of seminary. You would expect this. The pleasant realization was that I have yet to get tired of it. I enjoy it. It remains fun.

Back when I was an archaeologist, there was a lot about the job that could be annoying – difficult weather, difficult people, boring projects, annoying logistical problems. However, I never got tired of being on archaeological sites. During excavations I simply enjoyed the slow and steady and technical work and I got a kick out of walking around a site with a trowel in my back pocket. I always enjoyed finding sites and munching around, exploring them, seeing what I could see. I still do, as a matter of fact.

So, I'll take it as affirming that one of the basic aspects of a priestly job – liturgy planning – still holds appeal for me. It's not the only thing I still like – I've yet to get tired of sermon writing, I enjoy researching community issues and trying to connect them with theological insights. I'm sure there will be less than thrilling aspects of this job – any job entails humdrum and annoying aspects. The fact that I still like big parts of the work is probably a good sign. Which, here near the end of this long trip, I'm pleased to find out.

Lenten Discipline

As of tomorrow, Lent comes around again at seminary. After three years of this, I'd have to say that Lent is the most noticeable liturgical season at my seminary at least. There are a wide variety of liturgical changes in chapel worship – more use of the Confession of Sin, use of the Trisagion (Holy God, Holy and Mighty, Holy Immortal One, have Mercy on Us), and a real connection between preaching and campus discussions. And, inevitably, dining room conversations will revolve around the various Lenten practices and disciplines people have in their personal life. There are a huge range of practices and deeply held theologies and ideas behind them.

If I have noticed a trend it is a frustration with “giving something up” during Lent. There is a feeling that it can be an empty asceticism, an act of self-denial with no real purpose, and it reminds people, particularly the former Roman Catholics, of being forced to give up something they liked for an annoying stretch of time when they were kids. I agree with all these arguments. There is no point in simply denying yourself for the sake of denial.

However, there are lots of good reasons for self denial. I actually have one Lenten practice that I've kept for years now – I give up alcohol. This is an old one, one people usually push against. I simply tried it years ago and have found it useful. Here's why:

Lent is a time of personal self-reflection and examination of conscience. It originated as a period of intensive preparation for Baptism – the forgiveness of sins – and still carries a sense that we need to examine what in our lives is keeping us from God and each other. I find it easiest to do this when stone cold sober. No having a beer in the evening, no sitting in a mildly buzzed (and pleasant) stupor. Not drinking frees me up to focus on what I need to examine. I don't spend all my time pondering my sins, but always being sober gives me the space to do it.

As part of our preparation for Easter, I think it is good to reflect both on the cross and tomb – our low points as people – along with the joy and abundance of the resurrection. I'm not a heavy drinker, but I do enjoy a beer, or some good wine, or a nice cocktail, they add some abundance to life. So, over the course of Lent, abstaining gives me some reflection on the tomb, and a glass of champagne on Easter reminds me of God's grace and abundance.

Finally, I think of our work in Lent as akin to preparing a garden for spring. We take a look at the dormant plants, brown and cold. We prune, we fertilize, we prepare. It is a very different time, one where we want to be intentional and directed. For me, every time I don't drink when I might have, I'm reminded of this process.

This particular discipline of self-denial works for me. I also try to add something each year, a “positive” practice. But the stability of this practice frees me to pursue other things.