Winter and Lent have
at least one thing in common, and that is that the experience of both is a
matter of duration as well as intensity.
Winter gives us no
choice or chance for input. The official
duration of winter is strictly marked
out on the calendar as three months, whether by astronomical markers (winter
solstice to spring equinox) or so-called meteorological ones (December through
February). The problem is that the subjective,
experienced duration is not fixed, but similarly thrust upon us. Whether it be harsh cold, or unrelenting
sunlessness, or frozen precipitation that closes roads and schools, winter
weather spreads all over the calendar without regard to official boundaries
rather like old schoolbook maps of the expansion of the Roman Empire. Some years autumn ends in a matter of weeks,
or it seems as if spring will never come at all.
Similarly the intensity of winter, which takes no
requests and respects no preferences. Remember
that long blast of arctic air that settled over us for so long in January? Nobody requested that; at least nobody I
know.
Lent also has a fixed duration, from Ash Wednesday through
Passiontide, until Easter breaks the penitential setting. There is a particular genius to this aspect
of Lent. These forty days, no more no less, can seem quite interminable, but
because we know precisely when they will end, we can bear almost anything,
undertake almost any penance, with confidence that we shall at least survive.
It is the intensity of Lent that is open to our
preference, and our input. Oh, sure; the
Church sets an official baseline: two days of fasting – two whole days!! And
abstinence from meat on Fridays (seven
days, but two of those were already in the first group). Beyond that, what? Unlike winter, the intensity is up to
us. I have undertaken intense Lents, and
I have allowed myself easy ones.
When it comes to
winter, I long ago determined that I am much better able to withstand and even
enjoy intensity than I am duration. Bitter
cold is bracing, a challenge to my Boy Scout preparedness, and makes me feel
vigorous when I get used to it. Plus, I
get to wear my Russian rabbit hat. A long, drawn out winter reduces me to a quivering
heap, discouraged, forgetful of what daffodils actually look like.
So, what about
Lent? The pinpoint precision with which
its duration can be predicted should give me confidence to measure out a right
proper level of intensity; but no. It is
the duration I can stand, and the intensity which fluctuates with my so-called resolve
and fortitude.
This weekend we have
reached the limit of my tolerance for winter’s duration, so rather than try to
change the weather, we have simply changed the bulletin cover to do away with
the snow. But Lent is moving into the
home stretch now, the hardest part: Passiontide. We have veiled the statues and crucifix to
remind us how grim our lot when God’s face is covered over.
Spring is coming, but
it will pass into the endless cycle of seasons.
So, too, will Easter come, but the Resurrection that great festival
brings will endure forever.
Surviving winter til
the sun’s warmth break through brings us joy and fills us with a feeling of
having overcome adversity. Making it
through Lent leaves us confident not in our strength or achievement, but in the
mercy and great love of God. Other than
that, they have a lot in common.
