I’ve been intrigued to discover as I study Luke this time that the language in the Magnificat of the mighty being brought down from their thrones and the lowly uplifted is a recurring motif throughout the book. John the Baptist changes the scripture he quotes from Isaiah to talk about every valley being filled and every hill and mountains made low. Jesus always comes down from the mountain to preach on a plain, and Luke even has the Beatitudes delivered on a plain instead of a mount. God is at work making all things level – bringing down those who prosper now and uplifting those who suffer now. A message that we sometimes can accept at Christmas with its reminder that the Savior of the world was laid in a lowly manger. But in Lent it is far more unsettling.

This is a season of penance and sacrifice, but often only of the personal kind. We give up pleasures or habits for the sake of drawing ourselves closer to God. For many the discipline of such sacrifice is simply a means of reorienting their worship and devotion to God so as to strengthen that commitment overall. The discipline prepares one for deeper relationship with God. But as John proclaimed, preparing the way of the Lord involves bringing down and lifting up. And as Mary asserts, one magnifies the Lord because God has and is in the process of continuing to bring down and lift up. But how often do our Lenten practices participate in this sort of leveling out?

Pietism that relies solely on personal sacrifices that affect us and us alone can serve to draw us emotionally closer to God, but our faith is not something that concerns just us. We exist as a body and as members of the body of Christ the disciplines we engage in should always work towards the good of that body. While being personally closer to God might serve the good of the body in some ways, it is rare that Lenten practices are conceived in such a way. The recent popularity if the images included here attest that at least in popular perception Lent has nothing to do with working for the good of others, of righting relationships that are unbalanced, but is instead merely a selfish (and therefore) pointless practice.

What if our acts of repentance and confession instead served to care for the body as a whole? What if we confessed the ways we have uplifted the mighty (ourselves included) and brought down the lowly? What if our penance and sacrifice involved reversing that imbalance and preparing the way of the Lord by leveling out those relationships? Yes, it is far more difficult to sacrifice a position of privilege and power than it is to give up chocolate or coffee for a few weeks, but it seems to far better reflect the ways God has called us to worship and follow after him. Sacrifice just for the sake of ourselves misses the point. The reminder to bring down and uplift pushes us beyond ourselves to acts of love, repentance, and worship that serve the entire body and not just our particular part.

So while Magnificat is not normally a Lenten text, my meditation on it this year is teaching me that perhaps it should be.

And in all truth, it’s been a strange season for me. Holy Week as well. I am immersed in the Christian world and yet I think Lady Gaga’s new controversial single “Judas” has prompted more spiritual reflection in me than anything else this week. It’s been amusing to follow the controversy and to read the outrage of those who are incensed that anyone would dare admit to being tempted to love Judas over Jesus. Because, of course, none of the rest of us ever betray Jesus in any way. None of the rest of us lives in the real world full of its tensions and murky conflicts. We all must preserve the façade of who we declare Jesus to be without admitting to the reality of the world we inhabit. Or something like that.

So while Lady Gaga’s song was a well-timed publicity stunt, it is brilliantly proving its own social commentary in how it is being received. A world that hypocritically denies its own hypocrisy is throwing a fit at having that hypocrisy pointed out in such an outrageous manner. The Jesus they claim to follow doesn’t match the lives they live and it is a divided life that they are fine with until someone like Lady Gaga forcefully pulls down the dividing curtain. But as I thought about it, I realized that it is that crazy divided life and disconnect from reality in the church that has defined my experience this Lent.

During this season of spiritual reflection and sacrifice as Christians theoretically prepare ourselves to respond to the sacrifice of Christ by becoming living sacrifices ourselves, the church as I’ve experienced it this year has been hell-bent on defending tooth and claw its own personal construction of Jesus apart from the reality of the world. On one hand there have been the vicious attacks on any who would dare suggest that maybe, just maybe, God’s love is stronger than death and will win in the end. For some, theirconception of a limited God must be defended above relationships or the even the communion of saints. Then on the other hand this season has been defined by large sections of the church campaigning to ensure that our government doesn’t waste our hard-earned tax dollars on programs for the poor and disadvantaged in our nation. ‘Jesus’ must be defended at all costs, but never to the point that he actually crosses that dividing line into our real lives (and budgets). This is how we have been preparing to celebrate the Resurrection this year.

Instead of letting the sacrifice of Christ prompt us to live eucharistically as the body of Christ that shares the abundant blessing and gifts of God with each other, this Lent has been defined by selfish hoardings of God’s love. We limit God’s love to only those who intellectually assent to the same cognitive propositions as we do, and we then hoard God’s freely given blessings as if we’ve done something to deserve them or something. We love Judas and the pieces of silver too much to actually follow the Christ we proclaim – but unlike Lady Gaga, we refuse to admit it.

So this is Easter and what have we done? It hurts my soul to see how the church has spent Lent this year. We are the Body of Christ, why can’t we live like it?

My daughter has had a difficult time understanding Lent this year. She was all about pancakes and beads on Mardi Gras, but was disappointed that Ash Wednesday was more solemn and faith oriented. The lack out an outward expression to grasp hold of was something she had a hard time wrapping her mind around. But it’s hard to explain faith to a kindergartener, for that matter it’s hard to grasp as an adult. We are so conditioned in our modern post-enlightenment world to assume that everything around us must be scientific and objective that we lose sight of the fact that we are subjective creatures that are immersed in mystery at all times.

Take the Bible for instance. For most of Christian history, people didn’t try to place it under a microscope like we do now. That’s a very recent development. So these days we see passages like Lazarus rising from the dead and we either scoff at the supernatural elements or use historical criticism to dismiss any possibility of them ever happening or we insist on biblical literalism and that one must believe in the historicity of the text. But those approaches don’t reflect what true faith is about. The Bible isn’t just a book of facts giving us a snapshot of past events that we have to swallow whole. It’s a story of God that we are invited to enter into and be transformed by. We are narrative creatures living in unfolding time; our lives come from somewhere and are going somewhere. We inhabit the same world as the authors of scripture and so can enter into that narrative and be transformed by it. The text isn’t totalitarian, forcing us to believe scientifically; it is a story that we enter into. We enter this story and are able to embody its eschatological end which is always leading to Jesus. The point is less about if stuff really happened or not, but if we are allowing our story to be overtaken by God’s story and our lives to be overtaken by that grace.

It’s a stance that breaks down the Enlightenment spawned dichotomy of faith versus reason. Those things aren’t pitted against each other, but work together to bring us ever closer to a God that is constantly revealing Godself to us. God created us to be in relationship with him – our purpose is to ever love and praise God. This is part of what it means to enter into the narrative of scripture and become part of the story of the work of Jesus in the world. It’s not about following faith or reason; it is about embracing who we were created to be – which includes both our faith and reason. Treating God or the scriptures like a lab experiment misses the point – such things are not mere pieces in a puzzle that we need to figure out and then statically place in the correct place once we have all the answers. They are transformative glimmers of a story that is given to us as a gift – a story that we have the privilege of living out. It is this story that shapes the community called the church. The church doesn’t exist to tell us dogmatically what to do and believe. It is a place where this story unfolds with a polyphony of voices. This pluralism of voices will necessarily cause conflict, but because we are narrative creatures always moving towards God the point is not to ever impose a false unity on this community. The church, while at times having to take stands, shouldn’t tell people that they are expected to believe in some static way, but instead invite the community with the full humanity of their faith and reason intact to be in constant dialogue as we move forward in this story of following Christ

If we stop pitting reason against faith, the triune God becomes less of a problem to be solved and more of a relationship to experience. Mystery and a relationship grounded in love are not fantasies no matter what our modern world has conditioned us to believe. We cannot put love inside a test tube and objectively declare it to be true, that is not the purpose of love. We love to be transformed, to be part of a story that is greater than ourselves. We were created for love, and to live into that story we need to stop selling ourselves short by forcing ourselves to be people of faith or people of science. Embracing our full humanity changes the lens through which we see the world, encounter the scriptures, and understand how a triune relational God reveals Godself to us. Our faith isn’t a discredited tradition from simpler times; it is a reminder that there is a greater story being told that invites the whole of who we are to step into an eternal drama. We don’t unthinkingly observe Lent or smear ashes on our foreheads on Ash Wednesday because we have to or because someone tells us we must in order to be a good Christian, we do it to remind ourselves of the story we are a part of and the eschatological end we are living towards. My daughter might not see yet the intensity of the invitation to join in on that story – pancakes and beads hold more power in the moment – but to me these ashes are charged with eternal significance that pulls me ever closer in relationship with a dynamic God. And that is what faith is about.

But for a long time I thought it was. Everything I heard about Lent revolved around the acts of self-denial. It was all about what object or habit one would give up and how hard it was to deny oneself of that thing. Of course that denial was meant to help one think about God and Christ’s sacrifice, but in truth the focus was always on the act of denial itself. The question always is, “what are you giving up for Lent?” as if that is what the season is about.

On one hand it’s understandable that we miss the point of Lent. In our religious traditions rituals and legalism are far easier to promote, understand, and implement than spirituality and faith. We can grasp rules. It is far easier to tell kids to obey rules than to explain to them why they should desire to act rightly. They then end up following the rules simply because the rules exist. When it comes to Lent we often do the same – denying ourselves something for the sake of denial. We give up chocolate or Facebook thinking that act of denial is the purpose of Lent. And we end up missing the point.

But Lent isn’t about denial, it is about transformation. It is the season in which we prepare to encounter Christ’s sacrifice by endeavoring to become more Christ like ourselves. Transformation is about letting ourselves be filled with God’s presence so that we can be shaped by God’s grace. Our acts of kenosis – denying ourselves in order to empty ourselves enough to allow God to fill us – are means to an end. They are disciplines that prepare us to be transformed. We deny ourselves so that we can be reborn as new creations – to live more fully as the Kingdom citizens God desires us to be.

So I am very tentative in choosing what disciplines I will follow during Lent to open myself up to God’s transforming power. I’ve discovered that for me personally, legalistic denial for the sake of denial often achieves the opposite purpose. Giving up coffee doesn’t make me a better follower of Christ, it just makes me more irritable and more of a bitch. Giving up Facebook doesn’t help me build community in the body of Christ; it simply helps me as a detached introverted person creep further into my shell. Those disciplines don’t assist me in emptying myself in order to let God in; they simply fill me with more of me.

I’ve come to learn that in order to become more fully the person God wants me to be, I instead need to make sacrifices that actually allow me to achieve those ends. Often those sacrifices are less about personal denial, and more about following disciplines that encourage me to love others more. In the past I’ve attempted to eat more ethically or shop fairly – which of course required discipline and sacrifice on my part (and a bit of denial as well), but the outcome of these outwardly focused changes was far more personally transformative than if I had just eliminated something from my life for forty days.

So for me the question for Lent is not “what am I giving up?” but instead “what can I do to allow God to transform me this season?” The answers to those questions might be the same for some people, for me changing the question shifted how I observed Lent. Whatever the case, I think it is important to understand what the ultimate purpose is behind why we engage in certain disciplines unless we miss their very point.

Now of course being aware could just be a euphemism for doing nothing – and it just well might be. It's easy sometimes to open our eyes to the world around us and then fail to act upon what we see. That's me most of the time these days. But when I'm at the point that my main goal some days is just to make it to the end of the day without having gone utterly insane from being trapped inside the house with screaming children – to open my eyes and get past my self-absorption seems like a good place to start.

So being aware…

Here's where I show how really pathetic I am. I've been reading through the Lenten Guide provided by Mustard Seed Associates. It is a fantastic resource, full of faith and community building suggestions for the season. I was drawn to the meditation they had on Psalm 51:10 "Create in me a clean heart O God and renew a right spirit within me." It resonated with my desire to be more aware of my world and get over myself. And it's a way more spiritual of a prayer than "God help me not be a selfish bitch."  But part of the Lenten Guide is a suggestion to take the Mutunga $2 Challenge. The idea is for a family to commit for a week to eating on $2 per person per day. Since most of the world only makes $2 a day, this is an exercise to help foster awareness as to how most of the world lives. If anything, it serves to highlight how much we truly do have. I think it's a great idea, but (and here's the pathetic part) I'm not doing it. But in a strange way that too has helped me be more aware.

When I first heard about the challenge, I mentally started adding up the cost of what it takes to feed Aidan each day. At 8 months his diet is rather fixed and I quickly realized that there is no way that I could feed him on $2 a day. That shocked me since I already try to be economical with his food. His diet consists of breast milk, formula, oatmeal, and pureed fruits and veggies. So the breast milk is free and if I was a bit more diligent about using the (expensive) breast pump I have then perhaps I wouldn't need the formula. But the reality is that he gets formula in his oatmeal and generally one bottle a day. I'm already over a dollar there. Granted I use organic formula – the stuff that doesn't contain hormones, steroids, and melamine. Perhaps I could save a few cents by feeding him those poisons, but really? On top of that I make all of his pureed food. I save a ton of money (and disposable jars) doing that, but even 8-10 oz a day adds up fast (between $1-2 a day). But if I were buying the jar food, that same amount of food would cost between $2-5 a day.

But as I thought through that I was reminded that it is generally the poorer mothers who are forced to buy the more expensive foods. For a lot of women because of job circumstances using expensive formula is the only option. And finding time to make babyfood is hard – it's a lot easier for busy moms to just buy jars off the shelf. Even ignoring what is healthiest for the baby or what is most environmentally friendly – the bottom line is that it costs more to get by when you're stressed out trying to make ends meet. So I have to ask – what causes this? Is it culture? All the other moms use formula, so it seems like the only option. Marketing? All those free formula samples supplied to hospitals and doctors making their mark. Lack of education? Do women not know the cost difference and health benefits? Or simply systemic injustices that prevent poor mothers from fully focusing on their family. This is not just about the poor in third world countries struggling on $2 a day – but its about minimum wage single moms here that are caught in a system that holds them back. When those that can least afford it have to spend the most on food there are cultural issues that seriously need addressed.

What am I doing about that? I don't know. Yet. But I know it helps to be aware.

I totally understand the idea of being disciplined and of using one's extra time or craving to draw closer to God. That's in theory at least how its supposed to work. But it all seemed sort of hollow to me. What lasting spiritual effect is there of not eating chocolate, complaining about it, putting others out who happen to serve it, and then resuming consumption come Easter? Or what's the point of giving up TV when you know that you'll just catch up on those episodes of Lost on TiVo or DVD after Easter?

What confuses me even more is the tendency to give up relational things for Lent. I've had friends give up using a cell phone – which just made it really annoying for us (or their employer) to reach them. Others give up going out with friends and others give up the whole Facebook, Twitter, blog thing. While I understand how such things can be addictions, but it just seems counter-intuitive to the ideals of Lent to separate ourselves from community.

So this is where I'm sure I offend, but its something I've been struggling with. I just don't see the purpose of Lent to be this perfunctory elimination of some random thing we like whose loss we endure simply until Easter. It's just too individualistic – it's all about me, my sacrifice, and (hopefully) my relationship with God. And while I admit to and am grateful for the personal message of the gospel, this perspective seems to forget that part of the message of the gospel (and of Lent) is that of righting relationships. The gospel is not just about us – it's not just about getting our own butts into heaven or making sure we feel close to God. It's also about loving our neighbors, seeking justice for the oppressed, and being part of the body of Christ.

So that's why I am uncomfortable with reducing Lent to chocolate or a few episodes of American Idol. During Lent we are called to right our relationships with God and with others. So I'm more inclined to instead of giving up Facebook use it more deliberately – trying to be more aware of the simple everyday parts of my friends lives. I don't want to give up food simply for the sake of giving it up – I want to instead show love to others by eating food that was ethically sourced. I want to discipline my life to be more aware, more involved, and more loving. I want the season of Lent to transform me in ways that extend beyond Easter.

That said, I'm at a loss how to proceed this season. I want to love others and build community, but right now I'm still struggling to figure out how. It would be easy to simply eliminate something from my life, but I'm beginning to understand that perhaps it is better to build. But of course, that's a lot messier. So I'm still trying to figure it out.