Lent is a desert. It partakes of that holy isolation
beloved of early church ascetics, in contrast to those who dwell naturally in
the desert, who may find it quite a crowded place. For there are invisible
cities and rungs of association, even in the most spacious desert.
It’s
called quaresima, ‘forty days’. As if
these were the only 40 days there are. In Advent, we look forward, but in Lent
we look back. Our whole salvation history lies in Lent. And we have time to
repent: slowly, lento, as music wants
to reflect on a phrase or develop a theme.
Thank God, we can stop pretending to
be what we are not: invincible, immortal, insatiable. We consume less. Live as Ecclesiastes
says, between frugality and feast. We jettison what will not float: I like to
start with prejudices (still got many). We exercise the virtue of moderation.
Why
Lent? Why the liturgical year at all? Why liturgy, come to that? The liturgies
of antiquity were obligations of the rich to civic benefaction, keeping the
city in everything: aqueducts, baths,
libraries, public banquets. A liturgy lasted all year. We could embrace a
Lenten liturgy: giving up, and taking up.
