I tried to fast with my church for Lent this year. It lasted a day.
I tried to refrain from saying anything negative to Jeff. That lasted three days.
Then I just gave up.
Maybe it’s because I have no discipline. Maybe it’s because I’m feeling a little stubborn with God these days, and I just don’t feel like spending forty days focused on what a wretched sinner I am. Or maybe it’s because my daddy died in November. I’m already in mourning. Do I really need to do anything extra to remember how broken the world is?
Whatever the reason, I’ve felt increasingly anxious about not observing Lent. I know from previous years, that I need Lent to appreciate Easter. So I put aside the feeling that only losers start Lent on Palm Sunday, prayed for guidance, and made a plan.
Christians who hold seders on Good Friday often chirp, “Jesus was Jewish, you know!”
So was my daddy. When I dip the celery in salt water, I wont’ have to remember the salty tears of my ancestors; I’ll be crying them. For my daddy. For the world. And for the God who died for me. Which is probably all the Lent I can handle this year.