Because my spiritual heritage is mostly "low-church" evangelical, I've needed a refresher course on Lent every year since I was confirmed as an Anglican in 2007. This year is no different. 

I know Lent is supposed to be a season of penance as I prepare to remember the suffering, death and resurrection of Jesus, but I don't recall much more than that.

Christianity Today co-managing editor Ted Olsen had a similar problem in 2004, so he did some research and wrote about the history of Lent for Christian History magazine.

Olsen traced the season's origin back to church father Irenaus of Lyons (c.130-c.200). Irenaus wrote about a two- to three-day observance. Then in 325, the Council of Nicea discussed a 40-day observance that may have begun as a preparation for baptism, but soon spread to the whole church, according to Olsen. He wrote:

"How exactly the churches counted those 40 days varied depending on location. In the East, one only fasted on weekdays. The western church's Lent was one week shorter, but included Saturdays. But in both places, the observance was both strict and serious. Only one meal was taken a day, near the evening. There was to be no meat, fish, or animal products eaten."

Gregory the Great (c.540-604) instituted Ash Wednesday as the beginning of Lent.

"As Christians came to the church for forgiveness, Gregory marked their foreheads with ashes reminding them of the biblical symbol of repentance (sackcloth and ashes) and mortality: "You are dust, and to dust you will return" (Gen 3:19)," wrote Olsen.

By the 800s, fasting was already becoming more lenient, and although Eastern Orthodox churches are "still quite strict," by 1966 "the Roman Catholic church only restricted fast days to Ash Wednesday and Good Friday," wrote Olsen. 

My own observance of Lent began when my husband and I were on staff at a mega-church in Southern California. I was growing weary of the modern worship style and secretly longed for something richer. When a series of scandals at the church sent us packing in 2006, I saw my opportunity and convinced my husband to give the "high church" of our early childhoods another chance.

In 2008, for my second Anglican Lent, I felt compelled to abstain from meat for 40 days. In a post on my blog I wrote:

"Usually I fast from chocolate for Lent. Living without See’s almonds sunk in ebony silk implies suffering to me. Forgoing meat is something I did for years on end when I was young. 

This Lent was richer and deeper because I refrained from the stuff of life rather than the fluff of life. I’ve thought about substance—the meat of the Word. I’ve thought about lack—my dad, who turns 70 tomorrow and will celebrate without me … again. I’ve thought about nourishment, and the negligences I’ve committed against my own soul as I’ve grown weary of hardship. ..." 

Five days after Easter that year, my 23-year-old son Gabriel took his own life.

Six months later my husband, our other son, and I came home to New Jersey and lived with my parents for a year. In March 2009, I posted this Lenten update:

"Last year at this time, I had a strong sense that I ought to abstain from meat for 40 days. It was odd because I only tolerate meat in minuscule amounts. I’m partial rather to shellfish and dessert. Hence, the high cholesterol.

I wrote something then about abstaining from the stuff of life rather than the fluff of life. It was a prophecy uttered unknown to myself for now until forever in this mortal habitation we call time. For what is the stuff of life more than children? They are evidence that one isn’t just going through the motions “long after the thrill of livin’ is gone,” to quote John, not the Cougar, Mellencamp.

This is how I know that God was not absent last March 28th at nine-o-something in the evening. It was his Spirit who inspired me to abstain from the stuff of life—the blood and muscle and sinew of my days—instead of chocolate, too ordinary a Lenten abstention, but one much more challenging for a frivolous fool like me.

The Almighty was preparing me for who knows how many years of abstention, of hope deferred, of evidence unseen."

I wondered if I would be excused from fasting, given that "I do without already. Every day. Every hour. Every heartbeat and break. From the stuff of life, by half," and determined that I was not excused because: "Life does in fact go on in this interminable Eternal Now. The flesh still needs its training in abstention. Abstention from excessive grief. Abstention from wallowing in the bitter cup. Abstention from fear and morosity."

I fasted from bitter foods as a physical reminder that God was calling me to press on with life. 

This fast was much more challenging than I expected. 

I hadn't realized when I chose it that both chocolate and coffee are bitter foods, along with numerous other delicacies I enjoy. So I revised the fast and excluded those two items. When it was over I concluded, "The fast from bitter foods was so subtle, it mostly reminded me not to wallow" in grief.

Since then, I have loosely followed the suggestions in a little brochure I picked up at Trinity Episcopal Church in Red Bank titled "The Observance of Lent: Suggested Disciplines and Devotions." Here is a summary:

1. Fasting — The weekdays of Lent are fast days. A good (if modern) suggestion is no snacks, no seconds, no desserts, and no alcohol. The idea is to undertake something sacrificial, yet not overwhelming. Traditionally Ash Wednesday and Good Friday are strict fast days: one full meal in the evening, a very light one is the afternoon or nothing before 3pm. Those who are ill, elderly, pregnant or nursing are not bound to this discipline.
2. Abstinence  — Abstain from flesh meat on Wednesdays and/or Fridays.
3. Spiritual Reading — Renew a commitment to reading the Scriptures or add a spiritual classic.
4. Self Denial — Give up some special pleasure or recreation and perhaps give what money you would have spent on it to charity.
5. Service — As well as "giving up" something in Lent, "take on" a special service.
6. Evangelism –Renew your commitment to sharing the good news of Jesus Christ with friends and neighbors.

This year, a priest at Trinity will be available to hear confessions. If I were to confess something, it would be that 3.5 years of worshiping and working at a mega-church made me an Anglican, not so much, as I suggested above, because I found the modern worship vacuous, which I eventually did, or because sitting through 45-minute sermons every week put me to sleep, which they eventually did. 

Similar complaints about worship being rote and empty send people from high churches to low ones, or to none at all.

For me, modern worship triggers too many bad memories from the mega-church and its aftermath.

I realize that people have different tastes in music and I have no obligation to emotionally connect with any particular style. I need to be healed though, if only to reclaim the good memories that inspired my family to make the westward journey of faith in the first place.

So today, I'll receive the impartation of ashes, and loosely follow the 6-part plan outlined above. Then, I think I'll get out some of my old modern worship CDs and see if I can embrace those songs again--and with them, a piece of my own spiritual heritage.  

How about you? What, if anything, will you do for Lent?