Growing up in south Louisiana is a privilege. I’ve been around the world and I’ve experienced no culture, food, or people, quite like those of my home. In south Louisiana Mardi Gras is a season. Much like Black Friday and tree sales initiating the Christmas season, I grew up with king cakes, parades, and Mardi Gras balls initiating the Lenten season.
As a little girl I wanted so badly to be Catholic. I was just about the only kid in elementary school who didn’t ‘get to’ go to catechism. We were (still are) non-denominational Christians and listening to the other kids plan out and talk about their catechism carpools and the mean nuns left me feeling like a red-headed step-child (no offense to my ginger friends). I wanted my own rosary and I wanted to see my friends get hit on the back of their hands with a ruler by a nun when they talked during prayer.
I eventually got over the desire to be Catholic and decided to just embrace the parts of Catholicism that I found enjoyable and comforting. Even so, not living in Louisiana for more than twenty years means that I’ve missed out on being immersed in the season. For many years I whined about missing the parades and having to make my own kingcakes. And then, a few years ago, I realized that I was not only missing all the fun aspects of the Mardi Gras season. I was missing the reverent aspects of the Lenten season as well. Although I had been one of the few non-Catholic kids in school, just living in Baton Rouge meant that I didn’t have meat in the cafeteria on Fridays and that I didn’t have school at all the week of Mardi Gras and Ash Wednesday. And, even though my Mom would explain to me every year from the time I was six that I “didn’t have to”, I still gave up something every year for Lent. I had to have something to add to the playground conversations and to be honest, I liked the discipline of the giving up. I still do. I fast from various things at various times throughout the year and I am always blown away at the really BIG WAYS that God shows up when I’m giving something up and replacing that something with Him.
A few years ago, during the Lenten season, something amazing happened. While I was in Lake Charles, Louisiana caring for my grandmother, my dear hubby was home in Virginia studying all things Ressurectionish. I returned home to find a mezuzah attached to the frame of our front door and a book laying on the kitchen counter telling how to prepare the Passover Seder. My former Catholic, very Italian husband, got in touch with his Jewish roots. He found a desire to honor the beauty of Christ’ life, death, and resurrection in physical, tangible ways.
As dear hubby and I gave homage to all things Christ-centered, we talked to our children about the Lenten season and the crucifixion and the resurrection. We reminded them over and over that all of it was for grace. That Christ did not just come to earth and live as a man and die FOR us, but AS us. We told them that he felt pain and misery and abuse so that we could let go of those things when they happen to us. We told them that he was tortured and beaten for every wrong thing that any of us would ever do. We told them that he conquered death so that all of those wrongs would not have the power to dictate how we live our lives. We told them that he died for our freedom. He died for our redemption. He died because he loves us. He died for grace.
Romans 8:38-39 And I am convinced that nothing can ever separate us from God’s love. Neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither our fears for today nor our worries about tomorrow—not even the powers of hell can separate us from God’s love. No power in the sky above or in the earth below—indeed, nothing in all creation will ever be able to separate us from the love of God that is revealed in Christ Jesus our Lord.
We’ve told our children these things throughout their lives, but grace and love and freedom are so much bigger than what can be told. They must be shown.
Yes, my children know what this season is about. But the same year that my husband found his Jewish roots, I found myself burdened. I want my kids to experience Christ, not just know about him. I desire more than anything for grace and freedom to be part of their identities, not just part of their knowledge base. I knew all about Jesus when I was a teenager, but I was clueless when it came to grace and freedom and unconditional love. Unfortunately, my lack of understanding led me to believe that choices I made could never be forgiven. My lack of experience with the realness of Christ’ sacrifice led to years of running and self-destruction.
I want more for my children. God, let them know! Let them know how BIG your love is. Let them know how BIG your grace is. Let them walk in freedom every day of their lives. Give them total understanding that NOTHING can separate them from your love. Give me wisdom in showing them these things. Amen.
John 15:13 There is no greater love than to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.
When I was giving up something for Lent as a child I appreciate that my Mom made it clear that I had free will and that I did not have to. But I really wish she had taken the time to teach me what Lent was about. I wish I had known that the “giving up” was in honor of what Christ gave up for us. I really wish that I had had some tangible symbolic activity that I could connect to scripture as a reminder that freedom and love and grace are mine for the taking. But I didn’t. And now… I have a chance to redeem my story. I have four (not-so) little people in my care that I CAN provide with a tangible symbolic activity that can be tied to scripture. In my endeavor to find that activity, I came across this blogpost by Ann Voskamp. Read it. Be inspired.
On New Year’s Eve 2012, we had a little party at our house. Instead of having people sit around and discuss or write down their hopes, dreams, aspirations, and resolutions for 2013, I gave everyone a couple of index cards and a pen at 11:30pm. I asked everyone to go find a quiet spot and write down ALL of the things that they would like to leave behind in 2012. And then… just before midnight, we put our cards, one-by one, in the fireplace and watched them burn.
For the last few years, as an attempt to SHOW what Holy Week is all about, I build a repentance box. Our family (and friends who stop by during the week) write out our bad choices, our pains, every ounce of unforgiveness. All the junk Christ carried to the grave, we place it in the box and let it go. And just before midnight, on the Saturday before Resurrection Sunday, we will turn it all to ash.
Happy Season of Grace!
Go build your box. 😀