I’m no farmer.
Nope; I’m no farmer. Though I was born in the country, and spent at least a few spring and summer days with dirt under my nails from weeding a vegetable garden and pulling up carrots and digging for potatoes, ultimately I’m a city boy, more at home strolling down sidewalks than with driving a tractor.
But I do understand the basics.
I understand that in order for things to grow, the dirt needs to be tilled.
To be dug up, turned over, plowed.
It’s easy to wonder why we subject ourselves to Lenten disciplines.
It’s easy to claim that we are focusing “too much” on our brokenness, that we should stay focused on the resurrection life that is ours through Christ.
It’s easy to accuse us of being too morbid, too depressing, too melancholy.
My only reply to that is nothing grows if the dirt isn’t turned up.
In a way, Lent is about reminding ourselves of what our sin cost God and His Son (and the Holy Spirit as well), but in another way, the disciplines of Lent are about something more grand and long-term.
It’s about digging in the dirt so that we can grow. It’s about tilling the soil of our lives not for the purpose of shame and guilt, but for the purpose of preparing for growth.
So we can heal.
So the light can shine into the broken places.
Lent is certainly somber, but the long-term prognosis is hope, hope, hope.
But it has to start with dirt.
Peter said it so well…