As a Jesus-follower this week is significant for me. This is the beginning of Holy Week when we anticipate the crucifixion and resurrection of Christ. It also marks the end of Lent; a time of giving up, a time of depravity if you so desire.
Growing up this meant I was a vegetarian on Fridays but I could eat as much fish as I wanted. In recent years it meant giving up something I leaned too heavily on like laziness when it comes to certain things like working out or writing.
This year I decided to put the irons to the fire and give up something I thoroughly enjoy: talking and over-thinking. Of course, I didn't give up talking all together, I gave up talking about something specific, something so close to my heart I barely remember a time when it wasn't there, nestled in and quietly keeping me company.
In my community it's common to ask if you have given something up for Lent and what it was you gave up. Many people I know give up some kind of food item: bread, sweets, alcohol, meat, etc. I have a friend who, for the past couple of years, has given up shoes and, in her act of solidarity with Jesus, only wears sandals during Lent. However, because I gave up talking about something I was occasionally put in an awkward position when asked how I was honoring Lent. I would just say that I did give something up but that I wasn't talking about it and people seemed to respect that.
The problem was I wanted to. Of course I did. I wanted to spill my guts like a light-sabered Ton-Ton. I wanted to tell everyone the long story, the good parts, the hard things, and the way my heart hurts, but I didn't. I sat quietly and recited Psalm 121 in my head and tried to tell myself if would get better.
When I first made the decision to give up talking I knew it also meant day dreaming and stewing and all the pit falls of the type of deeply internal life I lead. I knew I needed a weapon, something to soothe the panic and unanswerable questions so I would say the Lord's Prayer. After the first few days it would start with a sigh and like I had received a slap on the wrist, I dutifully recited the prayer.
After the first week, however, I knew, despite its holy breadth, this prayer was not going to cut it. This was going to be a long 40 days and I needed something more meaty to quell what was going on under the surface. I easily found Psalm 121 and after a few days of self discipline, I memorized it. I said it at work in meetings when my mind began to wander. I said it in the car when a song made me want to scream and cry and ask unanswerable questions. I said it on long walks past places filled with memories. I said it as I lay awake in the middle of the night. And I said it when I seemed happy and you saw me laughing.
What I've found now, though, is that I recite Psalm 121 less and less frequently in a given 24 hour period. It's also said with much less resignation than it was in the beginning of Lent and it feels more like the comfort of a blanket of peace and familiarity. I know that it's true, that my help comes from the Maker of Heaven and Earth and if He can tackle that, my problem should be no problem. I know that "He who watches over me will neither slumber nor sleep" and that "the LORD watches over my comings and goings both now and forevermore." Thank God.
Silence has taught me a precious lesson that seemed trite and holier-than-thou before this season: that over-processing with the people in my life and even inside my own head won't get me closer to solving my problem or feeling better about it. But reminding myself of God's faithfulness over and over and over again will. Every time.
Easter is coming and it should be said that I will not likely speak of this time outside of my journal. But despite the relief that comes with the knowledge of the Risen Christ I am keeping this time, what I've learned about who I am and where I'm going close to my heart...
where it was all along.
