The church season of Lent begins with Ash Wednesday on March 5.

For a number of years neither Ash Wednesday nor Lent were given much attention in many Protestant churches. To many, it seemed too “Roman Catholic.” I have almost no memories of Lent growing up, but then my family was not the most active church-going family either.

I have come to love this season. While its themes are difficult and the mood somber and subdued, it is a season that invites us to attend to our humanness in all its complexity. <!–split–>

We acknowledge our fragility during Lent. “You are dust” is part of the classic greeting when ashes are imposed on our foreheads or our hands. “All people are grass, their constancy is like the flower of the field. The grass withers, the flower fades.” (Isaiah 40:6-7). We treasure longevity, and know that with longer life comes stiff joints, fading vision, creaks, pains and loss.

During Lent we confront our finitude. We will not last forever. The classic Lenten phrase which begins, “You are dust,” concludes with “And to dust you shall return.” We may not relish the pains that come with aging, but we treasure even these years because we recognize that we will not go on forever. “The living know that they will die.” (Ecclesiastes 9:5). We sense our own end, and we experience the death of others who we love.

In the season of Lent we are asked to face the fact that as human beings we have a tremendous capacity to foul things up. “It’s our active inclination to break stuff, stuff here includes moods, promises, relationships we care about, and our own well-being and other people’s, as well as material objects whose high gloss positively seems to invite a big fat scratch.” (Francis Spufford, Unapologetic, 27). We not only have this capacity, the tendency to foul things up often gets the better of us.

And as human beings we are capable of taking flight. In the course of my ministry, I changed the traditional greeting on Ash Wednesday from “You are dust and to dust you shall return” to “You are dust and stardust.”

Yes, we are fragile and finite and foul things up. And we are made of the same material as the stars that shine in the night. The image of God remains within us. “The God said, ‘Let us make humankind in our image.” (Genesis 1:26). The Spirit of God breezes through our souls. “The Lord God formed the human from the dust of the ground, and breathed into the human’s nostrils the breath of life.” (Genesis 2:7).

We humans are this incredibly complex tapestry of fragility, finitude, tendency to foul things up and capacity to take flight and soar. A favorite Psalm of mine captures this well. “What are human beings that you are mindful of them, mortals that you care for them? Yet you have made them a little lower than God.” (Psalm 8:4-5). In Lent we ponder the incredible complexity of who we are and our relationship to the God who created us and redeems us in Jesus Christ.

Lent invites us to do more than reflect upon our human reality. It encourages us to, by the grace of God in Jesus and the power of God’s Spirit, develop qualities of character befitting of such self-knowledge.

Knowing that we are fragile and finite, knowing that we can and do foul things up, break things, yet knowing that we are capable of incredible acts of kindness, creativity, beauty, justice, compassion, courage and love, Lent invites us to lean into these qualities. We are sometimes frail and we don’t have forever, and we will mess things up sometimes, and yet in the span of our lives we can make a difference. We can do justice, and love kindness, and glow with the grace of God. “Finally, all of you, have unity of spirit, sympathy, love for one another, a tender heart, and a humble mind.” (I Peter 3:8).

In Lent we acknowledge that we can be both cruel and kind. In a world where cruelty seems to often have the upper hand, Lent encourages us to lean into kindness by the grace of God and in the power of the Spirit.

In Lent we acknowledge that we can be both callous and tender. In a world that often encourages callousness and defensiveness, Lent encourages us to lean into tenderness by the grace of God and the power of the Spirit.

In Lent we acknowledge that we can be both self-centered and compassionate. In a world where constriction of care is often the norm, Lent encourages us to lean into compassion by the grace of God and the power of God’s Spirit.

In Lent we acknowledge that we can be both narrow-minded and deeply reflective. In a world where too many spend reflective time in echo chambers which never deepen thinking, Lent encourages us to lean into reflectiveness and thoughtfulness by the grace of God and the power of God’s Spirit.

In Lent we acknowledge how often we are trapped in ways of thinking that demean and divide us from others and yet have an incredible capacity to overcome such divisions and build community. In a world where demeaning rhetoric is all too common and multiple tribalisms seem ascendent, Lent encourages us to lean into beloved community by the grace of God and the power of the Spirit.

In Lent we acknowledge that we can be both unloving, even hateful, and deeply loving, gentle and caring. In a world where hate remains too strong, and where people are so willing to appeal to our deep animosities, Lent encourages us to lean into love by the grace of God and the power of the Spirit.

In Lent we have the opportunity again to look deeply into our frailties and our failings and recognize that even amid such God does amazing things in us and through us. And God is not done with us.

I know there is much going on in the world, events about which I have and will comment. And a critical part of our response to distressful currents in our world is to continue to develop into the kind of people God intends us to be in Jesus Christ. The world needs these kind of people. I invite you to observe a holy Lent.

Rambling the Rivers of Lent together, Bishop David Bard