Lent for EveryonePhoto by John (mtsofan)/Flickr, cc by-nc-sA 2.0

Remember you are soil, and to soil you shall return.
~Gen. 3:19

The language of “spiritual journey” is commonplace in describing the season of Lent — the 40-day pilgrimage Christians undertake as they trek with Jesus from the wilderness to the garden to the garbage heap of Golgotha and beyond. “Spiritual” in this context, as in almost every other, is so vague as to be not merely unhelpful but an actual obstacle to understanding what it is that Lent has called Christians to through the centuries.

Generally, “spiritual” is meant to signal a concern with matters of the heart or the soul or the deepest self. More pointedly, it almost always springs from — even as it continues to endorse — the tired dualisms of modernity that have divided body from soul, matter from spirit, earth from heaven. This false divide, as Wendell Berry has observed, is “a fracture that runs through the mentality of institutional religion like a geologic fault.”

Interestingly, it is geology (sort of) that can help get us back on track or — forgive the pun — onto solid ground. When we Christians receive the ashes on our foreheads we are marked with a visible sign of our mortality, yes, but we are also reminded of our link to all of creation past, present, and future — to elements both earthly and celestial, to the soil and to the stars. We could even say: “remember you are stardust, and to stardust you shall return!”

The season of Lent also reveals how relentlessly incarnational is the faith we confess. When Jesus sojourns for 40 days in the wilderness, it is physical hunger (“he was famished”) that the gospel writers make special note of — except in Mark’s version, this year’s lectionary gospel, which is characteristically spare with the particulars. Fasting from food and its physiological consequences are part of Jesus’ quest for wisdom, understanding, and clarity of purpose.

There is an essential unity among body, soul, and the material world. Jesus is not “freed” of his body — nor of his bodily needs and desires — for the sake of his soul. And his soul is not disengaged from the material realm. As Berry notes about scriptural religion generally: “The Bible’s aim is not the freeing of the spirit from the world. It is the handbook of their interaction.”

In our own time, a relentlessly incarnational Christianity invites reflection on a host of ways that body, spirit, and world interact — ways in which our whole lives and our whole selves are either enriched or impoverished by situations of our own making or circumstances beyond our control. What does it mean, for example, to observe a Lenten fast in the context of social and economic realities like starvation among the poor, increasing food insecurity among the middle class, and growing obesity rates for all of us? How has the formative rhythm of feasting and fasting been obscured, overridden, undone by a culture of excess in which increasingly every meal is a mindless, hastily consumed feast, lacking in both nutrition and conviviality?

Or this: When late in Lent we regard the body of Jesus on the cross, can we see him as he is?

You’re not the figurehead on a ship. You’re not
flying anywhere, and no one’s coming to hug you.
You hang like that, a sack of flesh with the hard
trinity of nails holding you into place.

Can we share in poet Mary Karr’s unflinching gaze of a human body abandoned and broken? Can the “sack of flesh” disabuse us of our tendencies to sanitize the scene, fetishize the cross, and spiritualize the meaning of this first-century revolutionary’s death at the hands of the imperial authorities? With theologian James Cone can we see the reciprocity between the crucified Christ and “the lynched black body” of America’s shameful past? A past, Cone reminds us, that is not so past: one-third of all young black men are in prison or somewhere in the “system.” Bodies, again, alas, abandoned and broken.

37/366: Ash Wednesday

The ashes we Christians will receive on Wednesday may not convey enough of our connection to soil and stars and our sisters and brothers, but they do have deep associations with sorrow and repentance. The charcoal smudge across the forehead is a public sign that says to all I meet: I have sins to confess, wrongs to right. The challenge is to take this penitence seriously but to “wear” it lightly. “Beware of practicing your piety before others in order to be seen by them,” warns Jesus in the gospel reading appointed for Ash Wednesday. The task of repentance grounds us in the work of serving our neighbors, not ourselves.

The materiality of the faith we confess is most evident in a simple meal shared with friends. Christ’s body — taken, blessed, broken, and shared — makes of his followers a body. And for all that this means and for all that it requires, there is this fundamental imperative: we are to nourish and care for our own bodies and the bodies of others, including the earth from which we came and to which we will return. In Lent, we journey with Jesus to the place where his own “sack of flesh” redeems a broken world, revealing God’s love for all of creation, and forever conjoining body and soul, matter and spirit, earth and heaven.

Inset photo by Mandy Jansen/Flickr, cc by-nc-sa 2.0)

Debra Dean MurphyDebra Dean Murphy is an assistant professor of Religion and Christian Education at West Virginia Wesleyan College and serves on the board of The Ekklesia Project. She regularly blogs at Intersections: Thoughts on Religion, Culture, and Politics.

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Debra, thanks for this. It prompted me to act on something I've thought about for a while, but not yet moved on. Grace and peace to you.

what does the author make of the body of the risen Christ and the purging fire to come?
Wendell Berry is the best source on the biblical nature of the soul that a seminary prof. could come up with or is this just a convenient way to circumvent historical (and living) teachings on the mortification of the flesh? 

 Uhg.  Mortification of the flesh.  Those folks who came up with that one had it so wrong, so wrong. 

 care to elaborate?

 oops on looking her up I noticed that she is not a seminary prof. but is seminary educated, my mistake the petit bourgeois theology threw me off, if the liberal mainline churches keep up this line of thought their numbers will keeping following the middle-class into extinction.

As a project that works hard at exploring difficult issues and creating a space for open and respectful dialogue, I can only ask you and others to focus on commenting on the merits of the essay rather than critical, ad hominem remarks. Be open to hearing the other side and continuing a conversation rather than needing to be right. There are many truths in this world and isn't that the magic of being part of this discussion. There are so many other places to make fun of the other, to yell at someone, to criticize without caring. Let's continue to make this forum a better place where hearty, humanizing discussion is welcome.

not sure how my comments aren't in response to the content of the post, I don't know this writer and haven't said anything about her person/character, to reduce a wide and long tradition to the interests/tastes of the upper-middle class is an approach with its own historical consequences  which I may be wrong about but isn't that still a matter of the subjects raised by the author?

Terms like "petite bourgeoisie" can be interpreted as derisive name-calling and not constructive. Let's keep the discussion and feedback intellectually rigorous, challenging, and thoughtful.

 I see I meant it literally/sociologically, there is some irony that the people who insist on historicist readings of their traditions often than generalize/essentialize their own predispositions, no?

Debra, Thank you for this thoughtful discussion of the deeper meaning the rituals are intended to take us to.

As for the comments: I subscribed to this blog in hopes that I would 'meet' others who are interested in thoughtful discussion.  Most of the comments so far are not encouraging in that respect.

Hi Mary. Thanks for your feedback. I too am concerned with a few antagonistic few that are participating in the comment thread who are not willing to have open-hearted discussion. I've tried to moderate comments with the intention of allowing all types of voices to participate, but now I see this is getting in the way of vibrant conversation here.

Wow.  I loved this article for pointing out that as I am related to Christ in flesh, I am also related, though my very body to my fellow human beings and to the earth.  Stardust indeed, from which I came and to which my body will return.  I am drinking coffee.  Perhaps one of its water molecules was once the tear of a starving baby, or its mother.  As I sip, I have compassion.  I struggle with how I respond to such hunger.  I eat the body of Christ and drink the blood of the new covenant and feel it enter me and am reminded that it is in my body that Christ enters the earth: through my eyes and my hands which are physical things that convey love and compassion.  Thank you for this article.