By Scott Dickison
For those of us in the Western wing of the Christian family, yesterday was the first Sunday in Lent, which began last Wednesday and is the 40-day season of fasting and preparation leading up to Easter. But the Eastern wing of the family tells time a little differently, and so for them yesterday was the final Sunday before Lent, which didn’t officially began until today.
These differences in calendaring are fairly complicated, the product of an (un?)holy mixture of theology, politics and astronomy. But they boil down to the fact that in the 16th century the Western church began to use the newly created Gregorian calendar, while the Eastern Church has more or less continued to use the Julian calendar (you can read more about all of this here).
But back to yesterday.
In Eastern Christianity, this final Sunday before Lent is known by a special name: “Forgiveness Sunday,” and it brings a powerful tradition. At the close of the evening vespers service the entire congregation takes part in an act of mutual forgiveness in order to enter into the Lenten fast with a pure heart and a clean conscience. The priest and deacon first stand before each other and ask forgiveness, then one by one each member of the congregation processes forward, until every member of the congregation has stood before each of their brothers and sisters in Christ to ask for and offer forgiveness. Only then does Lent begin.
For the life of me, I can’t imagine a more moving testimony to the grace, blessing and challenge of living in Christian community.
A good friend tells me tradition has it that the practice dates back to the fourth and fifth centuries when monks would retreat alone into the wilderness for the season of Lent, a practice that still happens today. Before departing on this dangerous journey — the desert was scarce in food and water but abundant in wild animals — the monks would seek and offer forgiveness of each other because there was a very real danger that some of them would not return.
Now, that origin story has all the trappings of apocryphal wisdom, but the truth at the heart of it is very real in at least two ways. On one level, life is short and fleeting and so committing ourselves once a year to clear our hearts and consciences of all the clutter that accumulates over time is a good thing. Judaism has a similar tradition in their Day of Atonement, Yom Kippur.
But on another level, if Lent is truly a time when we recommit ourselves to being open to God’s presence in our lives, or “tune our hearts to sing God’s praise,” as the old hymn puts it, then this process can only begin by recommitting ourselves to the people God has put around us. Before we can turn and tune our hearts to God, we must first turn and tune our hearts to each other. We may be surprised to find that they are finally one in the same. As John put it, how can you love God but hate your neighbor? As Jesus put it, they’ll only know you by the love you share.
I’ve not participated in one of these forgiveness services, but my friend tells me they’re very powerful, but also very intimate, in a way that can be uncomfortable. I have no doubt of this. Intimacy brings with it a certain measure of discomfort, and when it’s done right, there are few things more intimate than forgiveness.
Forgiveness is often uncomfortable, for both parties involved. In our hyper-competitive culture admitting fault is understood as some kind of defeat. Sadly, the situation is often no different in many religious circles. In either case, forgiveness can be embarrassing. But as I’ve heard one of my favorite preachers, Steve Shoemaker, say, it’s often the things that embarrass us that have the power to save us.
In fact, this is probably the best way I’ve found to approach Lent: as a meditation on how it is that embarrassment, discomfort, inconvenience, even suffering, and all the things we normally do our best to avoid are in fact the very doors to the Kingdom of God.
This is surely the truth behind fasting. But until now I’d never considered that it might be the truth behind forgiveness. I’m coming to think it may even be the truth behind faith.
Blessings on your Lenten journey, no matter which calendar you use.