Lent... the Aunt Thelma of the liturgical year

My great-aunt Thelma was a force to be reckoned with. Stout of heart and body, her corset pulled tight by long laces, she moved through the days of her life busy with the work of God and man. Her round face, usually smiling, was wreathed with long braids wrapped round her head. When she took her daily nap, we were awed to see her unlace her corset before she lay down and even more dumbfounded to watch her lace it back up again. Hugging Aunt Thelma was like hugging a tree. Above you there was warmth and softness, but where you reached to hug there was only a generous sized unyielding whalebone encased midsection.
She was always on her way somewhere or doing something and talking non-stop with her Virginia Tidewater brogue a treat to my ears. Her pickled peaches were a gourmet treat and a meal at her house was a pleasure. She and Uncle Bill, my granddaddy’s younger brother, lived in my great-grandparents house on the family farm. The front door had a doorbell that you “rang” by turning the handle which we children did ,often to the chagrin of the adults who would eventually tire of our fun and tell us to stop. Trees as old as time shaded the front yard and the side porch. In the library along with Aunt Thelma’s extensive collection of Reader’s Digest Condensed books, stood an antique square piano that I loved to play even though it was in sore need of repair and tuning.
Aunt Thelma and Uncle Bill never had any children so Bruington Baptist Church, our family church in Virginia, became her family and she was an ever present force in that community. Preachers came and went but Aunt Thelma remained. Sunday School teacher of the same children’s class for years, Women’s Missionary Union president, deacon without the name, she provided pastoral care for generations of church members whether they knew they needed it or not. Sitting on Grandma’s porch, we saw her car pass by on the road at the end of the lane at least three times a week on her way to church. When we saw her pass by, we knew we should leave soon or we would be late. During the years when my grandparents did not have a car, she would pull in and pick them up for church.
Her life surveyed and judged by today’s standards might seem limited and poor. They did not travel much past Richmond nor did they have much of what we deem important today. They had enough to be comfortable... enough food, much of it grown in their garden, shelter in the old family home, friends, a place in their community, church and work to do. Uncle Bill’s job as a mailman guaranteed them a salary in times when money was scarce. And yet her life was rich in many ways... rich in connection and community, full of family and friends, faithful to her church and her beliefs. She lies buried now in the old churchyard at Bruington Baptist, the last resting place for many of my mother’s family.
Lent, like Aunt Thelma laced up in her corset, is stiff and unyielding in its insistence upon our taking a long hard look at our hidden selves, the petty, mean and unattractive parts of ourselves that need a spring cleaning. Hugging Lent, like hugging Aunt Thelma, feels stiff and unnatural to souls that are emerging from winter’s darkness in need of warmth and light. But in the embrace of Lent, we find forgiveness as well as judgement, light as well as darkness and love as well as loathing. Paradox Mystery... lose your life to save it, he said. Look at all that you need to let go, lose it, and move on to the new life waiting for you around the corner. If you are faithful to the process, like Aunt Thelma at Bruington Baptist Church, a life rich in all that really matters is yours. Today I will search for and name the places and people to whom I wish to be faithful. I will list the ways I have failed and ask forgiveness for my mistakes and sins. And I will rest in the old, old promise that though my sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow. Please, Lord?