By Azucena “Ceni” De La Torre
February 14, 2024
Listen to this post.
Lent begins on Valentine’s Day this year, and I want to believe that’s further proof that God has a sense of humor. After all, God knows something about unrequited love.
There’s an undeniably performative slant about holidays and the commercialization that consumes even the best intentions. But amidst chocolate covered strawberries and romantic comedies, it might be wise to reconcile with festive days as markers of time. There’s a saying in Spanish: las fechas llegan, the dates arrive. Not only do dates arrive, but they tend to hurry, too. I take an honest look at my calendar and am reminded that what is on the calendar gets accomplished and what isn’t, well, it often gets forgotten. Humans thrive on ritual and meaning making. It’s quite frankly what makes us rational beings. But we’re busy—always so busy. We need reasons to remember. We need love and Lent. And we need them together.
For Christians all over the world, this time of year is marked with intentional personal sacrifice, communal fasting, and almsgiving. Lent is about remembering the cost of love. It centers the salvation story through the intricacies of love and what it means to be loved by a God who is Love (see 1 John 4:16). Lent is a journey through collective memory in an effort to ritualize our remembering. To recall death and to reclaim the resurrection. Not only as a hope, but a reality. Something we can see and touch, if faintly. Not dissimilar from ashes across our forehead. A cross impressed upon us, remembering the promise of a forever bound within the life that is only for now. The cross is compelling. It is a symbol of shame redeemed for the sake of love, by Love. This cross is our remembering.
We need love and Lent. And we need them together.
Lent makes space for lament. We are given an invisible permission to embody our lack and our longing. This season fosters a safety under which we can enter into the detailed truth-telling that makes disciples and not just followers. Given the current state of the world and its apathy, perhaps that is an overlooked quality. If we say that we are Christians and sing, “they’ll know us by our love,” then we have reasons to grieve this Lent amidst war and genocide on land that is holy. Lent reminds us that we belong to each other. We stand in line together to receive ashes and then are released to go out into the world with the mark of our salvation literally written across our foreheads.
But what is written on our hearts?
This is the season we ask each other about what we have given up and maneuver penance into progress towards better habits. Many will fast from sweets, television, and trips to coffee shops, but I am not convinced that any of that truly edifies. What can I possibly give to God that is not already God’s? The more I pray, the clearer it becomes. The better question is not what can I give up? but what must I die to?
This Lent I must die to my own apathy. In particular, the evident apathy that plagues this nation and beyond. The debilitating decision to believe that my helplessness in the face of global heartache can be a proper alibi against taking action. I confess to waiting for others to speak up and hold space for what gets hidden. I keep waiting for someone else to disrupt my Christian comfort with the status quo. I have been waiting and watching for famous theologians to profess wisdom, for politicians to keep peace, and every other more qualified voice of reason to actually make sense out of hospitals being bombed or children searching through rubble for bodies to bury. If I want to reflect on the resurrection of the dead, then I must remember the dying. In Gaza and on Calvary.
What can I possibly give to God that is not already God’s? The more I pray, the clearer it becomes. The better question is not what can I give up? but what must I die to?
I do believe that Jesus calls us to hold realities in tension, like seasoned believers. I want to remember that Jesus turned over tables just as easily as He taught in temples. But I am convicted by the ashes upon my forehead. I am reminded of what I am and to what I will return. Dust.
Lent reminds us of Christ’s death in exchange for our eternal life. For the Christian, it always comes back to death. It is how we narrate our very existence. We timebox our moments from our beginning to our end while assigning meaning along the way. Lent is about love, but before anything else, love is about death. Love died on a cross and knew the inside of a tomb. God did not cheat death; God triumphed over death.
It is not wasted on me that this dust is what God calls to preach, to serve, to tell the truth, to love and to die in order to live, forever. The irony is poetic. Funny, even.
On this Valentine’s Day let us remember that we need love and we need Lent.
And we need them together.
Be convinced, God has an outrageous sense of humor.
Reflection Questions
- What do you need God to triumph over in your life?
- What is the difference between what you can personally give up and what you must die to?
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Azucena “Ceni” De La Torre, Polaris Program Coordinator
Ceni works closely to implement the Polaris Fellowship, supporting cohorts through a year-long leadership acceleration program. She has worked in parish and university ministries, directed retreats, and lived as a residential rector. She presented a TEDx Talk, “The Unexpected Gift of Death,” an exploration of the ways grief grants us the blessing of sameness. She holds a BA from DePaul University and earned her MTS at Duke Divinity School. She is a graduate of Worsham College of Mortuary Science. Ceni is a community-builder, steadfast encourager, an advocate for young adults navigating life in ministry, and a Catholic laywoman intentionally dedicated to ecumenical collaboration. She lives and writes in Chicago.
