Ash Wednesday

It started one Ash Wednesday.

How you are raised determines so much. This story is not about blame. Parents do the best they can with the tools they are given and learn how to use. My parents had a limited set of tools, and they were only functionally literate in many ways.

My parents, my father especially, leaned on religion as a tool, and, to be clear, it’s still the religion on which I myself lean. For them, Ash Wednesday required great penitence and even more sacrifice. Without these, there could be no light. No resurrection. I yearned to be with a different kind of father who would love me unconditionally, who would save space for me in his listening, and who would embrace me in darkness.

So I sacrificed. Chocolate, cookies, cakes. These were ubiquitous in our home. In pantries, kitchen cabinets, and refrigerators; on every table and side table, in every glass bowl, you could find bright-colored wrapped candies, extraordinary handmade desserts, and so much more. My parents had been born just before and during World War II. There was no such abundance of food for them, only scarcity. Rolled up socks were marvelously transformed into soccer balls by little boys who still hoped to play outside if it was safe enough. Babies were fed by wet-nurses because mothers lacked nutrition to generate sufficient breast milk. Sometimes, as in the case of my father’s mother, people died quite young because of abysmal medical care. For those children, there would be no sacrifice in adulthood; not if they could avoid it. Lent was about sacrifice. But the rest of the year would be about carnivalesque, and always grotesque, abundance.

So when I sacrificed for Lent at age 8 or 9, it was in the hopes of finding God. Restriction, restraint became about looking for light, looking for salvation in the midst of turmoil. Salvation, I thought, required me to see myself as the cause of my parents’ pain, of doors slamming, arms reaching out to manhandle and control. When I was a child, I remember sometimes my mother would scream at my father, telling him to be careful or, in his fury, he would leave marks that people could see. I thought if I sacrificed my own body, maybe God would come down to save me. Sometimes, I thought if I sacrificed the body, making myself as invisible as possible, then maybe my father wouldn’t see me, and I could manage to survive.

Today I celebrate Ash Wednesday and Lent but without having to sacrifice anything at all. Today for Lent I recognize so many gifts that I have been given throughout my life. For Lent now, I recognize there is no sacrifice required, only compassion to be extended, love to share.

Ash Wednesday. It started one Ash Wednesday.