For the last five years or so I have made a conscious decision to give something up for Lent.
Not food, drink, or material items, but something that I enjoy emotionally yet might keep me from connecting spiritually.
One year it was giving up a criticism. Another year it was a specific area of resentment.
I try to keep it real and psychologically meaningful, endeavouring to discipline myself emotionally, mentally, and spiritually.
I was at St. Brendan's in the City in DC for worship last Sunday evening and the announcements were made about upcoming Ash Wednesday. I silently surrendered to the Spirit that if there were something I needed to give up, it would be made known to me.
I should know by now not to pray those kinds of prayers. They tend to get answered. And quickly.
Nothing came to me. Yay! Relief! The best kind of silence. Nothing to work on.
For me, it sometimes feels easier to maintain spiritual status quo than to enter into a greater sense of mindfulness. I was happy to enter into the Lenten season just as I had entered into the New Year: keep things going strong, no major adjustments.
Then, I read it Wednesday morning.
Right there on my Facebook feed. A friend had posted a status update about the attitude of her heart she had worked on the previous year. I knew it was for me. She talked about her need to be right.
You see, I too have a great need to be right. (I know, you are shocked.)
The problem is, I often am, and that's not always beneficial for me.
I try to reason through my positions, provide a logical framework with good evidence to back up my case. When I'm in doubt, I try to respond with "you may be right", actually giving myself a little more room to be right or perhaps diffuse a situation where my ego might be bruised.
I suppose some of this compulsive "rightness' come from my shadow self--some egoic, self-loathing part of my soul that relishes the darkness of shame as opposed to the spiritual light of day. I think it's the part that Apostle Paul called the "flesh". Not physical flesh, but dark parts of the soul that keep me spiritually enslaved.
When I hit a shame hole, those shadows take over. I immediately run to prove my point, defend my position, hide my vulnerability, or validate my existence.
What a tiresome way to live, constantly on the defense!
I immediately texted my friend Richard, the rector of St. Brendan's. I knew he would think this a ridiculous idea and smack the spiritual sense back into me.
Me: For Lent, giving up my great need to be right.
Some time passes, I'm off the hook. Thank, God.
Richard: That is beautiful and got me thinking.
Prolonged pause on my part, need to talk him out of this.
Me: It's gonna be tough. Dying. Ugh.
Richard: Dying always is!
Some help he was. I was hoping he would tell me how utterly ridiculous of an idea this was.
Time to find a new priest, I thought. A mega-church pastor would never agree with him on this.
But I knew Richard was right. This is what I need in this season of my life.
So for Lent 2014, I commit to give up my great need to be right. This doesn't mean I can't be right. It just means if I am, I don't have to express it in every situation--or at all.
It also means I can say when I'm not right. Better yet, I don't even have to be right. My rightness does not determine my worth as a human being nor my self-esteem.
I can give up the need for self-validation, for proving my point, for justifying my position. I can be vulnerable. I can be silent. That's okay.
I think this just might be a better way to live.
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