Grandma was raised an Anglican; Grandpa not so much. He was raised a Methodist but I don't think Grandma ever held it against him. All this is to say that Grandma was responsible for rituals in the very English household where I went to live when I was five. One ritual she held to every Tuesday before Lent was what she called Shrove Tuesday. Grandpa and I called it Pancake Day. We, or at least I, didn't have a clue what it was really all about, except on that day Grandma made rich pancakes slightly thicker than a crepe and served them with brown sugar and lemon.
Shrove Tuesday in England was a day of “shriving” or confession before the beginning of Lent. It was the day when good Anglicans emptied their cupboards of rich ingredients such as eggs, milk and sugar to dispose of them and their inherent temptation prior to the 40 days of fasting associated with Lent. Pancakes were an efficient way of using up these valuable perishables in addition to providing a minor celebration feast prior to the fast of Lent. The operative word here is minor, as — typical of British understatement in all things — Shrove Tuesday was certainly a key lower than the traditions of Europe where the French celebrated the day as the final blast of Mardi Gras and the Germans celebrated it as Fat Tuesday.
Pancake Day: A simple celebration to begin 40 days of simplicity. At least that is how I have come to terms with Lent. Yes, I know the traditions of penitence, holy fasting and of pre-baptismal instruction associated with Lent in preparation for the celebration of Easter. But I am a Presbyterian and I am fed a penitential faith 365 days a year. And I see nothing holy, let alone healthy about fasting. And I am already baptized and living in John Knox's “greatest school of Christ since the time of the Apostles.” For me, Lent is becoming a celebration of simplicity.
I am discovering that my cupboards are way too full. When you have to play ennie-meenie-minee-mo to figure out what clothes to wear, or what shoes to put on, or what bathroom to use or what computer to switch on or what car to drive … your cupboards are way too full. I live in a spirit of excess and as a result, I know I have deteriorated spiritually. One way to recover is to empty the cupboards.
So what does that look like? For me, it includes dealing with my excesses in possessions, but it has to go way beyond that. My cupboards are not only overflowing with possessions, but with work, travel, food, words, ideas … the list is incredible. The problem with my tendency to excess is that it breeds a complexity that becomes overwhelming, distracting and even confusing. It is hell on wheels for spiritual growth.
The other day, in my time of contemplation, I was once again dragged into the Scriptures to where Jesus was visiting Martha (Lk.10:38-42). It was at Martha's house and so it was expected that she as host would be the one doing the serving. Mary, though her sister, is as much a guest as Jesus is in Martha's house. Mary should be free to sit at Jesus' feet and listen to His words, if she so chooses. Martha chooses serving. It is a logical choice — after all, who else is going to get dinner ready? But the story says Martha was distracted with “much” serving. Jesus says she was “worried” and “bothered” by “much” serving. (Those are my very same problems with excess; distraction, worry and bother.) Martha recognizes the problem and goes to Jesus about it. The thing is, her solution isn't very practical. She wants to scoop Mary up into her excessive serving. (Such is the nature of my excesses. I am always wanting to scoop up others into them.) Jesus won't allow Martha to scoop
Mary up into her excess. Neither does He say, “Stop serving.” That would be impractical. He says: “Only one thing is necessary.” The only way that what Jesus says to Martha makes any sense to me is if it applies to the serving — in other words, “only one dish is necessary.”
This is simplicity. Simplicity is willful limitation, choosing “one thing” so that life is not distracted, worried or bothered with “many things.” Simplicity like that can be applied to every aspect of my life. It liberates me, allowing for a determined focus, especially a determined spiritual focus. As such, simplicity is a spiritual discipline, finding a niche in our discipleship along with prayer, contemplation and purity. This is what Richard Foster writes about so powerfully in his book, The Freedom of Simplicity, my personal recommendation for a worthy Lenten reading project.
The thing about simplicity is, for me at least, that it begins with a physical choice. It is when I choose to limit stuff physically in my life that the results seem to transcend my inward being, bringing an inward simplicity or spiritual simplicity. My best friend, who passed away just recently, was a wonderful case in point. He was wealthy enough to fill his house with all the excesses and toys of a modern society. However, when you visited his rather modest home, there were just the barest of necessities: a china set of four, a cutlery set of four, a closet with one suit and just enough other clothes to get him between washes, one pair of dress shoes and one pair of runners for everything else. I could go on, but my point is, because of the physical simplicity all around, just being alone in his house was somehow liberating and peaceful. I often found it a prayerful place to be, and my good friend was not someone who was in your face about being prayerful.
The New Testament has much to say about simplicity, for example in Acts 2:46 and 2 Cor.11:3. It is always referring to inward simplicity, or as it is sometimes translated, sincerity. My point is that inward simplicity is most often found through outward simplicity, choosing to willfully and outwardly empty the cupboards of my life of its excesses. Simplicity as a spiritual discipline was so important that one of the first great reformers, John Hus, when amidst great controversy was betrayed and martyred, spoke his last words, “O holy simplicity!” From the same time in history, but the other side of the Reformation, Tomas a Kempis wrote in The Imitations of Christ: “A man is raised up from the earth by two wings — simplicity and purity. There must be simplicity in his intention and purity in his desires. Simplicity leads to God, purity embraces and enjoys Him.”
