Lenten Season
Stepping away and stepping in
“Ink and catgut and paint were necessary down there, but they are also dangerous stimulants. Every poet and musician and artist, but for Grace, is drawn away from love of the thing he tells, to love of the telling till, down in Deep Hell, they cannot be interested in God at all but only what they say about Him.”
C.S. Lewis, The Great Divorce
This is not my typical post of poetry but more of an update and short reflection. As you may or may not know, we are entering into the season of Lent. Historically, the lenten season is a time of prayer, fasting, and almsgiving that culminates on Easter Sunday.
Having grown up in the United Methodist Church and now a practicing Anglican, I am somewhat familiar with the tradition and practice of lent. Proximity to something, however, does not always mean an accurate or profound understanding of said thing. The first thing my mind conjures when I hear the word Lent is merely giving something up (typically referred to as “fasting”), whether it be food, social media, alcohol, etc. But this does not capture the full beauty and purpose of Lent.
Several years ago, I heard fasting compellingly described as “giving up something good and filling yourself with what is best.” Lent is less about removing something from your life and more about filling it with He who is Best. The Good, the Beautiful, the True.
Ultimate Reality.
This is what I intend to do this Lenten season. One of the good things I will be giving up for the 40-ish days is Substack. This means no access, no pre-planned posts, and no checking metrics. Nada. Zilch.
You might be thinking, “Noah, you are being a bit dramatic. How hard is it to give up this platform for 40 days?” Well, I’m glad you asked. For me, it is quite hard. Why? Because reputation can become an idol. Subscribers can become a one-way ticket to a dopamine high. Viral notes can give you a false sense of superiority or importance.
I just finished reading through The Great Divorce by C.S. Lewis, and MAN… If you want to get round-house kicked by the Holy Spirit give it a read. Without spoiling too much, the general premise of the book is a bunch of damned ghosts take a bus ride from Hell to Heaven to have a final shot at repentance and to venture into the High Country of Heaven once and for all. One of the ghosts that makes the trip was a famous artist on earth, and the first thing he wants to do upon seeing Heaven is paint it. Not look at it. Not bask in it. Not be a part of it. But to paint it.
The ghost is met with the unfortunate news that painting is “no good here” and that the ultimate goal of painting (and art in a more broad sense) was to catch “glimpses of Heaven in the earthly landscape.”1 In other words, art is supposed to point us to a greater Reality… the Good, the Beautiful, and the True. The invitation of Heaven is to “come and see” first and foremost.
And here’s where the Holy Spirit grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me from my prideful slumber. After a long discourse of the artist’s wrong approach to Heaven, the redeemed Spirit says,
Ink and catgut and paint were necessary down there, but they are also dangerous stimulants. Every poet and musician and artist, but for Grace, is drawn away from love of the thing he tells, to love of the telling till, down in Deep Hell, they cannot be interested in God at all but only in what they say about Him. For it doesn’t stop at being interested in paint, you know. They sink lower — become interested in their own personalities and then in nothing but their own reputations.2
Dagger.
Lewis forced me to reckon with the question of whether I am writing to reveal Reality or ramp up my reputation. Whether I am writing because I love God with all my heart, mind, soul, and strength or because writing has become an idol that aids me in finding vain validation.
All that being said, I will be stepping away from Substack for a while. Stepping away in order to step into the very God I so often write about. To come and see and taste that He is good. And I invite you to do the same, whatever that may look like for you.
Before I go I want to leave you with a poem from poet/priest Malcolm Guite titled Ash Wednesday, a fitting poem and spiritual catalyst into the Lenten season.
Shalom, my friends. See you at Easter.
Ash Wednesday | Malcolm Guite
Receive this cross of ash upon your brow, Brought from the burning of Palm Sunday's cross; The forests of the world are burning now And you make late repentance for the loss. But all the trees of God would clap their hands, The very stones themselves would shout and sing, If you could covenant to love these lands And recognize in Christ their lord and king. He sees the slow destruction of those trees, He weeps to see the ancient places burn, And still you make what purchases you please And still to dust and ashes you return. But hope could rise from ashes even now, Beginning with this sign upon your brow.
C.S. Lewis, The Great Divorce, 83
Ibid., 85