Finding Myself in Britain by Pye Amy Boucher;

Author:Pye, Amy Boucher;
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Authentic Media
Published: 2015-08-15T00:00:00+00:00

The day before the start of Lent, Shrove Tuesday, seems to have more of a cultural impact in these shores than in the land of my birth. Even those who wouldn’t dream of giving up something for Lent (I know that for many Christians this season of fasting seems high-up-the-candle) will enjoy their meal of pancakes on its eve. Crepe-like pancakes, not the big American blodges of carbs. Savoury to start and then the classic lemon and sugar to finish, or chocolate if you’re feeling decadent.

I still associate pancakes with breakfast, even if I only rarely eat them now. Once in my work as an editor I met an author – a visiting American – for breakfast before a conference and we went to a local café. As one who doesn’t love an English fry-up, the menu left me searching. But under the dessert menu I spotted that they made pancakes, so I inquired if I could have that for breakfast. The waiter squinted at me with incredulity, but he served me in the end. Of course they had no maple syrup. I knew not to ask.

After Shrove Tuesday comes Ash Wednesday, a day when Christians often fast from food as they mark the start of Lent. This act of devotion I followed when I was single, but it was the first spiritual practice I threw out the window when I coped with the changes in culture. And after we had children, I gave up attending the Ash Wednesday evening service as well. The sacrifice – or relief? – of a clergy spouse with kids. I miss receiving the ashes on my forehead and hearing the words that remind me of our mortality: “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return. Turn away from sin and be faithful to Christ.” Caring for the kids rather than going to the service, though, means I can read and pray in solitude.

More years than not I turn to my favourite book written for the Lenten period, Reliving the Passion, by Walter Wangerin.2 A master storyteller, the author writes as a participant – sometimes a close bystander, sometimes a character – of the narrative of Jesus’ last days. He transports us to a vivid world of sights and smells that bring alive the Easter story, thereby engaging not only our heads but our hearts.

When I read his book, I’m there at Bethany, seeing the woman pour out her extravagant love for Jesus. I feel Peter’s desolation after his betrayal of Jesus. I sense the blackness and despair of Good Friday. I rejoice at the wonder of the resurrection, the empty tomb. A good book can not only inform but spark one’s imagination, as this one has done for me over many periods of Lent. I echo Thomas Jefferson: “I cannot live without books.”

As the strangeness of living in a different country began to wear off, I slowly adopted some of the spiritual practices of my previous life, including a Lenten fast of sorts.

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