A Lenten Series - Ash Wednesday

For lent I’m giving up my burdens

Written by Karly Noelle Abreu White

I’m exhausted. I suspect we all are. The weight of the world has borne down on us for too long, threatening to buckle us. We are not Atlas. We are humans, small and breakable. We are in a world in crisis. A world we are told, daily, is in unprecedented times. This is a terrible time to have a bleeding heart. But I’d still keep my heart soft, instead of stone, still allow myself the vulnerability to be hurt anew by the pain than feel no empathy or love for my fellow humans. 

God calls us, over and over, to rest. Sabbath isn’t a suggestion—it’s a command. “Come to me, and I will give you rest.” Lent is a season of giving, of reflecting, of the laying down of the self. This year, what will serve me is not a fast—an additional burden in a time when I can bear no more. Instead, I will give up the thing I am clinging to so tightly my knuckles are turning white: this year I’m giving up my burdens. 

I come to this Lenten season like a child after a long cry, throwing her full weight against her father’s shoulder, face red and eyes swollen and head full of that thick, cottony feeling that comes when your emotions are spent. There is nothing more to do but lean into my father’s arms, and listen to his heartbeat until I fall into a deep, and dreamless slumber. 

Perhaps this season finds you in a similar state. Perhaps you, too, need to feel those arms around you, and feel the call of this Lenten season to fast and sacrifice as another weight on shoulders already bruised and aching. The good news is that his arms are big enough for all of us. Cuddle in. And rest.