One of my favorite podcasts to listen to is “The Mockingcast,” a production of Mockingbird Ministries, an ecumenical ministry “devoted to connecting the Christian faith with the realities of everyday life,” as they say on their website. The Mockingcast consists of three Episcopalians talking every other week about where they see grace being manifested in everyday life, in both humorous and challenging circumstances. This week, they talked a lot about Lent, this season of the Christian year when we are often focused on the realities of mortality and finitude. One of the things that stood out from their conversation was the reminder that grace is not only found in the serious, heavy, intense, or theologically heady moments, but also in the mundane and funny—even those videos on social media from Dr. Pimple Popper. It sounds funny or even strange, but their point was that we all need to find places where we can decompress, find joy, or even just waste a few minutes of the day on something silly. Because life is hard, and death is real, and we all need moments when we can find joy or laughter or even be grossed out. And when we step back and look at the big picture, we see that it’s the collection of all those moments—the profound and the sacred, the hard and the challenging, the mundane and the silly—where the story of life and the story of God’s grace meet and paint a beautiful picture.
Last week, I attended the third family funeral in as many months, making my way back to Waco to be with my parents as we laid to rest another beloved family member. It feels appropriate that this season of life that my family has experienced recently has led directly into the season of Lent, beginning with the smudge of ash on our foreheads and the reminder that we are dust, and to dust we all return. I feel that reality starkly this year. But one of the things that stood out to me from each of the services was what family members said in their remembrances of each of these special people. In each case, the stories told weren’t about how much they accomplished at their jobs or what titles and honors they may have held—they were ordinary, funny, even mundane stories of life, the simple moments that had a lasting impact on the ones they loved. A picture of a beautiful life is built in a collection of those moments, suffused with the grace of God. It’s not about our striving and building and achieving, but about our living and loving.
Nina Schuurman-Drenth, one of the writers for The Mockingbird website, shared these reflections in light of the untimely death of her mother, in a beautiful article titled “The Cosmic Insignificance Therapy of Lent.” She writes:
“When Lent arrived, you went to church to have ashes smeared on your forehead, and you were told that you are dust, and to dust you will return. And you walked back to your seat feeling small, and that’s because you are. This person you are now, a few pounds heavier than you wish you were, a bit more snappy to your partner than you intend to be, and much more tragically finite than you like to believe, is all you are. This life is all you have.
The Lenten impartation is not a reminder to hustle harder to be someone grander and finer and more put together. It is a reminder to love the only life you have. Love the bike rides and the compost piles and the moments of rest where you get to — thank God — waste a few minutes going down an internet rabbit hole because the only way to waste this life you’ve been given is to resent it.”
May you know this day and always that you are surrounded and upheld with grace beyond your wildest imaginings.