The Bean Jar

In the household of my childhood, Lent was actualized through a little thing we liked to call "the bean jar." This simple jar was slowly but surely filled with dried beans over the course of 40 days, with each bean representing the good deeds proudly performed by my siblings or me.  I was an extremely pious, self-righteous child (how do we learn to outgrow our childish ways?), so I naturally celebrated the "ping" of each bean bouncing off the bottom of the jar.  I was good. I was holy.  Somehow, from hand to jar, the bean lost the meaning of grace.

In recent years, Lent meant giving up something - usually something I love.  Sweets were replaced with spoonfuls of peanut butter.  Meat became tofu.  And for the self-proclaimed queen of happy hour, the substitution of Shirley Temples for Blue Moon was particularly painful.  Still, even the good deed of designated driving for six straight weeks was little more than a constant "ping" in the metaphorical bean jar - yes, a good deed appreciated by my, um, celebratory friends.  But nothing much more.

Every year I begin Lent excited, ready.  And 40 days later, I end it with vague disappointment.  It reminds me of New Year's Eve, with a list in my hand of all the ways to transform my life.  But that's just the problem, isn't it?  We think that Lent is about us, about what we can do.  Ping.  We think that Lent is a time when we need to turn away from sin and turn to God.  Ping, ping.  We think that Lent means more to do, things to change, and bad habits to leave behind - ping, ping, ping.

Just as I am about ready to shatter the bean jar once and for all, I can't help but remember one thing this childhood symbol has absolutely right: Lent is about others.  It's about learning to focus not on ourselves but on those around us.  And it's (shocker) about God.  So, if that's the case, how can I put down the to-do list and pick up love?  How can this Lent, for the first time in my small life, be about me getting out of the way and letting grace move freely in my very veins?

I'm taking my cue from a fabulous student at USD who is leading the "Give Up Apathy" campaign this Lent.  At least at my self-righteous worst, giving up chocolate or beer is about me.  It's about watching the beans pile up right alongside my ego.  But giving up apathy?  And even more importantly, putting on compassion?  That just might be worth trying on for size.  That kind of fast might actually give grace a chance.  To put on compassion sounds like something that all the to-do lists in the world can't accomplish on their own.  So, at least for this year, I'm putting the do and the don't on the shelf...right next to that dusty old jar full of wrinkled beans.