The end of Lent

Happy Easter, everyone. I hope you had fun commemorating the rising of the Easter Bunny after three days of rolling down a hill. Or something.

Talking of Lent, I have a confession to make. I realised a couple of days after my weekend in Carbisdale Castle that I’d eaten sliced bread while up there. It was an absent-minded mistake, and I can blame nobody but myself for my failure. My apologies for the anti-climax of what you probably all hoped was going to be a tale of self-discovery of Damascene proportions.

The only reassurance I can take from my first failed Lent observance is that if I had succeeded, I would have looked the equal of Jesus: levelling with him by successfully commemorating what he did in the desert. Just as well I accidentally demonstrated my humanity, otherwise I’d have to declare myself the Second Coming. Which would have been just far too much work for the likes of lazy old me, and would really have been the talk of the St Silas blogging circle!

What little I have dwelt on the issue has led me to ask: can’t we celebrate and uphold Jesus’s triumph over temptation all year round? What exactly is the point of Lent? My feeble attempt to observe it taught me little or nothing. Maybe I’m just too cynical, or too untrained in the practice of ritual observation, to have properly learned from such activities.

Does that mean there’s something wrong with me, or with Lent? Who knows.

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