A Reflection on Lenten Micropractices: “small is all”
By Rev. Cal Payne-Taylor
What does the word “Lent” stir up in your heart? For many of us raised in the Christian tradition, Lent is often associated with giving something up. But from what I’ve observed and experienced myself, the self-inflicted deprivation of chocolate, screen time, and other creature comforts may not truly enrich and prepare the soul for Christ’s Resurrection on Easter morning. Over the years, I’ve found myself adding more and more self-compassion to my Lenten practices. While Lent is a solemn season when Christians are invited to accompany Christ in his time of being tested in the wilderness, it need not be a time of self-flagellation for us. In fact, this Lent, I am fasting from all forms of self-flagellation. By refraining from negative self-talk, resisting the urge to mercilessly overcommit myself, and choosing to be kind to my body and mind when they require rest, I find myself growing in compassion and patience for those around me. With a fast rooted in loving-kindness for the human condition, I find myself more prepared to add on a Lenten discipline: to feast on something new and life-giving.
Such a feast may start with just a nibble. This Lent, the Christ Church community has been nibbling on a series of Lenten “micropractices.” Each day’s micropractice offers a small invitation to engage with Lenten themes of prayer, reflection, and prayerful action. Some are as simple as saying a prayer every time we do a routine action, like brushing our teeth or washing the dishes. Other days invite us into enacting a random act of kindness, or writing a thank-you note to another person, or making a list of where we saw God show up that day. Each day’s micropractice can be finished in just a few minutes, but I find that even a few minutes spent mindfully can change the course of my entire day. And even one day has the potential to shape the course of the season. Know that it is not too late to receive a micropractices booklet, and that you are welcome to reach out at any time as we walk the rest of our Lenten journey together. Our micropractices are designed not only to feed the soul, but to meet us exactly where we are, in the midst of our overscheduled and sometimes overwhelming lives. I believe that this is exactly where Christ meets us, too.
For some of us, our Lenten call may not be to fast from anything this year. After all, the word “Lent” comes from an Old English word for Springtime, and relates to the lengthening of daylight throughout the season. I interpret that as akin to feasting. And so, this Lent, how can we feast on the light? How can we live into the growing expansiveness of each day and all the possibilities it holds, leaving behind what no longer feeds us? For me, the answer is all about starting small, trusting that even the tiniest daily choices have the capacity to shape the season, one day at a time. Our Lenten micropractices revolve around the idea that “small is all.” This idea comes from Emergent Strategy, a framework for change and action. This framework proposes that small, intentional actions and interactions can ripple out and create an impact far beyond what was expected.
Perhaps “small is all” is our invitation this Lent. We can trust that small is enough for our God. For small is how Christ came into the world, enfolded in darkness within the body of Mary. Small is how seeds begin, before they emerge into their myriad forms and embody the glorious diversity of the plant kingdom. And small is how faith, hope, and courage are born, nestled deep within our hearts as we prepare for the challenge—and the honor—of being human in this world in the midst of a dehumanizing time.
This Lent, let us seek and honor the growing light of Christ within us, even as we move through the darkness of this season. Though the darkness may be far more vast than the light, we can trust that the light is dawning. In these Lenten days, let us embrace its sacred smallness with humble, honest, and self-compassionate hearts. For our God knows, loves, and is present with even the smallest of things, from the sparrow to the lily of the field to every tear that falls from our eyes. This same God knows and loves us, too, meeting our smallness with God’s own allness. And in that allness, we are found, transformed, and raised up into the infinite life and joy of God. From the depths of Lent, this is our Easter hope: small as a seed, yet holding the key to life more abundant than we can ask for or imagine.