Editor’s Note: The following was written by David Romanik, rector of the Episcopal Church of the Heavely Rest, for the church’s newsletter. It is reprinted here with permission.

By David Romanik

At the end of last summer, I donated blood at the Hendrick Regional Blood Center. I have been donating blood with some regularity for a number of years now, and have grown accustomed to the process: blood pressure is taken, iron is measured, and questions about medications, behaviors, and travel history are asked. In addition to all of this, the nurse asks the donor to step on a scale. The rationale for aspect of the screening is that one must be at least 90 pounds to donate blood safely. Of course, it has been decades since I was under 90 pounds, so this always feels like a pointless (and often dispiriting) exercise. On this particular occasion last summer, I was genuinely shocked by the number on the display. The only time I ever really have a sense of how much I weigh is when I go to the doctor or donate blood. While I am rarely excited to know how much I weigh, it does not generally inspire a significant change in my behavior. This time, however, the number was high enough that I resolved almost immediately to take advantage of our family membership at the Y and start working out. Since that moment, I have managed to make it to the pool or the gym four or five days each week. Gradually, I began to see results: my clothes fit a little better, I had more energy, and I smelled like chlorine most of the time. Eventually, the time came for me to donate blood again, and I was feeling fairly confident that the number on the scale would be considerably lower than it was a few months before. I swaggered over to the scale, but was dismayed to see the exact same number on the display that had inspired my renewed interest in exercise. I hadn’t lost a pound.

My initial reaction to this disappointment was to explain it away: perhaps I had gained muscle mass or was retaining water. Before too long, however, I became reflective: I was feeling better, had more energy, and was genuinely enjoying my time at gym; who cares what the scale said? And eventually, I came to see this whole episode as something of a parable: a reminder that our efforts at self-improvement often fall short of our expectations. 

We are about to enter Lent, the 40-day season of penitence and renewal that begins on Ash Wednesday and runs through Holy Week. It is a season when many people “give something up” or “take something on”: cutting something out of one’s life or engaging in some kind of new discipline. The hazard of these Lenten practices is that it is easy for them to become “New Year’s Resolutions 2.0,” an opportunity to recommit to whatever practice has fallen by the wayside since January 1. The problem with thinking of our Lenten practice in this way is that it obligates us to depend entirely on our own will. One of the fundamental assumptions of the Christian faith is that, because of our fallen nature, our will is disordered. As Paul observes in Romans 7, we are unable to do what we want to do, no matter how hard we try. Our attempts at self-improvement are destined for failure. Depending on our own will, in other words, sets us up for disappointment. 

For this reason, Lent is not about self-improvement; it is about recognizing and embracing who God has created us to be. On Ash Wednesday, we are reminded that we were created from the dust of the earth in the image and likeness of God. One of the Eucharistic prayers we use in the Episcopal Church defines sin as our failure to honor the image of God in ourselves and others. It stands to reason, therefore, that penitence and renewal are not about trying to become a better version of ourselves, they are about acknowledging who we truly are. Lent is a season that invites us to become ever more aware of who God created us to be. 

As part of our Lenten programming this year, we will be reading “The Road Back to You,” a book that discusses the Enneagram, which, more than anything else, is a tool for reflection and self-discovery. In some ways, the Enneagram is a tool that allows us to do the essential work of Lent: to explore who we are and who God created us to be. I hope you will join us as we read and discuss this book on the Wednesday evenings during Lent, and I hope you will use this season as an opportunity to rediscover what it means to be created in the image of God.

For more information on the Wednesday evening programming during Lent, call the church at 677-2091

David Romanik is rector of the Episcopal Church of the Heavenly Rest

Top photo credit: stpaulswired on Visualhunt