“There is no better way to cheer up a dreary February day than to have a pot of dried beans simmering on the stove.”
Yikes. It sounds like the author of these words doesn’t get out much. I have a pot of beans simmering on the stove as I write this, and I don’t feel any cheerier than I did an hour ago. Then again, I wasn’t feeling down.
The statement I quoted was the opening line of a no-nonsense article about beans I found in our local newspaper this morning. If you read between the lines, you’ll find that the registered dietitian is hinting at something far more significant than little legumes. If your outlook on life matches the typically blah February weather, engage your senses. Allow your nose to be delighted by the aroma of soup wafting through the house. Choose foods that your taste buds will truly enjoy.
Yesterday I attended a fantastic Shrove Tuesday worship service in which we celebrated our senses. Brightly-colored streamers, fingerpainting, incense, donuts, and glorious music helped us to fully engage our God-given senses of sight, touch, smell, taste, and hearing as we worshiped our Creator. (I opted to engage my sense of touch by playing piano instead of fingerpainting.)
Rarely do we engage our senses in such a dramatic way within a worship setting. The worship leader joked that perhaps we should give up our deadened senses for Lent. I decided to take her seriously.
Like many others, I have typically given something up for Lent, and it has been a very meaningful practice for me. My small sacrifices during Lent have been daily reminders of the ultimate sacrifice that Christ made. This year, however, in giving up my deadened senses, I’m actually taking on a spiritual practice: engaging my God-given senses. As I pay attention to the things I see, hear, smell, touch, and taste, I am not only drawn into worship, but I am reminded of Christ’s humanity. What did Christ see, hear, smell, touch, and taste during the weeks leading up to His death?
The first sense I engaged this morning was hearing. My alarm clock was persistent. I crawled out of bed, walked downstairs, and listened as my bare feet shuffled across the hardwood floor. Outside, birds were singing. As I opened the front door to pick up the newspaper, I felt warm air on my bare arms. It didn’t feel like February outside, but I wasn’t complaining.
Before I sliced a grapefruit in half, I held it in my hands for a few moments, pressing gently against the smooth, almost rubbery skin. Later, as I brushed my teeth, I paid attention to the view out my bathroom window — a white church steeple and the dark wood of a bare tree against a backdrop of blue mountains and a gray sky.
I don’t have any windows in my office, but I’m thankful that one of my colleagues opened her window, allowing me to smell the fresh out-of-doors while I worked at my desk. After lunch, as I returned to the office, I saw my shadow appear on the sidewalk in front of me. Sunshine!
This evening as I was driving to an event at church, I glanced in the rear-view mirror and saw less pavement between my car and the Dodge Durango behind me than I would have liked. A few miles down the road, I was surprised to see colored Christmas lights. (Maybe the owners of the house left them up for Mardi Gras…) As I pulled into the parking lot, I caught a whiff of a skunk. A few minutes later, I heard a small blonde-haired boy say “Peekaboo!” to me as he jumped out from behind an easel.
Have you ever imagined Jesus tasting fresh fruit? Or seeing His shadow? Or smelling a malodorous animal?
Lent isn’t really supposed to be enjoyable, but this year I don’t care. I’m having too much fun celebrating my God-given senses.
It’s a good thing I never aspired to be a food photographer, because I’m not patient enough to work on honing my skills. When there’s a stack of piping hot pancakes sitting in front of me, drizzled with pure maple syrup, I want to eat them, not take pictures of them.
