Leaning Into Lent

The old song “Lean On Me,” originally sung by Bill Withers, so full of goodwill, strong arms, and resilient friendship, has been an important part of my Lenten practice this year. Sometimes I imagine I am singing the message to the world and sometimes I imagine that the Holy One is singing it to me, depending on my mood. Either way, the song comforts and sustains, like a soothing meditative prayer. I play it once a day at full volume (or on headphones) as a positive reminder of the true presence of Christ within myself and others. (Don’t knock it until you try it!)

Lately, when I am singing along, images of John the Beloved, leaning on Jesus at the Last Supper, call me into a new consciousness. Artists have painted their visions of this scene for centuries (just check them out on Google Images). In some renderings, John, with his head on the chest of Jesus, seems to be listening to his very heartbeat. In other paintings, with arms around the neck of his friend, John looks worried, sad, or pleading, and Jesus gently reassuring and resolute. They are both aware that the physical bond between them is about to be broken, which intensifies the emotion in these works of art.

In some sense, as Jesus and John face separation, the stages of grief have already begun, sort of like being in hospice or keeping vigil over someone on death’s threshold. Yet, as they lean on each other, they are united in facing the agony and ecstasy of the Passion, the portending doom thus bearable. Eventually, at the end of the story, John stands at the foot of the cross, leaning on Mary, the Mother of Jesus, and she leans on him. That powerful scene alone carries a multitude of emotions and lessons.

Who do you identify most in these images? Truth be told, I feel more comfortable being the person others lean on. (Oh no! Do I have the Messiah complex?) I am keenly aware that self-reliance still ranks high on my list of primary virtues. However, at this stage of life, I am learning how much leaning on others benefits all of us. So I am “leaning into Lent,” this year, my head on the heart of what it means to pray, fast, and sacrifice in a different, more gentle way.

Seems to me that at this particular time in history, we need these “leaning” images more than ever. Studies have shown that while we have never been more globally connected, we have also never felt so lonely. Perhaps changing the focus of Lent from self-improvement sacrifices (where I am the sole beneficiary) to altruistic caretaking could halt the down-ward spiral of loneliness. What if I leaned into the Christ within (my true self) and reached out with a capacious, generous spirit to strangers, acquaintances, friends, and intimates? What if, in my vulnerability, I humbly allowed others to help me, thus unlocking the Christ within them?

Following John the Beloved’s lead, this mutual leaning eventually may find us all at the foot of the cross, deep in sorrow and pain, but never alone. Together, having passed through suffering and death to resurrection, ascension, and a new Pentecost, we can face anything.