Today, Ash Wednesday and Valentine’s Day collide. The last time that happened was in 2018, and before that, 1945. Writer Bethany Anderson looks at the significance of Lent landing on the day the world celebrates love.
This year the season of love (Valentine’s Day) and longing (Ash Wednesday) merged. As we celebrate love, we are also entering an “empty jar” season per the Christian calendar.
Lent is a time of personal sacrifice honouring the time Jesus spent in the wilderness before the start of his public ministry.
On Valentine’s Day in 2006, I spent the day in one of the most romantic places on earth - Verona, Italy. As a single female missionary in my 20s, I wasn’t sure why I was torturing myself by traveling to the iconic city of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, but there I was for a couple days of solo adventure.
Lent is a time of personal sacrifice honouring the time Jesus spent in the wilderness before the start of his public ministry.
My Veronian day of exploration was confettied with red hearts and rose petals along cobblestone pathways, and one too many close-up sightings of love-locked lips in Italian cafés, corridors, and train compartments.
I was surprisingly swept up in the ambiance of love, which I hoped would fuel my trip back home later that night.
But, it did not.
My train from Verona to Milan was delayed, and I missed my connection back to the snowy safety of my home in Geneva, Switzerland.
Suddenly the sunshine of the day drizzled into the gloomy skies of a Valentine’s evening spent alone (yet again) in a cold, musty, roach-inhabited, budget hotel. That night I sat on my bed in tears feeling empty. The deep longings of my heart to be seen, known, and loved by a husband were very raw.
Valentine’s Day can be challenging as a single - the commercialised version of love attempts to bombard us with lies - “You’re not complete without a husband. You’ll always be alone. It’s too late for love.”
As a single woman now in my 40s, I’ve learned to battle the lies with the resonant truths that “In Christ, I am a whole person and one is a whole number.” And still, I recognise a lingering thread: the unmet longings of my heart remain.
What if we see this sacred collision of Lent and Valentine’s as a catalyst to remind us to bring our “little oil” and our empty jars to Him?
Through the years, I’ve leaned into the hope that God is the Master at filling cavernous, empty spaces. In fact, Jesus became the fulfillment of longing itself.
In 2 Kings 4, there’s a story of a widow who was on the brink of losing everything. She reached out to Elisha, a man of God, for help. He asked her what she had, and her quick response was “nothing,” until she reflected more, then said, “actually, I have a little oil.”
Elisha gave her instructions to collect and fill jars with the oil she had, and she obeyed. Every empty jar was then filled to overflowing. God took the only thing she had to offer and miraculously multiplied it, resulting in abundance for her family and community.
Read more on Lent
Your lent survival guide: from what to give/take up to top tips for when you feel like giving up
What if we see this sacred collision of Lent and Valentine’s as a catalyst to remind us to bring our “little oil” and our empty jars to Him? What if we acknowledge that our emptiness and unmet longings are actually the very spaces that only God can fill?
As we draw pink hearts and mark our foreheads with ashes this year, may these things be a tangible reminder of love and longing side-by-side. May we welcome a Lenten journey of lament, grief, stripping away, and holding space for the unfulfilled longings (empty jars) because that’s the exact place where He wants to meet us and fill us with true love - Himself.
Sometimes all it takes to recognize the most important love of all is a “little oil” and ash, and… maybe a lonely night in Italy, too.
“I’ll give you a full life in the emptiest of places.” Isaiah 58:11 (MSG)
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