Pathways Press.com

Written by Susan Besser of the Village Church

When I think back to the season of Lent in the 1940s, I don’t first remember the somber hymns or the purple paraments or even the long shadows of the Nevada desert settling over Las Vegas at dusk. I remember ice cream. My dad was the pastor of our little church, and every Wednesday evening during Lent we piled into the car for midweek services. The sanctuary always felt a bit more serious during that season—quieter, dimmer, as if even the walls were thinking about repentance. I was a child, trying my best to sit still, swing my legs quietly, and not drop my hymnal. Dad was up front, preaching about sacrifice and reflection, Mom was on the organ bench playing somber, minor key hymns that resonate to this day, but my own Lenten discipline was simple: behave. Because if my two brothers and I behaved—if we didn’t whisper too loudly or fidget too much—there was a reward waiting for us after the final hymn. A trip to the local ice cream parlor. I can still see it: the neon lights glowing against the desert night, the clink of metal scoops, the sweet cold smell that rushed out every time the door opened. While the grown-ups talked about the sermon, I was deciding between chocolate or strawberry, or maybe—if Lent was especially holy—two scoops. It makes me smile now, how the deepest season of the church year is forever tied in my memory to ice cream dripping down my hand. But maybe that’s fitting. Lent is about longing, about waiting, about small acts of faithfulness. And for a child in the 1940s, sitting still through a Wednesday night service felt like a very big act of faithfulness indeed. So yes, I learned about repentance and grace. But I also learned that God’s people gather, families try their best, and sometimes the sweetest memories of faith come with sprinkles.

Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, rejoice. [Philippians 4:4]