I began working at The Saint Constantine School in 2020, just one year out of college and with a lifetime of Protestant theology under my belt. I had hardly heard of Orthodox Christianity, but I loved Jesus and loved to learn, so I was eager to join the faculty community.

Throughout nearly five years of teaching at this school, I have gained much wisdom from my colleagues of various denominations. I have learned that though we have many differences, there are countless things that we have in common. I have found comfort in repeating the creeds at prayers every morning. Perhaps the most life-changing practice I have encountered, though, has been attention to the liturgical year. As we have entered the season of Lent in the last few weeks, I have thought about this change in my life more and more.

Surely there are many Protestant denominations that do observe Lent, but my particular branch of Evangelicalism never even mentioned it. Usually, pastors would lead up to Easter preaching on the Gospels or something along those lines, but that was about it. I remember my first Spring teaching being absolutely moved by hearing Saint Ephrem’s prayer daily:

O Lord and Master of my life, take from me the spirit of sloth, despair, lust of power, and idle talk.

But give rather the spirit of chastity, humility, patience, and love to Thy servant.

Yea, O Lord and King, grant me to see my own transgressions, and not to judge my brother, for blessed art Thou, unto ages of ages. Amen.

What a beautiful supplication. While I am still a part of the Protestant tradition, I can earnestly pray this prayer with my fellow teachers. I have started attending a church that does observe Lent, which has also helped me to be more attentive.

This year, merely days before the start of Lent, I injured my leg while running. I found out later it was a stress fracture, and, while minor, it would take about six weeks to heal. Six weeks. The whole Lenten season.

Leading up to Lent, I did not realize how much would be asked of me. I am having to give up control by letting my students help me to set up and clean more than before, even if they may not do it as efficiently as I would. The kindergarteners are overjoyed to serve, constantly asking, “Can I hold that for you, Mrs. Baker?” and “Let me open the door for you!” My weakness has made space for their growth.

I am practicing humility as I am moving much more slowly and requiring more help from my husband than I would like. I have been reluctantly saying no to plans, but that has left me much more time to reflect and prepare my heart. I see fruit in the way my lack of ability has given space for those around me to grow. My students are thrilled to help, and their thoughts are now always directed toward how to help me, and in return, the rest of the class. My coworkers are seamlessly filling in gaps and making it possible for me to get the rest I need. My husband has shown me an incredible amount of patience and self-sacrifice.

Somehow, this injury has given me clarity on what I need to add and subtract in my life and provided direction for some others around me as well. A part of my Lenten practice has been to read the daily poems in Malcolm Guite’s The Word in the Wilderness. One such poem spoke to me deeply, as Guite reflects on healing from a broken leg during the Lenten season. He writes in the poem "First Steps, Brancaster,"

"Tentative steps begin to break your bonds,
You push on through the pain that sets you free,
Towards the day when broken bones rejoice"

Guite references Psalm 51:8, “Let me hear joy and gladness; let the bones that you have broken rejoice.” This Lenten season, my hope for physical healing has helped me to reflect on my hope for spiritual healing. What a gift to know we serve a God who has mercy on us. I feel beyond blessed to be in a community that helps me to know the mercy of the Lord more deeply.