So I learned where Ash Wednesday comes from, or better to say why Lent is the only season that begins on a Wednesday. When the decision to make Lent universally forty days through all the church was made a very, very long time ago, this did not include Sundays because Sundays were not fast days. There were six weeks, six times seven was forty two, forty subtract the six Sundays was thirty six and they could not add for days after Easter, so they added four before the First Sunday. Thus Ash Wednesday, the first of the fasting days.
Nowadays most of us in the West, and I would be surprised if most Orthodox people did it now either--do not truly fast for forty days. Some things are given up, meat is abstained from on all the Fridays of Lent and on Ash Wednesday. Nor do I have the desire or really the will to employ a forty day fast. For me Lent links me to an older time, and perhaps to a deeper practice. Thinking of all the various churches which called themselves the Catholic Church and all the various faces of Jesus represented in them, I am reminded there is no one way to walk this walk, to live in this tradition or to practice this season. Father John F Baldovin states in his series about Lent that Catholics do it better than any season and one of the reasons is because there is actually something to do. When I think of not fasting on a Friday or Wednesday, when I think of not abstaining from a thing or not getting up for prayers, not refraining from meat on Friday I think of all the ways I am missing out on feeling this season, and all for no particularly good reason.
Those moments when we have forsaken, for a time, doing a thing one way, push us to doing it another way, which is to me what Lent is also about. In his book on Holy Week, Marcus J Borg notes that the word for believe used in the Gospel of Mark actually means to go beyond your own mind. The practices of ascetism, the practice of practicing the faith, are those of going beyond the limits of your own mind, entering into a place you had not been before. Coming into solitude you embrace and transform loneliness, coming into the space of prayer to silence the chattering nonsense in your head and give way to the silence of God. Coming into faith you learn to trust beyond the normal suspicions in which we live. The truth is we don't change, but we need to. And only when we change can the world change and only by this change can the God we so often call out for, enter.