Flipping heck!

Having been a follower of Jesus for more than half my life, I’ve learned that it doesn’t really matter which denomination you belong to. My parents, an English Methodist and a Scottish Presbyterian, set up home together in a small Essex village. Facing each other on opposite sides of the village green were an Anglican and a Baptist church. Dad went to St Mary’s while Mum, Nana, my sister and I threw our lot in with the Baptists. I was used to different ways of doing church and rather enjoyed my occasional visits to the Anglican church where there was lots of stained glass, bellringing and little books from which we read bits of liturgy.

The Baptists observed all the usual red-letter days, but the Anglicans seemed to have a lot more to celebrate. An inquisitive child, I enjoyed looking up the special festivals and trying to work out what they were all about.

Plough Sunday marked the traditional start of the agricultural year, blessing the plough and seeds with prayers for a fruitful year (several local churches observed that when I was a child). Candlemas was in dark and gloomy February while Saints Mark, Philip and James got their own days in March, and fair enough. Then there were my two favourites, Rogation Sunday (asking God for blessings and protection from disaster) and the self-explanatory Stir-up Sunday.

However, it was Pancake Day (liturgical name Shrove Tuesday) which got all of us excited in our little Essex village. The yearly pancake race was open to everyone, regardless of age, gender or religious persuasion. There were races for mums, dads and children, all hotly contested. My classmate Julia Partridge’s mother won one year and the picture of her crossing the finish line, face alight with joy and pancake pan firmly grasped in her hand made the front page of the local paper.

None of us thought of the religious meaning of the day at the time. It didn’t particularly get mentioned at church, although the vicar at St Mary’s probably managed to get a sermon out of it. It is the day before the beginning of Lent and was intended as a time for Christians to go to church to be shriven (absolved of sin) and to use up all the nice things in their cupboards before the forty days of Lent began.

As you will know, a traditional pancake is composed of flour, milk and eggs and can be served with a bewildering variety of toppings. I only like sugar and lemon, but you could go crazy with all kinds of sweet and indulgent accompaniments if you wanted to. But none of that is what the day is really about.

I find Shrove Tuesday a helpful marker in a busy life. I can spend some time reflecting what I need to say sorry for, what changes I may need to make and to ask God where He is leading me. For Christians, Lent is a vitally important time to pray, repent and consider before the grief of Good Friday and the restorative joy of Easter Sunday. As I get older, it becomes more significant in my walk with the Lord, and this year, as always, I have got plenty to think about.

Living in the Suffolk countryside, on the outskirts of a village not that different from the one in which I grew up, I see the progression of the seasons and am able to appreciate the significance of those red-letter days in a way that my younger self was not. Everyone loves a pancake and to gather your community around you with the cooking and eating of these delicious treats, or even to put on a pancake race, is a great way to be intentionally missional. Whether you flip your pancake, or simply eat it with your friends and neighbours, it is a time for all of us to reflect on what is to come.

Ruth Leigh

Guest contributor

Ruth is a Christian author, freelancer and editor of RM's MOSAIC Magazine.