Lenten Practice #1: Letting Go of Books

  For the second year in a row one of my Lenten practices is to let go of books. Last year I eliminated over 100 books from my garret bookshelves, which is where I keep my spirituality, theology, and writing books, and this year I have decided to accept the same challenge. 

Books are my comfort, which I wear like a shawl. They are my terra firma. When I am puzzled about something or facing a new challenge, or need a guide as I reflect and process, I turn to a book. Books are the threshold I cross and the return that welcomes me. 

Saying goodbye is no small task. 

Eliminating books from my library is my version of giving up sugar or caffeine during Lent--something that takes willpower and focus and persistence and self-control. But this practice is also a kind of love and a way to honor my growth as a spiritual being. 

Each day during Lent I browse one of my shelves for at least one title  I can take to a Little Free Library, where, I hope, just the right reader, spiritual seeker or writer will find it. I pull out possibilities and browse the pages. How likely is it that I will want to read this book again? Or if I have not read it, has its time passed? 

For example, I have many books on feminist theology, and I remember the days when I saturated myself in that content, hungry to fill that gap in my education and awareness. I read many of them, and I  am so grateful for writers, researchers, theologians who opened themselves --and then me--to that material. Will I read ones I have not yet read in the next years of my reading life? Probably not. Will I re-read any of them? Probably not. Ok, add them to the pile. 

Before adding a book to the pile, I notice what I have underlined or where I have made a note. For example, in Seeking God, The Way of St Benedict by Esther de Waal, my eyes land on text highlighted in pink with a star next to the passage:    

        Only after we give up the desire to be different and
        admit that we deserve no special attention is there space
        to encounter God, and to discover that although we are
        unique and that God calls us each by name, that is 
        completely compatible with the unspectacular, possibly
        the monotony, of life in the pace in which we find ourselves.
                                                                   p. 61

(An aside: I am an enneagram 4, and this passage really fits my 4 personality.)

I spend a bit more time with the book and even copy a couple passages into my journal, but still decide to add it to the "pass it on" pile. 

Sometimes when I have loved a certain book by an author, I have then collected and read everything written by that person. For example, Natalie Goldberg's Writing Down the Bones will remain in my library forever, even though I may never read it again, but while I enjoyed and benefited from other titles, such as The True Secret of Writing and The Great Spring, I am comfortable passing them on. 

I will keep Twyla Tharp's The Creative Habit, but will move on her more recent book, Keep It Moving, not because it wasn't worth reading, but it didn't speak to me in the same way. Plus, I found this book in a Little Free Library and it seems fitting to return it for someone else to find. I admit I wonder about the person who received this as a gift. The inscription in the front reads, "Christmas, 2019. For Kate, As you move forward, a book about moving forward. Much love, Bill and Julie." Did the book resonate with Kate?

I thank each book for its wisdom, for the insights and new learning it brought to me, and I thank the author for the effort it took to bring that book to fruition. I think about the reason I added that book to my library in the first place and what I learned; how it added to my spiritual and my writing life. 

This process becomes a kind of meditation. 

I notice books that seem especially meaningful for my life today, such as the rows of books on aging. I hold those who have been companions along the way. I give thanks. I rejoice. I note books that hold promise for me now. I marvel at the new books on my shelves written by young theologians, young people exploring their faith and their lives as spiritual beings, and I welcome their presence. I reflect on lessons learned and those still a work in process. 

My intention in this Lenten practice is not to empty my shelves. In fact, I have added new titles to my shelves, but not nearly as many as I have eliminated. Each of these titles will have their own time and then perhaps be passed on. Or not.

    1. Three Steps on the Ladder of Writing by Helene Cixous
    2.  16 Ways to Create Devotional Writing by David Sluka
    3.  Ron Carlson Writes a Story by Ron Carlson
    4.  An Interrupted Life by Etty Hillesum
    5.  A Rhythm of Prayer, edited by Sarah Bessey
    6.  Sacred Time, Embracing an Intentional Way of Life by Christine
        Valters Paintner.

Sorry, family, but you will more than likely have to pack and carry heavy boxes of books down the stairs, just as you lugged them upstairs for me when we moved here. I promise to continue this practice of deciding what to keep and what to release, not just during Lent, but as on ongoing process. However, books nurture and expand me, and in a paradoxical way they are part of my inner process, a bigger process of creating space in which I encounter God. 

An Invitation
Do you have a Lenten practice? I would love to know. 

   

A second part of the challenge both this year and last was to limit the number of books added to the shelves