This is the season of Lent. At one time everyone in the Western world knew it was Lent. There were all sorts of prohibitions on food, and festive activities. Now, unless you are among the few who frequent churches, almost no one does.

A few weeks back I saw a news clip of the mayor of Boston. Mayor Michelle Wu, as her byline says, is committed to making Boston a home for everyone. And, although I can’t remember the substance of the clip, I can imagine that king Trump was not amused.

What I do remember is a smudgy blackened cross on her forehead.

That thumb-applied cross of ash, worn for one day a year, symbolises an alternate world where another’s suffering is an occasion for sorrow, and where another’s pain is an occasion for penance. It asks questions like: how do we build a world that diminishes the likelihood that suffering continues to happen? And how do we build a world where we stop doing the hurtful things we’re doing, and change?

Lent, somewhat like other Christian rituals, has over the centuries been captured by powerful and wealthy interests and diluted to mean sorrow and penance over the little stuff. Like your diet, dress habits, swearing, sex, or morality. The latter two often being conflated.

I strongly suspect that Christianity’s obsession with such little stuff was a planned diversion from the big stuff. Big stuff like who is our neighbour and how should we treat them? Like how do we make a home for everyone on this planet?

Though when I saw the smudgy blackened cross on Mayor Wu’s forehead what came to mind was a more light-hearted moment when I made a big mess in a church.

One Lent a woman approached me about hearing her confession. Hearing confessions is not a practice that I am used to. She was a serious soul who sweated the little stuff. So, in a eureka moment (read: slightly mad moment), I suggested she write down her confession, bring the paper to church, and we would set it alight – symbolising the letting go of what was burdening her.

I got a metal flower vase and put a candle in the bottom of it. Lit the candle, and placed it on the communion table. The woman arrived and after some discussion proceeded to ignite her confession and deposit the paper into the vase.

The problem was she had a whole book full of confession. She proceeded to rip the pages out, light and deposit them in the vase. All very solemn like.

I stood watching nervously as the flames started shooting up, the vase heating up, and smoke sensors in danger of screaming.

Being a boy scout back in the day I was prepared with a bucket of water. When the last page went in, I promptly tipped the water in.

Well, a big dramatic mushroom cloud erupted, and wax and soot went everywhere. An impressive mess.

Lessons from the day: Using fire inside buildings is a dangerous business. Sometimes the simplest thing (to listen) is the best thing. Sometimes the little stuff can accumulate and when you try to deal with it a big mess is the result.

In this case the only legacy left behind was a scorch mark the vase left on the table.

Now I’m thinking about the big stuff mentioned above. Like neighbours and belonging. And abolishing that which works against all humanity being good neighbours to each other and making room for everyone to belong. And confessing that we don’t do it very well. And thinking of the big mess the world is in.

Glynn