The fallen leaves crunched under my feet as I hiked through the woods at the edge of our property, searching for the hedgerow of trifoliate orange shrubs I desired to harvest. My eyes surveyed the thick underbrush endlessly to no avail. I was both startled and frustrated when my alarm for the noon-day Angelus peeled on my phone. Tempted to press snooze so that I could continue my search, I felt compelled to stop and surrender in prayer to the mystery of the Incarnation. Upon the utterance of “Amen,” I looked up. Within a few moments, I became aware of my being amid the exact trifoliate orange bramble that I had, for some time, been frantically searching for in preparation for Lent.

Foraging for flowers and vines provides a unique creative experience. Immersion in nature while within the creative process facilitates a beautiful space for God to break in. Little to no distractions diminish from being present and attentive. Though the senses are heightened in the pursuit, within there remains a stillness. It is in this recollection that we make space for God. My foraging hike was a reminder that, no matter the circumstance, God will fight for me, and I only need to surrender and be still (Exodus 14:14). 

Preparing our hearts and homes for Lent is different from any other liturgical season. It is a liturgical period that straddles two seasons, binding the quiet season of winter to the abundant season of spring. Throughout the course of Lent, by God’s grace, we journey beyond the barren spaces within to the plentiful springs of grace present at Easter. The contrasting visuals in the landscape mirror the spiritual fasting and feasting that the two liturgical seasons promote interiorly. 

The home is a powerful tool for nurturing our spiritual life, as it has the ability to serve as an external sign of our interior disposition. The use of sacred imagery and décor foster prayerful spaces in our domestic churches and a steadily growing devotional practice. Still, very little is discussed about Lenten adornments, aside from splashes of purple owing to the creative challenges presented by the pared-down season. Lent is not impeded upon by Easter in the same way that, culturally, Advent is in competition with Christmas, which presents an easier period of preparation without distraction over the 40 days so our homes reflect this season well. 

Throughout the Lenten season, particularly during the climax of the Triduum, we have a heightened awareness of our own mortality as it relates to Christ’s passion. We seek to be purified of our own thorns of the flesh to grow in detachment, so that we may die with Christ and be filled with new life at his resurrection. A glimpse at the garden or nature walk provides an immense amount of ideas for this prayerful intention of the liturgical season. Its dormant state of greenery should not inhibit our ability to bring parts of nature within our homes to elevate our prayerfulness. 

As the hiker becomes acutely aware during a trek outdoors, there are always brambly hedgerows to be found. A thorny bystander announces its presence by grabbing ahold of the pant leg of the passerby. These thorny vines make possible a wonderfully meditative craft of weaving a decorative crown of thorns for Lent. This can be done with trifoliate orange (like I use for my arrangement), known as a hardy orange shrub that is surprisingly cold tolerant. But any thorny brush can be used for this project, ranging from raspberry vines to pruned rose branches. I particularly like the striking visual effect of the large thorns on the trifoliate orange stem, but any thorns have the same effect. (Note: As my sore fingers can attest, this is a creation to be made by adults and perhaps teens.)

Several lengths of trimmed branches can be woven around themselves to create a crown of thorns. The use of twine or jute-covered wire can be used to secure the branches if using shorter cuttings. These thorned wreaths can be made in varying sizes to place about the house or hang on a door. No matter the size of the finished product or placement within the home, the meditative experience provided by the visuals is the same. What begins as green in stem will, in time, dry into a beautiful light brown (and I highly recommend the use of green, freshly cut stems, as they are more malleable than brittle, dried ones). Spray paint can be used to make the crown of thorns stand out with a particular color. The delicate danger of pricking a finger during this process enables a deeply profound prayer, as it is a visceral reminder of Our Lord’s sufferings. 

The effects of using our own creativity and our hands to create prayerful imagery for our homes is often overlooked. But to neglect this opportunity is to miss a meditation on Our Lord’s passion that connects body to soul. Our homes are therefore blessed by the work of our hands. The physicality of this type of prayer, and the way it recollects us into the present moment, is a wonderful exercise this Lenten season. May each glimpse of the crown of thorns wreath draw us back into that first prayer during its creation and grow in years to come. 

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