Would anyone notice if we just skipped January?

January dawned so cold and so unbearably grim this year that I’m proposing a radical change in the church calendar.

Let’s just jump right ahead to Lent. January 2005 already has solemn contemplation and repentance written all over it.

January’s the month that traditionally feels like four weeks stretched into 12. For all the people who move to the Inland Northwest for its great climate and lovely sunshine, it’s not the month they were thinking of. It oozes along, one frigid, bleary-eyed day after the next, only to be followed by February: the second worst month of the year.

And just about the time my purple crocuses begin to peer up over the frozen tundra of my yard, Lent strikes. I wind up with ashes on my brow and 40 more days of rectitude and restraint.

Frankly, I think that’s just going to be too much to ask of us this year.

We began the month with flags at half mast, with endless CNN footage of the saddest scenes imaginable. This on top of December’s violent reports from Iraq. Away from the news, January’s leavened only by the prospect of joining a muscle-throbbing Pilates class, trying a Weight Watchers’ recipe called “Roasted Vegetable and Tofu Napoleon,” or switching to Visa’s new Easy Bill Pay program.

January’s a month only a clergyman could love.

Christian churches lately have been involved in so many tedious debates. Female priests? Gay marriages? I think we can agree: We’re weary of them all.

Instead, here’s our chance to band together in a new wild-eyed effort to shake up the church: the campaign to move Lent right up to January. Let’s combine Mardi Gras with New Year’s Eve, two useless evenings of debauchery rolled into one. Then, boom: New Year’s Day could also be Ash, well, in the case of this last one, Ash Saturday.

Think of the efficiency of this idea. By fast-forwarding to Lent, you could mark that season of repentance right off your to-do list this year. Lent’s never really lined up with Mother Nature in our region, anyway. By the time the tulips bloom, you could press ahead with redemption and joy.

Contemplating your sins? On the stair-climber, a penitential mood comes naturally.

Pondering your mortal soul? Just glance at your frozen hydrangeas.

Vowing repentance? The Nordstrom bill has that effect on us all.

No doubt the clergy will point out that January’s spot on the church calendar is already claimed by Epiphany, a period of joy and celebration. Certainly that season has its charms. But let’s move it to a time of year when we’re already in the mood. The Fourth of July would be perfect.

Yes, there are many sound reasons, theological and ecclesiastical, why Lent needs to stay right where it is. But one of the naughty little secrets about being part of the laity is that you really don’t have to care about them.

Instead, you can pester the church fathers to simply give in. After all, American culture and commercialism have already tinkered with the church year. All Saints Day usually arrives just as the big box stores begin displaying Christmas wrap. Forget about Advent. The culture moves ahead to “Joy to the World” by the weekend after Thanksgiving.

So let’s not argue about this one. Let’s think of the possibilities. Each year, just as we’re swearing off molten chocolate cake and caramel macchiatos, the season of fasting could arrive along with Weight Watchers spokeswoman Sarah Ferguson’s annual flight from London.

The duchess of York could lead us in atonement for our sins, holiday and otherwise, explain the intricacies of the Weight Watcher point system, and, for good measure, throw in a few brief homilies on benefits of discipline and deprivation. We could dub her the folklore bride of Janus, a sort of female Easter Bunny-Santa Claus, only with killer red hair and great abs. Let’s give Lent its own beloved mythical figure: Fergie, a British Elasti-Girl with wings.

Fergie could bring carrots and celery sticks to good little girls and boys. She could flit in at night to stuff your gym bag with a brand new pair of yoga pants. She could even wear her own seasonal colors: purple for royalty and repentance, of course, and maybe a nice contrasting chartreuse, the universal hue for “yeech.”

So what’s not to love about this idea?

Watch for it any day now. That’s right about the time the new bishop turns out to be a Jesuit everyone addresses as “Mother,” as soon as church aisles make room for two brides, when cups of church coffee miraculously transform into caramel macchiatos.

When will that be?

Not in my lifetime. But I can dream.