Growing up Catholic, Lent was m
ostly a time of sacrifice and sinfulness for me. Promising to give up candy or soda or dessert and then not being able to keep the promise. So much pressure to be extra holy and sacrificial and so much guilt when I failed. I was sure that Jesus was very disappointed in me. After all, he suffered and died on the cross for my sins, so the least I could do was live for 40 days without Bazooka Bubblegum®.
As an adult I still struggle with Lent. I’ve given up stuff faithfully through the years: cursing, chocolate, cursing when I could find no chocolate. And I’ve done the “positive” spin on Lent, too. You know, doing good deeds and giving to charity. Being kinder, less judgmental, and not voting for Trump. But somehow it never feels like it makes a real difference. Not deep down. Not permanent.
When Holy Week comes I don’t have a spiritual awakening. When Lent is over I don’t feel like a changed man. Spiritual renewal – easy words to say; much harder to put into practice. Where to start? What to do?
Today’s Gospel helps:
Jesus said to his disciples:
“When you pray,
do not be like the hypocrites,
who love to stand and pray in the synagogues and on street corners
so that others may see them.
Amen, I say to you,
they have received their reward.
But when you pray, go to your inner room,
close the door, and pray to your Father in secret.
And your Father who sees in secret will repay you.
So maybe if I pray in my inner room (my heart) I will be changed. And maybe I have been changed a little each Lenten season and God is just waiting for me to figure that out. Perhaps that’s the little secret that God and I share – spiritual renewal doesn’t come in a flash of lighting or crash of thunder but in infinitesimal ways like tiny droplets of rain that erode the hardest granite after countless drops and unending persistence.
What I have to remember is that Lent is not a time for me to fix me. My only hope is that God will save me and that I will have the courage and humility to allow it.
Peace,
Denis
Think about a favorite memory. Was it summer or winter? Spring or fall? That moment will never return but that season will. I’ve been told that we are creatures of habit, but I am also a creature of adventure. I need the security of the familiar, but I long for new experiences. I think that having seasons, those repetitions, those traditions, gives me an advantage while I summit the mountains; while I swim the oceans; while I explore the unknown. My life changes but soon it will be spring again and I will return to a familiar place.
Those are nice words but it’s not always an easy task, this honoring of your parents. Anyone with elderly parents will likely understand. At times it seems as if the roles have been reversed. My parents need more attention. They need more help. They need more understanding. They need more advice. They need more patience. They need more love. Their needs remind me of when we were raising our three children – always needing more than we had to give. And us always “running on empty” just doing the best we could.
The reality is that time (or a specific year) has little to do with how fulfilled I am in this life. Of course there have been plenty of crappy years but there have been many amazing years as well. We remember the year our well went dry (literally) – 1997 but we also cherish the memory of holding our newborns for the first time – so 1978, 1980 and 1983 were good years!
Mothers are powerful! Ask any woman who has cared for a sick child; wept for the loss of life; fought for her child’s acceptance; guarded her offspring without flinching; celebrated joy and comforted heartache; loved unconditionally. All while saying “yes”.
I’m not that prayerful. Not in the “get-down-on-your-knees-bow-your-head-and-pray” sense of the word. I’m more of a “Oh, God!” “Help me!” kind of guy.
Each year my Advent is about the same. Frenzy followed by peace. Blissful peace. Some years it sneaks up on me (like when a grandchild crawls up on my lap and gives me an undeserved hug or when my cousin’s Christmas card arrives in the mail and I can relive all those joyful memories of Christmases long ago). Most years it kind of hits me right between the eyes (like reuniting with a friend with whom too much time has passed and realizing immediately that time hasn’t diminished the love we share). The thing is, I never find peace on my own. Someone always brings it to me.
Recently my spirituality group was encouraged to list our blessings and to reflect on what matters most to us and what matters least. I was the only one who didn’t mention God. Not that I don’t think that God is important, I just didn’t single him (her) out. Instead I chose to list experiences for which I was and am and will always be thankful.
I’ve been hording all the goodness in my life. Keeping it all to myself. Honestly I feel privileged because, in all this chaos, I have more happiness in my life than most others. I suppose I have been selfish. While grateful for my blessings, I often dismiss them as just a part of my good life. I sometimes forget how much I have been given. How truly blessed I am. I have a spouse that loves me and stands beside me through thick and thin. I have children and grandchildren who fill my heart with love beyond measure. And I have friends who walk this journey with me every day and carry me when I can’t go on.