Lent: Are We Living Dangerously Enough?

At Lent retreats, I used to ask participants if they had ever been to the desert.  But after moving up to Connecticut, I finally stopped.  Everyone said “no.”  Except a few who would ask, “Does Las Vegas count?”

No, Las Vegas does not count.

Have you ever been to the desert? 

I have.  I understand what the desert is all about.  It is quiet, still, empty, beautiful, harsh and dangerous.  In the desert, you are always one false move away from needing something desperately.  Like water, or shade, or an antidote for a snake or spider bite. Yes, my desert had tarantulas.

In the desert you face your own fragility and the fragility of those around you.  All it takes is that mercilessly hot West Texas sun to remind you that your place in the universe is small and precarious.  Survival is not a given.

Jesus spent forty days in the desert.  Israel spent forty years.  Days and years of precarious living.  Days and years of facing one’s own weakness, accepting that survival is not a given, looking beyond oneself or one’s environment for certainty. 

Leaning heavily upon God alone, Jesus and Israel emerged from their deserts.  Israel settled in a new land and embarked upon an enormous task, to live faithfully as God’s people.  Jesus was strengthened and resolved for mission, to tell God’s story to the human race and to love his own to the end.

We speak of Lent as our desert time.  In this desert, do we recognize how fragile we are, how precarious life is, how the structures and things we depend on for security are one false move away from falling around us like a house of cards? 

Precarious living is actually Gospel living.  It recognizes that total dependence on God is where true strength is found.  The trials of the desert are where we meet God and live only by what he offers – living water, the shadow of his wing, and the antidote of his love. 

From Lent, from life, from desert, we may not emerge unscathed.  But we can emerge as God’s own, strengthened, emboldened for mission and “filled with the power of the Spirit” (Lk. 4:14). 

* * *

“If we ask God for so little it may well be because we feel the need for him so little.  We are leading complacent, secure, well-protected, mediocre lives.  We aren’t living dangerously enough; we aren’t living the way Jesus wanted us to live when he proclaimed the good news” (Anthony de Mello, Contact with God: Retreat Conferences). 

Briton Riviere, The Temptation in the Wilderness, 1898

A Good Old-Fashioned Lenten Fast

I read something today that I’ve honestly never thought about before.  An article by Fr. Daniel Merz at USCCB.org points out that Adam and Eve were asked to fast.  To fast is to limit oneself in some way, to do without.  God asked Adam and Eve to “do without” that one tree.  As we know, they chose to break that fast.

That tree, and the breaking of that fast, symbolize the choices we have in life, the free will which is the greatest of human gifts.  Without free will, there are no relationships because there is no love.  Without free will, we aren’t human.

Adam and Eve lived in a paradise of sorts.  And yet even in this paradise, they were asked to fast.  This simple idea helps us understand fasting – its purpose, its goodness, and why it should still be part of our lives.  Most of us modern Americans live in a kind of paradise in the sense that we have every single thing we need or want practically within arms’ reach.  Want entertainment?  Get it.  Want news?  Got it.  Want food?  Open the fridge. 

Fasting is a deliberate attempt on our part to put the brakes on “having it all.”  It seems that even God, who wanted the very best for Adam and Eve, thought it wise to give them limits.  Of course this wasn’t to cause suffering or to impose his “rules” on them.  Perhaps the fast simply allows the opportunity to live more deliberately, to make choices.  There’s a link between fasting and freedom.    

I like a good old-fashioned Lenten fast.  I like the idea of giving something up.  It’s so simple.  It’s so obvious.  It’s so good.  I know there’s a lot of buzz out there about not giving up sweets or alcohol or any of those very old-school things.  I disagree.  Put the brakes on.  Exercise your free will.  Feel the freedom of saying “no.”  Because that link between fasting and freedom is really a link between fasting and love.  Our Lenten fast is a deliberate offering of our freedom for the sake of the other.  Perhaps it is a simple offering of love between you and Jesus.  Or perhaps when you fast, you turn that sacrifice into a material gift for someone in real need, someone who doesn’t have a “material paradise” at their fingertips.

Another way fasting helps us love is simply by training us to “put the brakes on” in other areas of our lives.  The discipline we gain from giving up concrete things like food, drink, and entertainment, can help us learn to give up those more abstract things like gossip, grudges and impatience.  If we have the strength to say no to an afternoon snack, maybe we will have the strength to walk away from that hurtful conversation at work. 

The goal of Lent is no different than the goal of life:  to love God and love our neighbor.  I know I can do that better when I have self-control and when I live deliberately, when my life is not about easy living but about slowly turning myself outward, toward the other – God and my neighbor.  There’s a link between fasting and love.  Lent is the right time to discover it.

John Kohan, Mixed Media Collage, Courtesy John Kohan, sacredartpilgrim.com.

Burying the Alleluia

As many of you know, I started my first parish job at the ripe old age of 23, and I had absolutely no idea what I was doing.  Fortunately, my predecessor, Sr. Blanche Twigg, had run a tight ship.  It was just my job to keep it floating.   

Sr. Blanche had many gifts that I did not have, and one was that she really knew how to work with children.  She understood that they are both literal and mystical.  I discovered this about Sr. Blanche as my first Lent in the parish approached. 

About a week before Ash Wednesday, my co-worker in the Religious Education office disappeared into the storage room, rummaged around for a bit, and emerged with an old banner that read “A-L-L-E-L-U-I-A!”  She then informed me that it was almost time to bury it.

Apparently every year, Sr. Blanche would gather the children together and talk to them about Lent.  Then she would fold up the big banner and symbolically bury it.  “ALLELUIA” went dark until Easter, when it was once again allowed to see the light of day.

When I heard about this, I couldn’t decide if it was a stroke of pedagogical genius or a hopelessly depressing gesture.  Saying good-bye to “ALLELUIA” was deeply symbolic but also really sad!

I thought about Sr. Blanche’s banner as I sat in church on Divine Mercy Sunday.  A visiting priest, whose own father is dying in Africa, dug deep and gave of himself and filled the church with Easter laughter.  Interwoven throughout genuine messages of faith, hope and love was humor that brought the room to life and charged it with Christian joy. 

Easter laughter is a long, and some might say strange, tradition of the Church.  There was a time when the liturgy actually called for a good joke during the Easter homily!  Laughter expresses joy, even our joy that He is Risen.   Even in church, even at Mass!  Laughter connects us with others who share our joy and expresses the end of our waiting, the consummation of our longing, the last of our days without alleluias.

We have dug up the “ALLELUIA.”  He is risen, indeed! 

A reflection about Easter laughter by Joseph Ratzinger can be found here.

Siobhan's Last Two Stations

Several weeks ago, I posted my daughter’s Stations of the Cross.  As I’m sure you noticed, she only wrote 12!  She originally intended to end her prayer-poem with the death of Jesus.  But another 12-year-old asked if Siobhan could write the final two stations so he could use the whole sequence at school.  So she did! 

Many of you responded enthusiastically to Siobhan’s Stations, so I wanted to share the final two with you.  Below are all 14 stations. 

A blessed Triduum and a very happy Easter to each of you, your families, and your communities.  May our Lord richly bless you in these coming days as you eat with Jesus, allow him to wash your feet, follow him to the Cross, watch him die, wait with anticipation, and encounter him Risen.    

“I : CONDEMNED- JUDGE
Stand before the crowd for me
What have you to say for thee?
No sound, no word to save his name
To end his pain, to stop his fate
Although his heart is pure and clean
He is condemned to endless sleep

II : CARRY- SPECTATOR
I watch them weave a crown of thorns
Hustle, heckle taunt and scorn
I watch them load your back with weight
Bitterness crossed with twisted hate
I want to end their cruel advance
But I do not move when I have the chance

III : FALLING- SOLDIER
You stumble yet we push you down
You cry but we ignore the sound
No one helps you when you fall
No one makes a move at all
I cannot help but feel for you
But when you’re down I do not move

IV : MEETING- MOTHER
So alone you stumble forth
They do not know what you are worth
So now, now when you say to me
“Courage, woman, for this must be”
I truly know that I must believe
For by your cross we are redeemed

V : HELP- SIMON
They push and pull me toward the tree
The heavy burden meant for thee
They grow impatient tired of
Your slow progress or lack thereof
They snatch me off the streets of ill
So I help you against my will

VI : FACE- VERONICA
Alone again he struggles on
They will nail him to the tree anon
I don’t have anything to give
But I cannot yet leave him
My hands I have and my veil in place
So at least I can wash your face

VII : FALLING AGAIN- PETER
I see you fall this time on rock
I cannot bare to see them mock
I have denied you thrice today
But still I love you, still I pray
That you’ll forgive me for I was weak
As you set on humble and meek

VIII : CRY- WOMAN
As he stumbles toward us still
He is not drained of his good will
Though it’s I who should help thee
You reach out and comfort me
You’ve been abandoned by your friends
But still you love until the end

IX : FALLING STILL- PHARISEE
This time he falls and does not rise
He is so close to his demise
That I can see the wasted land
Where they will nail his feet and hands
In spite of cards that fate has dealt
Why do you not save yourself?

X : ROBBED- JOHN
They take your clothes and leave you bare
Crown of thorns still in your hair
You wear those twigs like the king you are
And despite these horrid scars
I know you’ll come again someday
So that we can then be saved
 
XI : NAILED- MAN
This is my job and I’ve no choice
But I have yet to hear your voice
You do not protest when we stab
Your hands and then your side they jab
I cannot help but think and pray
Are you the king as they all say?

XII : MORTEM - CHRIST
Father father why have you
Abandoned me as I go through
I trust you, I do not doubt
The things you ask to carry out
With my last breath, I want all to hear it:
Into your hands I commend my spirit

XIII : TAKEN - APOSTLE
His body hangs limp on the tree
Broken skin bleeding for me
They take him down with faith and tears
As the space around them clears
Though we left you on that cross
You promised to come back for us

XIV : BURIED - FATHER
They lay your body in the tomb
My spirit fills up the ashen room
You did not let this cup pass by
And still the world does not know why
Nails were driven through your skin
To save your beloved from their sins
”

One Hour Retreat for Holy Week

Last year as Holy Week approached, I recommended reading all of Mark’s Gospel in one sitting as a one-hour reflection.  If you have not had a chance to do so, you may wish to do that this year.  Try to forget everything you think you know about Jesus, sit in a quiet place, and listen to him.  You will encounter a raw, passionate preacher and miracle-worker, one who has an urgent message for you.

If you have already read Mark, this year I recommend Jesus’ Farewell Discourse in John’s Gospel (Jn. 14-16).  In last week’s blog post, we reflected on Jesus washing the feet of his disciples, an event that is only narrated in John’s Gospel.  Also exclusive to John is the lengthy discourse that follows.  In this farewell address, Jesus speaks his final words of comfort, his final declaration of unity with the Father, and his final commands to his friends before he lays down his life for them. 

You have read or heard these words before.  They are beautiful, haunting, mystical, profound and personal.  Are you a disciple of Jesus?  Then he is speaking to you.

Sometime in the coming week, sit down with your Bible in a quiet place, or click here to read the text online.  Or click here to print a copy of the text; you can then write your own thoughts and responses to Jesus on the paper.

After class this past week, one of my students commented that John 14-16 should be required reading for every Christian, every few months.  Indeed, we need this personal and profound reminder from Jesus, that if we do not love one another as he has loved us, if we do not lay down our lives for one another in small ways and large, then Jesus will not be present in this world.  With the privilege of being Jesus’ friend (15:15) comes the joyful and challenging responsibility of sharing that friendship with others (15:13).  This is when he truly abides in us, and we in him (15:10).

Reflection questions for John 14-16:

What kinds of things would you say to your loved ones if you knew you were dying?

How do you think the disciples felt when Jesus told them he was leaving, and how does Jesus comfort them?

What is the relationship between Jesus and the Father, and what is their relationship with believers?

How will the Holy Spirit work in our lives in Jesus’ absence?

What is the new commandment of Jesus?  How does Jesus love?  How must we love?

What does Jesus say that especially strikes you as you prayerfully read this text?  What is he speaking to your heart?  How do you respond to him?

Christ's Entry into Jerusalem, Hippolyte Flandrin