It was at the beginning of Lent when I had my Jesus moment.
For those who don’t know, Lent is a six week period, with a little give and take, that amounts to the classic 40 days (a holy number used many times in the Bible) before Easter Sunday. We sacrifice things either by giving out or giving up for that time in an effort to deny the flesh or the ego and become more perfect for salvation, offered ultimately by the death and resurrection of Christ. It is, in my view, a time more holy than Christmas. That is a cheerful time and for good reason, but the ultimate reason for that season is the crucifixion and the resurrection. Lent is the acknowledgment of that, and a time to willingly participate in the sacrifice.
So there we sat in church, ashes placed on the forehead to remind us of our inescapable bodily death, left to contemplate our struggle for salvation from the grave, given to us only through Christ. It was in this interior darkness that I said, yes, I am yours, Jesus, do with me what you will. At almost 70 years of age, what have I got to lose?, but I did not say that. Instead I laid it all out even knowing what that might cost. Everyone but one of the 12 apostles, for instance, died or was martyred for his belief. Only John died a natural death, and that was only because God had, for some reason, saved him with a miracle that preserved his life as he sat bound in boiling oil (or was it fire?). The odds nowadays are against such tortures, but we could be given a hideous form of cancer or MS or lose everything and be forced to live in the streets as a pathway to holiness. It’s a pretty big commitment, then, and you don’t back out from a commitment to God. But I made the commitment anyway, and it almost felt good.
Good enough, in fact, that after Mass I sought to sit quietly in the pews meditating while the crowd jostled out in its typical cloud of babble. But serenity was not to be granted that day. No. Instead, a couple came over with grave looks and said, “Monsignor (a slightly higher-ranked priest) would like to talk to us in a few minutes in the greeting space.”
“Oh no” I said.
“You know what this is about?”
“Yes. Serving as sacristan. I thought that had gone away. I don’t have the time.”
My anger was probably noticeable as I felt a wave of blood rush to my head. Being sacristan meant setting up the altar space, and then disassembling it later, including the bowls for the communion wafers, the pitcher for the wine, the Bible for the readings, and so on. It was a commitment that had to be learned, and once learned, had to be done. Most could not take your place. In other words, once you were scheduled to be the sacristan for a certain time, you had to be there. No excuses about going to the cabin or to a state park, or because you wanted a lazy day off. No, you were hooked.
My wife, however, was fine with the idea, and after she talked with someone else about another project – goodbye contemplation – we headed out to the meeting. The Monsignor, however, was not there, as he had just gotten a call that his brother was about to die in the local hospital. So we were left to confer with the couple who had first talked to us along with a few others. After some chatter, I went off to the side and found a chair to steam in. Once I had cooled down a bit, I came back to stand slightly apart from the group as they discussed schedules. Repositioning my stance, I became aware that I was dangerously close to a display of the tools of torture used against Christ on the last day, with a wreath of vicious-looking thorns within inches of my hand. Bumping up against it would have been very, very painful.
I squirmed away from them as my wife said to me, “You can go. We’ve made the schedule without you. You don’t have to do a thing.” The hypocrisy of my vow earlier then struck me like a mocking laugh. Here I was standing beside the tortures of Christ, which I had just accepted to suffer if necessary, while I was pouting about doing a minor chore to help out in Mass. All that I would have to “suffer” was the loss of free time for that day.
Of course I had to tell my wife that I would help. She said, oh no you won’t. I said oh yes I will and you can’t stop me. She shrugged. I was in.
I am supposed to finish the story by saying how much I have gained from my new chores. That’s not going to happen. It is a pain in the ass, as are most of the things I do for the church. I know that as long as one says “yes” in a voluntary organization, the more one will be used. On the other hand, I still must acknowledge that it is not that much of a pain in the ass. It is, really, an incredibly small price to pay for the ultimate sacrifice. It is also a smaller price to pay than many others who work hard and dangerous jobs to support their families, or who live in discomfort and poverty so that they might help the desperate and the destitute.
Ultimately, in being asked to give, we are being forced to consider who it is we wish to become. When we look at ourselves from beyond our self-protected cocoon of comfort, we know that the people we admire most have answered the call to become heroes or saints. We watch TV movies and shows of people of great valor because we want to identify with them. In spite of this, however, we generally stay in our cocoons. Why would we get out of bed, so to speak, when the mattress is so soft and the floor tiles are so cold?
Simply put, we all must get out of bed sooner or later. If we don’t answer that call, that is all we’ll do. We will be dismissed by everyone else, including ourselves, and we will reach no mountain top with glorious views. All we will see are the walls of our room for as long as we live primarily for the purpose of remaining comfortable.
So yes, Lent is a pain in the ass, but if we do not put in the self-denial, we will never attain anything of great worth. No pain, no gain, as the athletes say, and this is just as true with the spiritual. If we remain safe and comfortable within our religion, it is a sign that something is wrong. Jesus himself said that he has “come to light a fire on the earth” even if it pits brother against brother and father against son. “Do you think I have come to establish peace on this earth? I assure you, the contrary is true…From now on, a household of five will be divided three against two…father will be split against son and son against father…” (Luke, 12:49-53)This was said not because he wanted families to break up, but because he wanted us to get out of our ruts, to get out of our comfort zones so that we could grow. With his help, this is essential if we are to reach eternal enlightenment. As every TV hero knows, you don’t get top box office by playing it safe. Or staying in bed.
So I move by baby steps. I can’t say I’m proud of myself, but at least I’ve made a start towards taking off the covers.
It was at the beginning of Lent when I had my Jesus moment.
For those who don’t know, Lent is a six week period, with a little give and take, that amounts to the classic 40 days (a holy number used many times in the Bible) before Easter Sunday. We sacrifice things either by giving out or giving up for that time in an effort to deny the flesh or the ego and become more perfect for salvation, offered ultimately by the death and resurrection of Christ. It is, in my view, a time more holy than Christmas. That is a cheerful time and for good reason, but the ultimate reason for that season is the crucifixion and the resurrection. Lent is the acknowledgment of that, and a time to willingly participate in the sacrifice.
So there we sat in church, ashes placed on the forehead to remind us of our inescapable bodily death, left to contemplate our struggle for salvation from the grave, given to us only through Christ. It was in this interior darkness that I said, yes, I am yours, Jesus, do with me what you will. At almost 70 years of age, what have I got to lose?, but I did not say that. Instead I laid it all out even knowing what that might cost. Everyone but one of the 12 apostles, for instance, died or was martyred for his belief. Only John died a natural death, and that was only because God had, for some reason, saved him with a miracle that preserved his life as he sat bound in boiling oil (or was it fire?). The odds nowadays are against such tortures, but we could be given a hideous form of cancer or MS or lose everything and be forced to live in the streets as a pathway to holiness. It’s a pretty big commitment, then, and you don’t back out from a commitment to God. But I made the commitment anyway, and it almost felt good.
Good enough, in fact, that after Mass I sought to sit quietly in the pews meditating while the crowd jostled out in its typical cloud of babble. But serenity was not to be granted that day. No. Instead, a couple came over with grave looks and said, “Monsignor (a slightly higher-ranked priest) would like to talk to us in a few minutes in the greeting space.”
“Oh no” I said.
“You know what this is about?”
“Yes. Serving as sacristan. I thought that had gone away. I don’t have the time.”
My anger was probably noticeable as I felt a wave of blood rush to my head. Being sacristan meant setting up the altar space, and then disassembling it later, including the bowls for the communion wafers, the pitcher for the wine, the Bible for the readings, and so on. It was a commitment that had to be learned, and once learned, had to be done. Most could not take your place. In other words, once you were scheduled to be the sacristan for a certain time, you had to be there. No excuses about going to the cabin or to a state park, or because you wanted a lazy day off. No, you were hooked.
My wife, however, was fine with the idea, and after she talked with someone else about another project – goodbye contemplation – we headed out to the meeting. The Monsignor, however, was not there, as he had just gotten a call that his brother was about to die in the local hospital. So we were left to confer with the couple who had first talked to us along with a few others. After some chatter, I went off to the side and found a chair to steam in. Once I had cooled down a bit, I came back to stand slightly apart from the group as they discussed schedules. Repositioning my stance, I became aware that I was dangerously close to a display of the tools of torture used against Christ on the last day, with a wreath of vicious-looking thorns within inches of my hand. Bumping up against it would have been very, very painful.
I squirmed away from them as my wife said to me, “You can go. We’ve made the schedule without you. You don’t have to do a thing.” The hypocrisy of my vow earlier then struck me like a mocking laugh. Here I was standing beside the tortures of Christ, which I had just accepted to suffer if necessary, while I was pouting about doing a minor chore to help out in Mass. All that I would have to “suffer” was the loss of free time for that day.
Of course I had to tell my wife that I would help. She said, oh no you won’t. I said oh yes I will and you can’t stop me. She shrugged. I was in.
I am supposed to finish the story by saying how much I have gained from my new chores. That’s not going to happen. It is a pain in the ass, as are most of the things I do for the church. I know that as long as one says “yes” in a voluntary organization, the more one will be used. On the other hand, I still must acknowledge that it is not that much of a pain in the ass. It is, really, an incredibly small price to pay for the ultimate sacrifice. It is also a smaller price to pay than many others who work hard and dangerous jobs to support their families, or who live in discomfort and poverty so that they might help the desperate and the destitute.
Ultimately, in being asked to give, we are being forced to consider who it is we wish to become. When we look at ourselves from beyond our self-protected cocoon of comfort, we know that the people we admire most have answered the call to become heroes or saints. We watch TV movies and shows of people of great valor because we want to identify with them. In spite of this, however, we generally stay in our cocoons. Why would we get out of bed, so to speak, when the mattress is so soft and the floor tiles are so cold?
Simply put, we all must get out of bed sooner or later. If we don’t answer that call, that is all we’ll do. We will be dismissed by everyone else, including ourselves, and we will reach no mountain top with glorious views. All we will see are the walls of our room for as long as we live primarily for the purpose of remaining comfortable.
So yes, Lent is a pain in the ass, but if we do not put in the self-denial, we will never attain anything of great worth. No pain, no gain, as the athletes say, and this is just as true with the spiritual. If we remain safe and comfortable within our religion, it is a sign that something is wrong. Jesus himself said that he has “come to light a fire on the earth” even if it pits brother against brother and father against son. “Do you think I have come to establish peace on this earth? I assure you, the contrary is true…From now on, a household of five will be divided three against two…father will be split against son and son against father…” (Luke, 12:49-53)This was said not because he wanted families to break up, but because he wanted us to get out of our ruts, to get out of our comfort zones so that we could grow. With his help, this is essential if we are to reach eternal enlightenment. As every TV hero knows, you don’t get top box office by playing it safe. Or staying in bed.
So I move by baby steps. I can’t say I’m proud of myself, but at least I’ve made a start towards taking off the covers.
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