Healthy Hunger

Today I thought I would share some more of my reflections on food, fasting and hunger. 

Fasting to me is not just about giving up chocolate or coffee, or even skipping meals. For me it also is about making a mental adjustment towards eating. I use the encouragement of Lent to eat the way I always should: fresh fruits and vegetables, whole grains, natural sweeteners.

When I stop eating junk I learn to love real food. When I start enjoying real food, I stop wanting junk; I hunger for the healthy stuff. It takes a while to get the sweet and salty cravings to go away, but they do, and then highly processed food just tastes yucky.

Even food that it is good for me, however, is not good to eat all the time. I still need to learn to allow myself to get hungry.

As I have said earlier, being willing to be hungry is for me a matter of faith, of faithfulness, of response to the call of God. It is an outward sign of my obedience, of my submission to the discipline of God. It also is a response to the hunger of the world. 

What I consume involves money. Where did I get all that food to eat? I bought it, of course. I used my resources to feed, and sometimes over-feed myself. It is not too much of a stretch to conclude that every bite I eat that I don’t need is a bite someone else, some genuinely hungry person, is denied.

The cost of my overeating is not just for the food. Too much food can have a negative impact on my health. No problem, I’ll just go to the doctor, get pills, use extra resources for my health care. My clothes don’t fit anymore? I’ll buy new ones. I’ll buy diet books, or special diet foods that cost more than real, non-processed food. All this for me, all this to indulge me: all this because I didn’t want to feel hungry.

But… if I can allow myself to be hungry, I can make changes to the way I use my resources. I can and must redirect my surplus to those who are truly in need, who truly are hungry. I see that as the real intent behind the practices of Lent: to help me lay down my comfortableness, pick up my cross, follow Christ, and care for my brothers and sisters throughout the world. For this I must be willing to experience hunger, even every day.

Hunger and Pain

Tomorrow my sister is having knee replacement surgery. While knee surgery does not seem to me to be as drastic as some other types, it is in fact fairly invasive and her recovery will be lengthy. But if all goes according to plan, the treatment she has chosen will relieve her of the pain she has endured for some time.

We like to be relieved of pain! That is good and natural (to seek pain is an indication that something is fundamentally disordered). Of course, our culture has taken pain avoidance to great heights. We run to the medicine cabinet at the slightest twinge. "Never have pain" is almost as much of a cultural mantra as "never be hungry!"

I titled this blog "be hungry" in part to proclaim that hunger is a good thing, a necessary thing. I am referring to spiritual hunger, but the idea originated in my observations about our cultural obsession with food. Most so-called diet "plans" declare that if you follow their regimen you will "never be hungry." As someone who has to be vigilant about food - if I don't want to gain weight - I learned long ago that the only way to stay at a healthy weight is to be willing to be hungry sometimes. Being hungry is a sign that I am actually in charge of what I eat, not driven by my impulses, not eating out of boredom or anxiety.

I think that sometimes we are in so much of a hurry to avoid pain - emotional as well as physical - that we miss what it has to teach us. I am not saying "don't take the ibuprofen!" But I am thinking about the headache or heartache that does not abate right away. Maybe (and I am being tentative here because these things are difficult to express) it is an opportunity to be softened; to go "on a diet," if you will, from our obsession with personal comfort, and to let the difficulty teach us how to share in the suffering of others.

Love, Pray 2

News received in the last 12 hours:

• A daughter and son-in-law: robbed in a terrifying situation while traveling in a foreign country. (They are shaken but okay. Same goes for parents.)

• A beloved elder relative: cancer, inoperable, prognosis unknown at  this time.

And yesterday I was wondering what kind of love would lead me to pray more. I would write more but I'm going to pray. Now. Truly.

Love, Pray

One of the themes of Lent is prayer. Prayer has been part of my life for as long as I can remember. Yet the idea of prayer has also always had some degree of guilt for me. Although I think I might pray more often throughout the day than many people, the guilt I have is around structured prayer time.

I was raised with the expectation that every Christian should have a "quiet time" - some time (preferably in the morning) when you spend a few minutes or more with God in prayer. I tried. It never really "took" for me - I couldn't think of what to say, or I never found a devotional book I liked, or my mind would wander. I hated to admit that I didn't do it, though, because it seemed so important (thus the guilt).

Then there was "intercession," people who would talk about praying for hours in the night, or who would get together for long, intense prayer sessions. Tried; couldn't do that either. I did much better with night devotions, a quick reading from a devotional book and a "good night God" type prayer. I am also pretty good at a simple morning offering, short spontaneous prayers throughout the day, or prayers for individuals who request it. But structured prayer times, where you sit down with the express purpose of praying for more than 30 seconds? That has always been difficult for me.

So for Lent I decided that I wanted to try to pray Evening Prayer on a regular basis (that's part of the Liturgy of the Hours, which is mostly praying the Psalms). I had gotten fairly regular with Morning Prayer, at least on the days when I am at home, but thought Lent would be the motivation I needed to add more. Instead, what has happened so far is that not only have I not done well with adding EP, but I have virtually stopped MP as well. Sigh.

Discovering this suggests to me that I am susceptible to using Lent as a personal challenge instead of a spiritual journey. By coming up with too many "must do" actions on my list, it turned prayer from an act of love into a duty, and I instinctively backed off.

I knew there might be some danger in my ambitious list, even as I developed my plan to love better. But it has taken a couple of weeks for me to discover it. I need to spend some time thoughtfully considering how I can make both structured and unstructured prayer times become part of the natural rhythm of my days, like breathing, instead of simply proving to myself I can do it. I think I need to grow in the kind of love that leads me to prayer.

Singing in the Cold

I heard a cardinal singing this morning. Plucky thing, it was only 9 degrees out! I have heard (and seen) them in the last couple of weeks, sitting at the tops of the still-naked trees, their distinctive mating call carrying far and wide - although the one this morning sounded a little less hearty than usual. It was a pleasant reminder of spring, of the renewal of all things, even when all those things are buried under nine inches of fresh snow. 

Another sign of renewal today is the celebration of the Annunciation: the angel Gabriel tells Mary she will conceive the Savior of the world. Our pastor pointed out this morning that exactly nine months from now is Christmas, the celebration of the birth of Jesus. So while we are in the middle of fasting and praying and renouncing our attachment to things of the world, going through our own personal “death”, a little sign of hope sneaks onto the agenda, thanks to the Church calendar. New life begins, even though it is still invisible to our physical eyes.

It has been my experience that this is often the case: blessings come in the midst of despair; anguish is accompanied by mirth (I am remembering here the therapeutic laughter I shared with my siblings when we were telling stories about Mom the day after her funeral). Death is not the enemy of life, but merely its completion; sorrow does not forbid gladness. I believe that Lent is meant to teach us not to be afraid of difficulty or grief. We learn through its disciplines that we can indeed embrace the cross and still find joy. We can sing, even when it’s cold outside.

Change and Grief

I haven’t had many truly white-knuckle commutes, and today, thankfully, was not one of them. But it was close. We had nine inches of snow at home, six inches downtown. It was preceded by rain, then sleet, then ice pellets. It created a several-inches deep layer of corrugated surface on the side roads, snow and slush on the freeways: slow, sloppy and treacherous driving. All this after one of the longest, coldest, snowiest winters I can remember. Maybe it’s good that Easter is coming late this year - Spring should be here by then!

The icky drive was somehow apropos for this day, as it made it pretty much miserable all around. 

Our office is moving tomorrow. I mentioned it in another blog, because as part of Lent I really have been trying not to complain about it and I think for the most part I have succeeded. But today I realized that I am grieving, silly as it sounds. We are moving only a few blocks away from our present location, but it is across the freeway from downtown and away from the location I have worked in for nearly 15 years. Away from the skyways and long lunchtime walks inside, food courts and shops and the lunch crowd. Away from good coffee shops! And a three-block walk outside from the parking ramp to the office (remember the snow and rain and ice and sleet?) instead of a short walk indoors across the skyway. And all day long I kept thinking, “well, this is the last time I’ll do this.”

The new building is very nice, if a bit cold and hard-edged in a modern kind of way. And it may turn out to be a great change. I will adapt.

Going through this grief (which surprised me, actually) has helped me remember that change is hard for people, especially change over which they have no control. Change can be experienced as a kind of death: the end of something.

Five parishes in this area (including our own) are in the midst of a planning process that will result in change - "no change" is not an option on the table. In this case I am rather looking forward to the changes, but then I have not been part of the parish for very long. Instead I have been thinking, “what’s the matter with people that they can’t see this is an exciting opportunity?”

I was quite emotional (internally) at work this morning. I knew that it was my sadness, but because I dared not speak of the grief itself it sort of squeezed itself out in other ways: I unfortunately was rather difficult in a meeting.  

So, my Lent did not go so well today - I was crabby, after all, and I was sorely tempted to buy some french fries on the way home as comfort food (I did resist that one). But gradually I also felt that in my grieving I was experiencing, albeit in a small way, the sorrow of the Lord.  

I expect in our parishes there will be anger and resentment no matter how logical the changes are. My sad, bad day today is helping me be a bit more sensitive to the fact that for many people even small changes - like moving from one building to another a short distance away - can be tough. I hope that now I will remember that there are many expressions of grief, and be willing to bear with those who are suffering.

Other People

In my previous entry I ended with the idea that maybe we need other people for our transformation to take place. As I have been reflecting on that more I am starting to understand how true it really is.

Think about what transformation - becoming more like Christ - requires. Transformation requires us to get out of the way so that God can do his work in us. We have to empty ourselves. We have to be willing to follow Christ to the cross, where he poured out his life for all mankind.

I would venture to say that nothing empties us faster than other people. And while I would like to think that I do love God sacrificially, that love is made truly evident through my attitudes and actions on behalf of family, friends, coworkers and people I don't even know.

When I make a personal sacrifice to benefit someone else it transforms me. As I practice generosity or kindness or patience, as hard as it may be at first, eventually it becomes easier and I start to experience joy. The joy is the evidence that I am changing.

Maybe an example would help me explain: Back when I had Friday afternoons free some young girls would come to my house for sewing lessons. A couple of them needed to be picked up and dropped off. I enjoyed the hours at my house sewing, but for various reasons I resented the time running to get them and take them home. Then one day I realized that I needed to consider the providing of rides as an opportunity that God was giving me to show love to the girls and their family. 

Through the change in my thinking I came to find joy in that time in the car. I since have extended that attitude toward other “inconveniences.” That contribution to my transformation, small as it may seem, could not have happened without those girls in my life. 

They taught me to love better.

Be Known

I like Peter - Saint Peter, that is. Today’s Gospel reading is on the Transfiguration. Matthew, Mark and Luke all relate that as Jesus was praying on a mountain with Peter, James and John, his face changed in appearance and his clothing became dazzling white; Moses and Elijah appear, talking with him. Peter is his quintessential best - blurting out “It’s good that we’re here Jesus - we can built shelters for you!” As if they needed shelters. As if they needed Peter to build them! Mark (9:2-8) and Luke (9:28-36) point out that Peter didn’t know what to say - in other words, they show Peter as he really is, foot-in-mouth and all.

I generally am not much of a blurter, although I can have my moments. We all make mistakes, we all have our quirks and flaws. This “being perfect” and trying to follow God that I have been talking about during Lent is not intended to keep us from being ourselves. 

While it is good to recognize our own imperfections it also is important to let other people know us, warts and all. The Gospel writers show their love for Peter by revealing his character, good and bad (maybe Peter even insisted that they do so). I need to learn to let other people know the real me, the one that is in need of transformation. If I do, they are going to have to forgive me once in a while! Yet, when I do the same for them, we suddenly become companions on this transformative journey to God.

Knowing and being known may even be essential for our transformation to take place. I think there may something about the vulnerability of being open to others that creates room in us for God to work, to make us more like Christ. 

On the Edge of Weakness

Part of living is learning how fragile we really are. As time goes on we have plenty of opportunities to discover that joy can be shattered in an instant, especially through injury or the diagnosis of critical illness.

As we drove to our weekend class yesterday I was thinking about being fairly content right now, enjoying Lent and this blog, and life in general being good. At the same time we were discussing the plight of our middle daughter, who is single, works full-time, has no health insurance, and just twisted her ankle - badly. It made me consider whether I really was truly content - you know, content in the Lord, the kind of contentment that can’t be shaken - or just circumstantially content. I hoped I had lived long enough to have moved at least a little toward “truly content.”

That very night (last night) I could not sleep. No big reason - no troubling thoughts, no illness, no major pain, I wasn’t too hot nor too cold - just couldn’t sleep. We were not at home, and that can make a difference, but I’ve slept well on the road before. 

As I lay awake I thought about how much we depend on a good night’s sleep to get through each day. I tried not to worry but was tempted to get anxious about how difficult it would be to sit through six hours of class the next day without enough sleep. Finally I decided that since I have been having a hard time with my determination to pray more during Lent, I would just thank God for the opportunity and use that time to pray. I interceded for the people of Japan. I prayed for friends and family that are traveling and those who are missionaries. I prayed for our children. I fell asleep.

Writing about C.S. Lewis and how we must fail in order to know our need for God has helped me to recognize that Lent has a great deal to do with my becoming empty. Not being able to sleep was for me an emptying experience. “God, I cannot sleep, and I feel my frailty and my need for sleep, but I give this time to you: make it worth something.” 

Was I tired today? Yes. Did I survive class? Yes. Was praying worth losing sleep? I would have to say yes.

I share this not because I am so strong (if I was really spiritual I would have gotten up to pray instead of snuggling down and hoping sleep would come!) but to share that I live on the edge of weakness all the time. My hope is that during this Lent I learn how to let my weakness be a space for God.

Trying and Failing

I thought this excerpt from C.S. Lewis (Mere Christianity) would be a good follow-up to yesterday's post:

We cannot discover our failure to keep God's law except by trying our very hardest (and then failing). Unless we really try, whatever we say, there will always be at the back of our minds the idea that, if we try harder next time, we shall succeed in being completely good. Thus, in one sense, the road back to God is a road of moral effort, of trying harder and harder. But in another sense, it is not trying that is ever going to bring us home. All this trying leads up to the vital moment at which you turn to God and say, "You must do this. I can't."

All this trying.... It is one of those essentially Christian contradictions that we must try to follow God's law, and that we most certainly cannot succeed. But as Lewis explains, without trying, we never realize our inability to succeed. The trying is the thing that creates the realization in us that we need God.

Only when we try to be better, try to follow and then fail, do we become aware of the true enormity of our own emptiness. The disciplines of Lent - quiet, solitude and prayer, trying to fast and to be generous - think of these as creating in us the necessary opportunities to fail. Thanks be to God!

Pilgrim's Progress

The Catholic notion of Lent is connected to the idea of progress: that we are on a spiritual journey, not yet arrived, and that we have much to learn, much spiritual growing to do. This is perfectly consistent with my upbringing, although I think the words used often are different. I have always understood that, while the grace of God and the sacrifice of Christ on the cross are sufficient for my salvation, there is something I am supposed to do, a response required from me.

I read something today that suggested we should think of our task as making progress rather than achieving perfection. I like that. While Jesus admonishes us to “be perfect” (Matt 5:48) I know of no one who thinks they are, or even can be in this life. And yet we can all make progress, day by day. In fact, I think daily progress is much more beneficial in the long run, just like saving a little bit of money every day is better than planning to put away a lot in the (usually indefinite) future.

I can handle one day’s challenges, and not much more. If I think too far ahead, I get discouraged.

I look back on a week of Lent, and think, wow, I did okay. I’ll bet I saved about 50 paper towels and napkins this week by using by cloth bandanas and especially the hot air hand dryer at work – I had no idea I used so many until I consciously tried not to. I kept my fasts. I prayed more. Was I transformed a little bit? I think so – I could sense being more centered on Christ, calmer and kinder. I have grown in the desire to be a better steward of the environment (maybe this summer I’ll even try composting).

Did I fail, too? Of course! I tried not to complain about our upcoming office move (one of my more specific Lenten resolves) because I know it doesn’t help me or anyone else, but even though I resisted well one morning I succumbed by that afternoon. But I was so disappointed in myself that it renewed my resolve.

So the pilgrimage continues, an astonishing journey mixed with joy and sorrow.

Deep Connection

Today I managed to get to daily Mass at the Cathedral. It's been a while! There is something about that place that speaks to me at a level I find hard to describe. It is beautiful, of course, in a massive, antique, highly decorative way. My usual preference is for abstract art (such as the image of the Eucharist on this blog), but I have come to have a deeper appreciation for figurative art as well, especially representative carvings of those who preceded us in the faith. I am intrigued by the ways in which artists choose to render the faces of people they never saw (and no photographs!) - such as Peter, Matthew, Luke, or Paul. Is that really what they looked like? (Don't you wish we had a family album?) The Cathedral has an especially lovely sculpture of Mary: she looks only about 16 years old - I guess it caused quite a stir when first unveiled.

The nice thing about figurative art is that it is kind of homey - like being surrounded by a lot of favorite aunts and uncles. And then there are the metalwork, arches, paintings, marble and stained glass: awesome! All this is artistry of the highest caliber. To me, that level of craft conveys another message: these are offerings to the Creator of all beauty, intended to glorify God.

But the feeling that I get when I am in the Cathedral is more than just a natural response to the beauty and artistry. It is more like a sense that I am connected to, or grounded in something very ancient, very solid, and unchanging. I think that is our faith, the faith handed down over centuries, our faith embodied not just in the minds and hearts of believers but symbolically present in the offerings of artists throughout the ages. The Cathedral - every church building, really - is a vital, visible sign to the world of the mysteries of God.

Each day of my Lenten journey I become more aware of these deep connections to people, to church, to history, to mystery.  As I think and reflect on matters of faith, on my own humanity, and on my hunger for more of God I join not only those who are traveling the Lenten journey today, but all who trod that path before (and in some cases not only trod but blazed a trail!). I sense their encouragement and pleasure and prayer for everyone who makes the attempt to follow Christ all the way to the Cross.

Longing for Lent

Trying to write a blog every day is a very new experience for me. I am somewhat amused (bemused?) to discover that during the course of the day I will think, “Oh - that would make a good blog topic!” Then the day moves on and I forget what it was. It is not unlike having a brilliant idea in the middle of the night and waking with the realization that it has vanished.

And yet I also have been sensing a kind of grace as I sit down each day; when it’s time to write, a thought or reflection is there, ready to come out.  That may be partly due to my overflowing heart: in fact, sometimes I think I have too much to say, and then I struggle with where to start.

This is only my fourth observance of Lent. Well, I suppose that’s not strictly true. There were times in my non-Catholic past when I tried to do something special before Easter - coming from, I think, a deep-down realization that it should be commemorated in some special way, that it needed some kind of careful preparation. In general, my previous experience of Easter was that it felt like any other Sunday, despite others’ attempts to be extra-jovial on that day. However, one year, shortly after I graduated from college, I fasted (juice only) for the entire week before Easter; I remember that Easter as touching me deeply.

When I “discovered” Lent in 2007 it resonated with my spirit, even though I was not really sure what to do or how to make it meaningful. But I did recognize that this was what I had been longing for my whole Christian life: a way to accompany Jesus on his journey to the Cross before Easter; a way to enter more fully, more deeply into the Passion of Christ; a way to experience my need and his great gift not only intellectually but in a profoundly physical – incarnational – and spiritual way. That is this journey of love called Lent. That is why it matters to me so much, and why, as one way to grow in my practice of Lent, I decided to blog about it! Thanks for joining me.

Not Alone

It's not possible, is it, for every day in Lent to be special? Some days are just ordinary days. Today was a busy Monday, with lots of meetings at work and then a full evening. Yet somehow the consciousness of Lent still came through.

Part of that, I believe, is having so many companions on the journey. I went to daily Mass downtown at noon, and the chapel was full - crowded, even. The priest's purple vestments are a visible reminder of the season (we like to say the Catholic liturgical year is color-coded). I walked back from Mass with a colleague from work and we discussed our respective Lenten journeys. I listened to Lenten reflections on the radio. My sister and I had a long, wandering and wonderful discussion tonight about faith, discipline, and prayer (about learning to find a balance between written and extemporaneous prayers) and, yes, Lent.

For me, Lent is in the air. My choices certainly influence that, but I am so glad I do not have to do this alone!

Temptation and Strength

The readings for church today really spelled it out: in Genesis 2 & 3, the serpent tempts Eve; she succumbs and Adam follows. In Matthew 4, Satan temps Jesus, yet he remains steadfast.

Listening to the Gospel this morning I was struck by the strength of Jesus in this situation. Matthew says that after Jesus fasted for forty days and forty nights, “he was hungry.” That’s perhaps the greatest understatement in the New Testament. And yet when Satan suggested he turn stones into bread, Jesus declined.

I thought about how I feel after missing just two meals. I think if someone said I could turn stones into bread, I wouldn’t hesitate. There’s this sort of panicky feeling I get, even when my rational mind says don’t worry, you’ll be eating before long. It is not out of fear of not having food available; the refrigerator and the cupboards are stocked. It isn’t because someone is forcing me to abstain: fasting is a discipline I choose freely.

The anxiety about food must just be hard-wired into our bodies. I can’t imagine what it must be like for people, especially children, who rarely have enough to eat and often do not know if there will be food for tomorrow. I know that even if they "get used" to it, they never cease to suffer. Many Americans have the opposite problem: we are so overfed that obesity threatens to become the #1 cause of death in this country. How can this be?

For myself, I have determined that I must learn to embrace the hunger (now I am getting a bit into the reason for the name of my blog). I must make being hungry the sign of my weakness, the reminder of my need for the strength and grace of God for my life. On those days that I choose to fast, my hunger also becomes a sign of my solidarity and sympathy with the people in the world who have no choice, who suffer from hunger all the time. It moves me to act, to share, to remember to add things for the food shelf into my shopping cart. It reminds me not to consume more than my fair share of the world’s resources.

The temptation to scurry back into my comfortableness is powerful. Yet I have also experienced the heightened spiritual awareness that comes with this sense of vulnerability. God’s strength becomes most evident when mine disappears.

Lent, Laws, Love

We had a wonderful opportunity today, as part of our diaconal community, to meet and chat with our diocesan Bishop. This is a once-a-year meeting, where he sits down first with the wives, and then with the deacons and deacon candidates themselves. He thanked all of us for the sacrifices that we make, both as deacons and as the families that share our husbands for ministry. He also gave us the opportunity to ask him questions.

One woman asked him what she could say to people in her parish who question her son’s decision to begin preparation for priesthood. She said, with tears in her eyes, that no one ever questioned their daughter’s choice of career. But when told their son is starting seminary, instead of saying "that's great!" right away they say something like “well, that’s not for certain, you know.”

The Bishop suggested to this woman that she help them to understand that her son’s decision to enter seminary is his response to a perceived call from God, and thus the Holy Spirit ultimately will work in and through him to have the strength to live out that call, whatever its demands.

During the morning (especially during our worship time together) I was thinking about this Lent, this blog, and what I am trying to do.

It feels hard to write about my experience of Lent without sounding like I am mostly concerned with following a bunch of Lenten laws, just doing what’s on my list: prayed? Check. Fasted? Check. Act of charity? Check. And that’s NOT it at all; legalism has NEVER been my style.

Instead, I have learned how important it is to push my spiritual boundaries, to set goals for myself. If nothing else, those goals make me aware of how much I need God, how limited I am in my own ability to be the kind of Christian and person (i.e., Christ-like) that God wants me to be. This is not about “works righteousness” but about faith with works – a living faith, as St. James says. In many ways it is about living out the call of every Christian, the call to holiness, with the help of the Holy Spirit.

I do not want to live my days in a kind of foggy blur of whatever. I want to be acutely conscious that I am called to a high set of standards, standards that are not that easy to meet. My motivation? There’s my theme for Lent again: to love better.  

Friday Fasts, Friends and Fish Fry

There is this curious American Catholic custom on Fridays during Lent…and that’s the “fish fry.” Fridays in Lent are designated as “abstinence” days, which means avoiding meat. Fish, however, is acceptable. Usually the next question is “why fish?” So rather than use my own words, I did some surfing and found this (on an ecumenical, non-Catholic website). It’s a fairly simple, straightforward explanation:

“In the first century, Jews fasted on Mondays and Thursdays. The original Christians all were Jewish and were used to the fasting as a spiritual discipline. They moved the fast days to Wednesdays and Fridays, because Judas engineered Jesus' arrest on a Wednesday and Jesus was crucified on a Friday. Most often that fast took the form of avoiding meat in the diet. In those days, meat was a luxury food. You either had to buy it in a market or you had to own enough land to keep cattle. On the other hand, anyone could grow vegetables or forage for them, and anyone could catch a fish in a lake or a stream. You could buy better fish and vegetables, but the point is that you could eat without money if you were poor. So meat was rich people's food and fish was poor people's food. That is why the most common form of fasting was to omit meat and eat fish.”

In other words, eating fish on Fridays used to be form of fasting – choosing to go without something special, and also choosing to save money. That’s what makes the modern fish fry seem a bit incongruous: it costs $9 and you eat a lot! But it is also a significant fund raiser for the Knights of Columbus who put it on, so that $9 always goes to one of their charitable causes – thus participating in the fish fry is a form of almsgiving, but definitely not a case of fasting! (except the not eating meat part)

Bert volunteered to help fry fish and serve at tonight’s event; I, on the other hand, merely came, paid and ate. I did, however, first stop by and pick up a friend of mine who otherwise was simply going to grab a “to-go” box because she did not want to sit alone. So I squeezed in an act of kindness (well, it was an act of kindness toward myself, too - I didn't want to sit alone either). We had a wonderful conversation, we shared in a community event, raised some money... a great first Friday in Lent.

Transforming Daily

Considering it is only day two of Lent, or maybe because it is only day two, I’ve done pretty well, although I have been a bit crabby, partly due to a headache left over from fasting yesterday. And being crabby is just what I don’t want to be! But the TV is off, we ate simply and healthfully today, and the headache is gone now, so all is well. No works of kindness – but maybe just working on that crabby thing would be good!

I have been thinking today about transformation. The point of every day of our lives as Christians (not just Lent) is transformation: becoming more like Christ. The more I let God work on and in me, the more I see how much grace he has already shown me. Yet the more I open I am to God’s grace, the clearer I can see how far I have to go!

My transformation is really important, yet it is not just about me, or my salvation. It is God’s way of saving the world. The more we become like Christ, the more the kingdom of God is realized here and now.

Peter said, “he must increase but I must decrease” (John 3:30). I decrease when I let go of my wants, needs, desires. It can happen when I pray and when I turn my attention to the needs of others. I need to pray more; I want to pray more. I need to give more; I want to give more. God help me to use this season of Lent to learn to live a life open to steady transformation!

Smudge

Ash Wednesday today - finally!

I can't help but welcome Lent. I have learned that it gives me a chance to get outside myself, get away from some of the things that hold me captive. I went to Mass a noon, a beautiful service downtown. Usually there are 70-80 daily communicants; today there were about 300 there to celebrate the Eucharist and receive the imposition of ashes. The music and prayer were wonderful and ministered to my heart. The gentleman who was helping with the distribution of ashes, however, was a bit awkward and just sort of thumped my forehead with his thumb, instead of making the sign of the cross. A few ashes spilled over my glasses and down the front of my coat - but never mind. I still got my smudge and my reminder that I am dust and to dust I will return.

My soul, give thanks to the Lord,
all my being, bless his holy name.
My soul, give thanks to the Lord
and never forget all his blessings.

He does not treat us according to our sins
nor repay us according to our faults.
For as the heavens are high above the earth
so strong is his love for those who fear him.
As far as the east is from the west
so far does he remove our sins.

As a father has compassion on his sons,
the Lord has pity on those who fear him;
for he knows of what we are made,
he remembers that we are dust.

                                        Psalm 103

And on Ash Wednesday, so do we.

Love better - a strategy

Tomorrow is Ash Wednesday, the official beginning of Lent. I have been thinking about my theme (“love better”) and some of the things I have been planning to observe the discipline Lent. Here’s how my list is looking:

Love the environment better. Avoid the use of disposable paper and plastic. That means remembering my reusable cloth grocery bags, getting out the cloth napkins at home, and bringing a reusable coffee mug to work. Hey, with a reusable mug I get a discount on my coffee!

Love God better. Add evening prayer to my routine; pray the Rosary more; attend daily Mass. Some people might think these are “only rituals,” but ritual practice is an essential element in human faith (more on that some other time). And anyway, they mean a lot to me and keep my mind and heart centered on God.

Love other people better. Donate to charitable organizations, avoid mocking and sarcasm, and pray for people who annoy or frustrate me. Make a hospice visit once a week, if possible. Don’t complain (that’s probably the hardest thing on my list!).

Some "sub-strategies" include:

• Create more time and space to read, pray, and visit by turning off the TV (I think this will help with both "love God" and "love other people"). Bert and I have to agree on this one, as it doesn’t really work if only one of us decides not to watch television. We have agreed to watch only the evening news, one (shared) favorite show per week, and maybe a video on date night.

• Eat only healthful foods, fast regularly, eat “humble” meals (a humble meal could be soup and bread). I have to put this under “love other people better” because it isn’t about getting fit or losing weight – the intent is to take the focus off my own self-gratification, to remember that a lot of people go to bed hungry every night, and even to save some money that can go to charitable organizations.

Hmmm. Overall this seems like a pretty well-rounded list, if maybe a little overwhelming to remember. But these are all practices that I want to develop anyway. That’s one of the great things about Lent: it provides the motivation to take six weeks to develop really positive spiritual, emotional, and physical habits. The idea of Lent is not punishment but freedom – to be relieved of everything that distracts us from God and prevents us from living in the reality of kingdom of heaven here on earth.

Who doesn’t want that?

Love Better

This morning I heard a guest speaker on Relevant Radio say that when he awoke after surgery and was told things were not going so well, his thought was “I should have loved better!” That struck me as a great theme for my Lent this year. Other years I have chosen to “fast” from contempt, as well as giving up certain foods, but I have also been looking for ways to make Lent also about adding things: good practices that will help with my gradual transformation into the image of Christ. “Love better” fits that goal.

To love better could be a large or small challenge – depending on the person or persons involved, and probably depending on the day. I will try to track my progress with this goal; that will help to give this blog some additional focus. I will explore, I think, all the varieties of loving – such as loving through almsgiving, through actions, through judicious silence…we shall see. Certainly every day provides lots of opportunities to love (or not), and thus to love better.

It also was a surprise – and pleasure – to receive the anointing of the sick today after Mass: oil on the forehead and palms of anyone who wanted it. It’s part of that preparation for Lent thing…and I intend to welcome every opportunity. It wasn’t the wonderful scented oil that they use for anointing at the Tenebrae service (more on that later on in Lent), but still a blessing – I experienced it as a moment of tenderness from the Holy Spirit, a tenderness I need and can use to help me love better this Lent..

Anticipating Lent

This is the first post of my new blog, and it will be a short one. I don't know if anyone will ever read these, but that's okay.

I have decided to blog as an experiment, and I thought Lent would be a good time to start. Lent does not start officially until Wednesday, but I am anticipating it (eagerly, actually). I have been thinking about what kinds of practices I want to develop, both personally and spiritually. Lent is such a great opportunity to "get in shape" - having millions of spiritual companions engaging in the disciplines of prayer, fasting and charity is not only good motivation but also greatly encouraging.

Sometime in the future I will explore more fully the "be hungry" theme of my blog. For now, let it stand for the idea of Lent: to create in ourselves a space for God to work, by letting go of some things (certain foods, some entertainments), spending more time in prayer, and turning attention away from ourselves onto others.