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.
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