March 1, 2025
John 12:32: “And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself.”
Lent begins on Wednesday, March 5th, traditionally with the accepting of ashes on the forehead with the instructions “Repent and believe the Gospel,” or more ominously, “Remember that you are dust and unto dust you will return”. When I was at my all-girls Catholic High School, after we had been to the Ash Wednesday Service, we would take delight in comparing the quantity of ashes in the big smudgy cross on our foreheads created by the large thumb of the Polish priest who came into school regularly to say Mass, hear confessions, and as in this case, conduct the Lenten service. His accent was impenetrable, and excitingly, his thumbs were bent into an S shape, the result of being tortured during the war. These thumbs were therefore a source of intrigued excitement and horror as they scooped up and smudged the ashes, a sort of concrete representation and reminder of what was to come, linking the story of the evils done by humanity to the story of the scandal of the approaching passion and death of Jesus.
But first, the sometimes-painful drudgery of Lent: 40 days of fasting, of almsgiving, of prayer, with a day off for St Patrick on March 17th. It seemed a long time to go without chocolate, to be nice to brothers and sisters, to help mother more. But like many aspects of our faith-life, perhaps Lent too needs revisiting with an adult faith, reconsidered with the lessons learned on the faith-journey so far, rather than retrieving the Lent pattern of childhood and giving up chocolate.
The early lessons about Lent were that we gave up something to show solidarity with Jesus spending 40 days alone in the desert with only Satan and his temptations for company. “Giving up” was to teach us self-discipline, to experience the joy of triumphing over temptation (without succumbing to spiritual pride), to build our inner resources of spiritual goodness and strength for the trials of life. There was a period of time when it was fashionable to scoff at the idea of the Lenten version of giving up something, and to advocate instead for doing something worthwhile for others.
Revisiting Lent now, in later life, I find myself attracted to both—to the idea of giving up, of deliberately shedding as much as possible the trappings of the world, and moving with Jesus to the point of hanging naked on the Cross. I am reminded of Pope Francis standing alone with the uplifted Eucharist during the pandemic, and more lately, of painfully waiting for news of his health during his recent near-to-death illness. We need both messages as we enter Lent—to remember that we were fashioned from dust, and to believe the Good News that death is not the end, that a place is prepared for us within the embrace of God’s Eternal Love as we, too, are lifted up.
For Meditation: Take the Time (song link) by Miriam Therese Winter; © 1987, Medical Mission Sisters.
(no video)
Take the time to sing a song
for all those people who don’t belong:
the women wasted by defeat,
the men condemned to walk the street,
the down and out we’ll never meet.
Take the time to say a prayer
for all those people who face despair:
the starving multitudes who pray
to make it through another day,
who watch their children slip away.
Take the time to hear the plea
of every desperate refugee:
the millions who have had to flee
their lands, their loves, their liberty,
who turn in hope to you and me.
Take the time to take a stand
for peace and justice in every land,
where power causes deep unrest,
come, take the part of the oppressed,
and then, says God, you will be blessed.
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