The Great Three Days

The Triduum!

Holy Thursday.
Good Friday.
Holy Saturday.

Easter.

It doesn't get more liturgically beautiful.

I'll be quiet here over the next few days, but will be back next week.

I Thought I'd Have Time For a Post This Morning, But ...

... instead I'm sending you to the archives: The Triduum, Kidterrupted.

Holy Week is here!

The Lenten Update

Last week I mentioned that I'd post an update on all things Lent.

Sunday was Laetare Sunday -- more than halfway through Lent and this always seems like a good time to assess one's Lenten progress. A couple of friends and I had been assessing ours over coffee just a few days before. (My friends actually ordered something else, but, hey, I was focused on coffee, which I did not give up this year, although, if one is drinking Village Inn coffee one may as well have given up coffee up because the quality of Village Inn coffee is, well, wait ... I said I wouldn't complain this Lent ....)

Back to our conversation. What is working for you? we asked one another. Where were we falling down? Were we hard enough on ourselves? Too hard? Were we sacrificing the right things, the right amounts? Praying? Giving? What, what, what?

And I was struck yet again by how personal the liturgical season of Lent becomes. It starts off simply enough:

Pray, fast, give.

That's what the Church tells us to do. And it's a great prescription.

But the way it plays out in each of our spiritual lives seems to be unique to the individual. Unique, even, to the year and the season of life.

Last week, as I read through an old journal (I was looking for some specifics to include in a current writing project) I was reminded that one year for Lent I gave up a bunch of stuff: chocolate, coffee, snacking between meals, alcohol, TV, and I think something else. (Breathing? What's left?)

I don't mention this to get kudos for heroic sacrifices because these things weren't particularly heroic, though they felt monumental to me at the time, especially in the cumulative effect. I mention it because of what happened in that year. After that Lenten season, during which I was offering up all of my sacrifices for my husband's soul and conversion, he began to show a wee bit of interest in coming into the Church.

He told me he’d been thinking about the nature of evil, about how all evil really comes down to being separated from God. "And," he said, "I don’t think I want to be separated anymore. I want to be where you and the girls are."

This was huge, people. Atticus. The Man Who Would Never Be Catholic.

I don't take credit for any of it, obviously. God did the work. I would never claim, "Oh, yeah, I'm so glad I gave up Cadbury that year because that's how my husband found God." But I do cling to the belief that when we offer ourselves as sacrifices and prayers, He can and will use those prayers for good.

That's another reason that, for me, offering sacrifices that fall into both the "objectively good" and "objectively bad" categories is essential. It's one thing for me to give up complaining, but I also need to hear and feel my stomach growl.

How that plays out for me is different every year. I was trying to articulate this to my friends the other night, but it came out sounding so weak. Because, even though this year isn't packed with the same list of sacrifices from the miracle year I mentioned previously, I can still tell that this year, what I'm doing is working for me.

"How do we know when we're tackling the appropriate level of sacrifice and when we're just being lazy or selfish or making an excuse?" my friends and I were asking ourselves.

My only answer -- and it's not a very articulate one -- is that if you've ever dug deeply into Lent and have seen awe-inspiring results, and if, conversely, you've ever looked for a loophole and darted immediately through it, you just know.

I know when I'm fudging. I know when I'm darting. And I know when it hurts. And I know what kinds of deaths bring resurrections in my life.

"The way of perfection passes by way of the Cross. 

There is no holiness without renunciation and spiritual battle."

(Catechism of the Catholic Church, para. 2015)

I think it's good for us to wrestle and discuss and ask our friends to help us sort out what's working and what's not in Lent and in our spiritual lives. My friends and I had a great conversation over coffee (and whatever they drank), and in some follow-up emails about how individual our courses are.

But, in the end, my friends and I each know, in the depths of our hearts, whether or not we're letting God work in us. It would be lovely if one size really did fit all, but that's a lie, in both fashion and faith. We are too fearfully and wonderfully made for Him to fit each of us with the same garment.

"Work out your own salvation with fear and trembling; 

  for God is at work in you, both to will and to work for his good pleasure." 

~~ Philippians 2:12 

Momentarily Liturgically Confused Again

Remember the last time I was momentarily liturgically confused?

It happened again -- the lovely, fluffy spring snows that have fallen off and on since Saturday have had me discombobulated:

Of a friend's preschooler's approaching birthday, I said: "Wait -- was he a winter baby? When was he born?"

Anne-with-an-e: "Mom. It's almost April."

Oh, yeah.

And, for Betsy's Confirmation this past weekend, we got to stand outside and shiver in the cold and flurries before the procession into the Church. (But I'm not complaining. Well, yes, I am, and I need to cut it out.)

Coming soon:

An end to my discombobulation, an end to my complaining, and an update on all things Lent.

Quotes for a Tuesday

All from George MacDonald:

"As the world must be redeemed in a few men to begin with, so the soul is redeemed in a few of its thoughts, and works, and ways to begin with: it takes a long time to finish the new creation of this redemption."

"All things are possible with God, but all things are not easy."

"Man finds it hard to get what he wants, because he does not want the best; God finds it hard to give, because He would give the best, and man will not take it."

The Solemnity of the Annunciation

The Annunciation, Henry Ossawa Tanner, 1859-1937

Help me, Lord, to say "yes" to You today, in the remaining days of Lent, and always. 

~~~~~

And, because today is a Solemnity, say yes to a big celebration -- bring on the burger! Have some wine! Is there a cake in the house? Mary said yes! Jesus is worth celebrating! I need some deep, dark chocolate.

Note: Sometimes Catholics don't believe this Solemnity-on-a-Friday-lifts-the-Lenten-obligation stuff. "Meat? On a Friday in Lent?" they may ask, with narrowed eyes. "Are you sure?"

I'm sure.

Not that you have to eat meat. Personally, I don't care that much about meat -- there are plenty of other things that are tougher sacrifices for me. And plenty that are greater symbols of feasting and celebration. The point is Jesus. Always Jesus. However you celebrate.

Here's a fun collection of links about today's Solemnity at Catholic Culture.

My arms and God's

When Betsy was younger, before we had her asthma figured out, there were some long and terrible nights. She coughed. Miserably.  I felt helpless. Sleep wouldn't come although we had given her each and every medication that the doctor had approved. There was water on the nightstand, available for sipping. A cushy, cozy bed. Extra pillows that propped her troubled head and eased the air flow to her lungs.

Still she coughed.

And so I turned to the last weapon in my arsenal. I'd snuggle up beside her and she'd rest against me. I held her close, stroked her hair. Sometimes I sang. I was simply there. And she rested. It startled me every time, that my mere maternal presence eased her breathing, relaxed her limbs, opened a clenched fist, left her small mouth slack in sleep. A sweet reprieve it was, for both of us.

Sometimes I am like my daughter.  I have followed my prescription and everything is in its place. Bits and pieces of life have been comfortably settled, readied to deal with any situation that may arise. The water glass, the cool pillow ... we have done our best.

But my restlessness can be calmed by only one thing -- it is the presence of my Father that I need. I do not need any "thing" that He can grant me. I need only to rest in His arms, and that is my consolation. That is the sweet reprieve I need to wake up tomorrow and rise to another day.

Quote for the Second Sunday in Lent

"God gives His gifts where finds the vessel empty enough to receive them."

~~ C.S. Lewis

Quote for a Wednesday

"Put on then, as God's chosen ones, holy and beloved, compassion, kindness, lowliness, meekness, and patience,

forbearing one another and, if one has a complaint against another, forgiving each other; as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive.

And above all these put on love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony.

And let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, to which indeed you were called in the one body. And be thankful."

~~ Colossians 3:12-15

The Glad Game of Lent

It wasn't until late Tuesday afternoon, when I wrote my last post, that I realized this is indeed another year in which I need to give up complaining (as opposed to simply sharing with you all that I've done that in the past.)

There are other sacrifices happening, yes. I won't talk about those just yet, or maybe not at all. But the complaining. Yes. It must go.

I have to thank a dear friend for bringing the C word up early Tuesday.

It was one of those days wherein I probably would have burst into tears if anyone had called and said, "But how are you really?"

Not for any particular reason that I could pinpoint. You know those days? Not because my children had done anything weepy-making. It was just one of those days. One of those times in motherhood (and one of those times when Lent is approaching) during which I was petulantly thinking, "I don't want to give anything up. I give myself up every day, day in and day out, and I've been doing it for years and I'm worn out and there's nothing left to give up. I want a vacation."

But, later, after my friend's email, and as I thought and prayed and worked on a blog post, I realized a couple of things. One is that I've certainly felt this way before. I remembered a blog post from last year in which I also sounded like a little girl stomping her feet and shrieking about her woeful life.

I wondered -- do I always feel this way in early March? Well, no. Last year, I felt this way in early February. The common denominator is that both of these times Lent was also just around the corner. (Draw your own conclusions. For Drama, Press 1: "Spiritual Attack." For banality, Press 2: "Winter Needs to End Soon.")

Two important thoughts came out of this realization. One is that I've felt this way before, I will feel this way again, and it will pass. Every time. I will not (so don't fret, daughters) pull a Joanna Kramer and walk out the door to go find myself.  I might need nothing more than a walk, and some sun, or a couple of hours with friends, but I'll be back.

But secondly, I hadn't been seeing the light. I'd been feeling the weight of the dark and I let it catch up with me -- focusing on what's negative, hard, tiring, overwhelming, wrong with the world, etc., instead of focusing on what's positive, a gift, worth the fatigue, easy, and what's right with the world.

And there's so much that is right.

And the minute I said to myself, "It's time for Pollyanna's Glad Game," (the Faith Edition) the cloud lifted. Telling myself I must change my attitude changed my attitude. I felt consoled, motivated, thankful.

For every time I ask Jesus, "Why do You allow ....?" He can and does answer, "This is why, and here's what you can thank Me for in the moment."  Or, if He doesn't make the "why" clear, He still says, "Say thank you anyway. It's what an obedient child does."

My Lenten plans fell into place. Getting rid of complaining is the beginning. There will be more -- prayer, alms, fasting.

Ash Wednesday was a great day of fasting.

I went to bed feeling so hungry for food and so full of God's promises.

Re-Lent-less

It's coming.

Creeping up on me.

And so, my past Lenten series -- "A Meaningful Lent" -- is here. You'll find everything there from the Lamb of God calendar for young children to my crown of thorns, to confessing the messes, to thoughts about why we give up the things we do and whether or not we should talk about them.

The title of the series comes from then-six-year-old Ramona's protest that she did not plan to give up something trivial, such as talking back to her sisters, but rather she planned to give up something meaningful.

That's what I'm going for, too. Still discerning what "meaningful" means for this year. Jesus usually plops something horrible in front of me (such as the idea of giving up coffee.) Then He exasperates me by teaching me something through my sacrifices.

Who does He think He is? Does He always have to be so right?