Lent & the Crown of Thorns

 

Terry was sitting beside her husband at the outdoor Mass we attended on the Mount of Beatitudes. She leaned into Chris’ side and felt the joy of praying the Mass with him, the enormity of hearing the words of the divine liturgy on this mountain where Jesus Christ proclaimed the Sermon on the Mount. Then, Terry suddenly reached up and swiped at the back of her neck as though she had been stung.

It was no bee.

When I looked behind her, I had to smile. The branch she had just swept away was from the Zizyphus Spina Christi plant, a tree believed to have been used to make the Crown of Thorns that was placed on Our Lord’s Sacred Head before the crucifixion.

The significance of that moment on the Mount of Beatitudes and the grace of being pricked by the thorns of that plant in the middle of Mass still resonate with me. Yes, it was a grace … is a grace to share in His Passion, just as it is a grace to share in His Resurrection and triumph over death and sorrow and little pricks of pain from countless things that trouble us. A little thorn on an obscure branch on a hill where the gospel was proclaimed and is still proclaimed today.

The thorns were not big, like those we imagine or see in Hollywood depictions of that day. They were little. So sharp. Like needles, but so small that one has to look closely to see them. The first time I visited the Holy Land and walked along that Mount of Beatitudes, I paused to snap a little branch from one tree as we descended the mountain and approached the Sea of Galilee below.

The thorns pierced me three times, drawing blood. It was painful, but I had to laugh at the irony of it. Such a little thing, this thorn.

Such little things to cause such pain. And there was a little joy in knowing I was sharing in a very small way in the pain my Lord had experienced. I treasured that little thorn. It is now between the pages of my Bible – resting in the crevice of a page that tells about the Passion and a crown of many thorns.

As we approach Lent, I am thinking again about the Mount of Beatitudes and the Zizyphus Spina Christi plant.

I am thinking about our thorns, the countless sufferings we embrace and consider a share in His great suffering.

I think of Our Lord, who walked down that same mountain, passed thorny plants such as these, and yet had His eyes on the path that led all the way to the Cross of Mount Calvary.

Oh, my Jesus. Let me take up your suffering and wear it with you.

Let me see each prick as a grace.

And let me say what you said.

Thy will. Only Thy will.

 

Lent & the Crown of Thorns

Sense of An Ending . . . and a beginning

I read something yesterday in Fr. James Martin’s Jesus: A Pilgrimage. It made me think of conversion and Lent and even a little something from my days as a graduate student at Southern Illinois University at Edwardsville.

“The ancient Greeks had two words for time: chronos, the tick-tock chronological time that we are more familiar with; and kairos, the right or opportune moment. We also know what these kairos moments are like: tired and dissatisfied with our lives, we’re waiting for someone to say that it is okay to change. For the fishermen on the shore, this was their kairos moment” (Martin 140).

All the talk of chronos and kairos reminded me of The Sense of an Ending - required reading for M.A. comps. Not that I wrote anything profound that awful, awful day. I received a B on my comprehensive exams though I had trended toward A’s throughout graduate school. I choose to blame my performance on the migraine that rendered the experience a nightmarish blur. No hyperbole. I began the day with a shot of Imitrex which worked no better than a couple of Tic Tacs.

I remember three writers from the long list of required reading. Four Quartets by T.S. Eliot. The Writing Life and Pilgrim at Tinker Creek by Annie Dillard. And Frank Kermode’s The Sense of an Ending.

I might have known that I was headed for a massive conversion –for I forgot most of the other things I read in the months of preparation for comps, but the things that remained and took up residency in my long term memory were Annie Dillard, T.S.  Eliot and Frank Kermode. If you took Pilgrim, Writing Life, Four Quartets and Sense of an Ending and ground them up with a mortar and pestle, you might end up with words like Catholic and mystery and contemplative and writer.

It is where I was headed – though I, myself, had no idea.

But there is something about the notion of kairos. A time for each thing. A season. A changing over and rendering up. Dropping nets to follow. Or abandoning the now for the unexpected call. The sense of an ending. And of a beginning.

When you talk about such things, others stare. They don’t get it. Aren’t privy to the crook of God’s finger. The hook of the Shepherd’s staff. My walking papers. My mandate to go. To follow. To pick up a pen. Or a cross. Or both.

There is something beautiful-and painful-in accepting the call one receives in these kairos moments.

You try to get others to understand, but there is no way they truly can– not being in your skin.
Not having walked in your moccasins.

The most one can hope for is for one’s spiritual director to affirm the call.
It’s enough. A nod from him and a nod from grace– that’ll do.

Kairos. The changing time.

A blank page.

It’s not that anything is possible. It is only that His Will awaits. And somehow, you know it. You begin to perceive it.

The words on the blank page are written in invisible ink – the kind of ink that fills God’s pen. And your spirit is the secret decoder that unlocks the hidden script. You see the words.

And you get to say–

Ok. Let’s do it.

So be it. Amen.

You drop your nets and walk away from what was to embrace what is to come.

It is the moment you are ready for God’s plan for you.

Kairos.

Sense of An Ending . . . and a beginning

Where to Find Hope When Hope Is Fading

There is something hope-filled in the knowledge that Jesus has sustained His Church especially in difficult times because that means He will sustain me if I remain in Him.

If I pursue holiness, seek truth, stay small, keep my life in Christ protected, nourished, and whole – I can hope in eternal life.

This is not empty hope. It is the kind of hope that waits for Easter’s resurrection morning. It is the kind of hope that buries a loved one and believes more conversations and hugs and precious moments may again be theirs. It is the kind of hope that waits on the mercy of the One who made us and loves us. It is the kind of hope that grows with our spiritual growth - or fades when we fail.

We do not walk through this life oblivious to the things of God. We are deliberate and purposeful in living the life of faith. The Sacramental life of the Church and the Liturgical Calendar bear this out. There can be no muddling through to the finish line. We cannot check out of the race. We cannot turn around and walk in the wrong direction.

We are deliberate and purposeful in the faith journey.

Now – in this season of Lent – the days can seem so long. Sometimes, I wonder if I can be strong in fulfilling my Lenten promises.

At times, life is so very difficult.

But, praise God, it is possible to not only get through, but to finish well.

If you are feeling particularly discouraged, get up, go to confession, relish the goodness of the Eucharist which you now receive with a clean heart, and complete the journey to Holy Week.

Together.

One Body in Christ.

Where to Find Hope When Hope Is Fading

Creative Lenten Idea #1

I've never sold anything on Ebay. I hope to change that. I'd like to see what happens when I offer up some of my excess stuff (that's actually still worth something) and funnel it through Ebay.

I figured out how to upload something on Ebay. The auction will end on Ash Wednesday - just in time for me to generate a little money for the poor.

I think I just might try to post one item each day.

If you have a creative Lenten idea, please post it in the comment box. I'd love to hear your ideas.

Creative Lenten Idea #1

Shoes on Telephone Lines & Hubcaps on Branches

Once in awhile, I see a shoe in the road. It's odd -- a shoe in a road, in a place it obviously doesn't belong, separated from its mate.

It's almost as odd as seeing a pair of shoes tied together and flung across an overhead wire. You can't help wondering how it got there. Plain old weird.

Every once in awhile, as I am driving home, I notice a hubcap that hanging on a branch. As a driver who has lost a hubcap or two through the years, I know why this oddball thing is hanging on a treebranch. Someone found it and knew the owner might be looking for it. The "finder" hung the hubcap on a prominent branch in hopes that the "owner" would pass that way again and see it. The good-deed-doer will never get a thank you for his act of kindness. It is enough to know that the owner might be thankful for the anonymous help.

My friend, during Lent, you are hanging hubcaps on trees for passersby. You won't be thanked. Nobody will ever come up to you and say, "Hey, when I saw the ashes on your forehead, I felt a tug to come back Home."

Or, "When I took an order and the entire family chose seafood, I realized that they were Catholic, and I remembered that it was Friday. That's when I went to Confession. It was the first time in fifteen years."

Or, "I couldn't quite figure out what was going on with her, but she just stopped joining in the office gossip. At first I thought she was sick, but she was in too good of a mood to be sick. Then I wondered. Could it be what she's given up for Lent?"

You are hanging hubcaps on trees. They are out there, the ones who have lost something. And when they notice the oddball hubcap hanging from a tree limb, they might just say, "Hey, that's mine. I need that back."

No acclaim.

No recognition.

No thanks.

Go ahead and hang the hubcaps, friends. And smile while you're doing it. You are about to make another person's day, or week, or eternity.

Shoes on Telephone Lines & Hubcaps on Branches

Interceding Before the King

As for ourselves, save us by your hand,
and come to my help, for I am alone
and have no one but you, Lord.

-Queen Esther

Interceding Before the King

Praying for the Conversion of a Soul

I'm praying for somebody. And I mean praying. This person doesn't know I'm praying for him, and if he did, he'd be shocked to know how radically, fervently, incessantly I am praying.

A few years back, a certain country song was on the radio. I think it was called "No one needs to know right now." Maybe you know it. The woman goes about making plans (in her head) for the relationship that she hopes will one day come to fruition. She's making mental wedding plans, and the young man doesn't even know she is bonkers over him.

Nobody, not even the young man, has any idea that she has her heart set on this relationship. And for now, she's okay with that.

Right now, my prayers are for the soul of one who has no idea that I am praying. And I'm okay with that. But everything I'm doing, everything I'm eating (or not eating), every tiny cross (or not so tiny cross) is going into this intercession. Nothing is left on the floor. Everything is offered up.

And like the woman on the radio, I'm sharing this with you. But no one (else) needs to know right now.

Especially him.

Oh my Jesus, forgive us our sins. Save us from the fires of hell. Lead all souls to heaven, especially those most in need of thy mercy. Amen

Praying for the Conversion of a Soul

Perhaps Our Lord's Most Sobering Words. . .

I tell you solemnly, in so far as you neglected to do this to one of the least of these, you neglected to do it to me. And they will go away to eternal punishment, and the virtuous to eternal life.

(Matthew 25)

Perhaps Our Lord's Most Sobering Words. . .

What's Your "Stations" Story?

If you grew up with the Stations of the Cross, you might find my ignorance odd. The first time I saw/prayed (or whatever one does at) the Stations of the Cross, I felt more like an observer. I still feel that way a little.

Today, I stopped by the Adoration Chapel and an elderly woman and her daughter were praying. The older woman stood up and walked to the first Station, carrying a little booklet with her. She paused at each picture and read something from her booklet and prayed; then she moved to the next one. I had never seen the Stations of the Cross prayed by an individual. I've never prayed them by myself.

And I certainly have spent enough time in the middle of the night at St. Joseph's Chapel to do it. It's just, well, I didn't know how one actually does it.

But, I'm going to begin doing this. Lent is as good of a time as any to begin the practice. Like many unfamiliar Catholic devotions, this one will probably take some time. I won't feel like I know what I'm doing for awhile. I'll just be obedient. . . and eventually, it will become a natural expression of the love I have for Our Lord.

I remember the testimony a young Carmelite nun gave to a group of 8th graders a few years back. She told the story of how she went to a retreat for young women at the monastery. She thought God might be calling her to religious life, but she wasn't sure. And if He was calling her, she wasn't sure she wanted to say yes. She went to the chapel and began praying the Stations of the Cross. She said it was hard. Agonizing. A real labor of love. Each step, she wanted to say no, but she felt the call getting stronger, clearer, undeniaby so. By the time she reached the final Station, she was sobbing, she said. Absolutely spent. And yet, she was ready to say yes.

Her testimony was powerful. She thought she was talking to a group of 8th graders about "hearing the call to religious life" - and so she was.

But she was also talking about the power of the Stations of the Cross. I am ready to discover that power for myself.

What's your "Stations" story? I would love to hear it.

What's Your "Stations" Story?

Day Two In Our Forty Day Journey Together

A procession of prelates accompany Pope Benedict XVI at the Santa Sabina Basilica, for the Ash Wednesday prayer service in Rome, Wednesday Feb. 25, 2009. (AP photo)

Day Two In Our Forty Day Journey Together

Novena for Life - A Prayer for Lent

Father of all mercy, We thank you for this season of grace and light. We know that sin has blinded us. Draw us ever closer to you, in prayer and penance. Since you, O God, are light itself, Give all your people a clearer understanding Of what is sin, and what is virtue. Grant in particular that we may see, as never before, The profound dignity of every human life, Including the vulnerable unborn children. Give us grace to defendOur brothers and sisters in the wombBy our prayers, our words,And our self-sacrificing actions. We pray through Christ our Lord.
Amen.

For more information, go to: http://www.priestsforlife.org/novenas/lent.aspx

Novena for Life - A Prayer for Lent