Great Lent is Hard!

Great Lent is supposed to be "easy." We find it hard because our lives are too complicated.

Of course, our lives are complicated, so Lent is hard.

Lent is hard because my children are high-energy. The thought of managing high-energy kids makes me not want to take them to church. I can't really pay attention anyways.

Lent is hard because we work. Stephanie works for "the man." Being an academic, I can be more flexible with my schedule, which is just another way of saying that she works long hours to meet her deadlines, while I help out more here, miss my deadlines, and scramble later to get my work done. Prayer is the first thing to drop off when things get hectic.

Lent is hard because it's so cool. I'm glad my Protestant and Catholic friends give things up for Lent. My Lent is less cool. Self-denial isn't exactly the point (at least not in the same way). This makes Lent hard to talk about.

Lent is hard because I'm really, really tired.

Lent is hard because on nights when I've not been able to get dinner ready ahead of time (see above), it's not like I can just pick something up at Sonic.

I've been reflecting on this post for several days. Letting it sit. Trying to figure out something profound to say at the end of it. Frankly, I've got nothing. The best I can come up with (and it's a lousy answer) is that maybe I've got to think of the difficulty of Lent as a cross to bear. I know that's a really cheap thing to say! It cheapens the cross! When Jesus said, "take up your cross" he wasn't talking about all the busy-ness of life. He was talking about martyrdom.

But I am not a martyr. I am just a busy Christian, and not a very good one at that! So if the only thing I can do to orient my busy-ness Godward is to think of it as a kind of Via Dolorosa...well, that's all I can do. Forgive me.

Prayer of St Ephraim

O' Lord and Master of my life,
take from me the spirit of sloth,
faint-heartedness,
lust of power,
and idle talk.

But give rather the spirit of chastity,
humility,
patience,
and love to Thy servant.

Yea O' Lord and King
grant me to see my own sins
and not to judge my brother
for Thou art blessed unto ages of ages, Amen.

Presanctified Gifts are Coming...

So, tonight we are once again going to the Liturgy of the Presanctified Gifts. I suppose I should explain what that is for the handful of people who actually read this blog, but right now my mind is occupied with thoughts of George throwing his Giraffe (which has lately been called "Jaffy") at the people behind him. I am praying that my kids will be extremely good or extremely asleep. I'll report back later.

On Lent and Glut

Lent is good for reminding us what we can live without. I was out of town until Saturday night last week. Saturday is grocery day. I do the grocery shopping, which means that the groceries didn't get "shopped." Okay, we did pick up a few essentials on Sunday afternoon, but I did this in a quick five-minute run through Kroger. It wasn't my usual 60 minute trip.

So far, we haven't starved. I made three meals last week. The first was "Dave's Spicy Black Bean Soup" (a secret, much coveted, recipe I came up with myself), Macaroni and Beans, and Lentil Soup. All three are still sitting in our fridge. I'll probably have to swing by Kroger's one more time to get some milk for the kids, but aside from that, it looks like we're set until Saturday. In other words, we've needed a little more than half the groceries we normally do. (As an added bonus, I've spent less time in the kitchen, which is partly the point, I guess.)

Hey! Did anybody notice we're in a recession? We got into this recession for a lot of reasons. One of them was that we thought we needed more than we did, so we spent more than we made. In a consumer-driven economy like ours (was) Lent says, "Don't believe it!" Practicing a little restraint in one area of our lives can have added benefits in other areas, if we reflect on it. Yes, Virginia, you can live without that Plasma TV.

Some of my Protestant friends agree with me that, as a society, we generally need less than we think we need. "Why," they ask, "don't we just live this way all the time? Why do we need a special time of year called Lent to be frugal?" My response is, "How's that working out for you?" We like to talk a good game about restraint, self-control, and moderation, but really most of us are pretty hypocritical about it. There is a wide gap between how we say we should live and how we actually do live (Lent is good for reminding us of that as well). I say 40 days before Easter ain't half bad.

Lent is a school in frugality. The lack of satiety reminds us of our gluttony. Some people can go all year eating beans and rice. I call them monks. The rest of us can live with less only for shorter periods (which is not to say that the monk is necessarily holier than the rest of us; he just lives differently). I am not suggesting that the Orthodox calendar is bulimic, that we live by cycles of binging and purging. The fact is that most of us (middle class Americans) binge all the time. Rather, I would like to think – or at least hope and pray – that the purging we do at Lent makes us binge just a little less the rest of the year.

George's Post

This morning George said he wanted to write a post about what he thought about the Presanctified Liturgy last night. He can't type yet, so he's dictating to me. I will use his vocabulary, occasionally explaining his meaning in brackets.

"Last night Daddy picked me up from daycare and took me home. I helped Kyla clean her room. Then I helped Daddy help Kyla with her homework. He would check her reading and I would throw a ball to him.

Then it was time to go pick up Mama from work. She took a long time coming out. I thought I saw her a few times, and, I have to admit, I got pretty upset when I thought I saw her walking away. Then Mama got in the car and we drove to church.

On the way in I saw Fr. Bob blow out the candle [lighting the vigil lamps]. My Daddy had to go potty, but I wouldn't let him go by himself. I went in with him. I tried to get really close to the action, but Daddy kept pushing me away.

Then some people started singing. Daddy brought me and Kyla some colors [coloring books and crayons]. I turned to a page with a doggy on it, scribbled for a few seconds, and announced I was done. Daddy asked if I wanted to color some more. I said No. Then I began exploring our row.

A little later Daddy kept telling Kyla not to talk so loud. He kept saying, 'Whisper, whisper.' Then he took her coloring book away to punish her for not being quiet. That's when Kyla got REALLY loud. Daddy had to take her out of church with his hand over her mouth. She looked a little like my Jaff [Giraffe]. His neck doesn't have any stuffing left, so he bends over backwards a lot.

Naturally, I got upset when I saw Daddy leaving. So I started screaming too. Daddy saw me after he got done talking to Kyla. Then we all went back into church.

I still didn't want to color. I found a little stand with about four Jesuses [icons] on it. The walls in church slant in. So there was room behind it for me to hide. I started hiding from Daddy. It was funny! But Daddy didn't seem to want to play.

Then I discovered that the stand made noise when you kicked it! It was so loud and funny! Daddy wanted to play after that! He chased me for a little bit.

When he put me back in the row I decided to push Jaff through one of the seats, walk around the row, pick it up, and do it again. Then I started walking around, doing circles, in the middle of the church. Daddy says we aren't supposed to play there because that's where the altar is. But I did it anyway.

After a while, just pushing Jaff through the chair wasn't fun. It's more fun to throw him. I threw Jaff so far! He landed at the feet of the lady behind us. When Daddy went to get it, I decided to play chase again. A strange man with glasses tried to pick me up, but I ran away. Daddy caught me and put me back in our row. I stayed there for a minute, then threw Jaff again.

Daddy took me to the back of the church after this. He called it the Narthex. I thought it was kind of neat. First I tried to play with the sand that held the candles. Then I tried to walk up the stairs a few times. Then I hit the wall.

Daddy looked tired. He tried to show me a few icons, but I wasn't interested. I told him who Jesus and Mary were just to humor him. Sometimes I call Jesus Mary, just to mess with him.

I decided a few times that I wanted to go back in church, but Daddy wouldn't let me. Meanie!

When we went back into church Daddy told me it was almost time for Eucharist.

Then Kyla said she really had to go to the bathroom.

After I took Eucharist I wanted to get the bread that the big kids always hold in the bowls. But there was none! 'BREAD! BREAD!' I screamed.

Daddy took me in the back again. But I wanted Mama, too! So I screamed louder! Mommy didn't hear me. Daddy took me back into church and Mama held me.

Then church was done. We went to have supper. Daddy got me a plate of sketti [spaghetti], fruit, bread, and peanut butter and jelly. I took a bite of the sketti and said I didn't like it. (I really do like it, but I wanted to mess with him). Mama gave me some milk. Then I took a couple bites of the sandwich. I'd never had peanut butter before, but I decided I didn't want that either. I ripped the bread in half and licked the butter a little. Daddy kept trying to get me to eat the fruit salad. He wanted me to try something he called a 'Mango.' But I knew I wouldn't like it, so I refused. Then daddy got me some lemonade (I had finished my milk). I drank that too. I said I wanted down, but Mama and Daddy weren't done yet. So Mama gave me a piece of chocolate. Success! My plan worked!

I don't remember much of what happened after that. I have some scattered memories of being put into the crib and helped out of my coat. I do remember crying at night. I had a very wet diaper! All the lemonade I guess. Daddy mumbled something about '1:00 in the morning'. He wasn't in a good mood. But I got some milk. I won't go back to sleep without milk. Good thing too! Because I was so hungry!"

Forgiveness Vespers

I have never celebrated Ash Wednesday. When I was a Protestant, my church rejected Lent and all its trappings as too "Catholic" (anything remotely Roman was bad in my old church). Ash Wednesday was ignored. It seems like a beautiful ritual, being marked as a follower of Christ with a sign on the forehead, and one reminiscent of the seal placed on the forehead at one's baptism, to boot! Still, the emphasis that gets placed on personal sins – and the understanding of Lent as a time of penance before Easter – makes me worry that Ash Wednesday might feed into my legalistic compulsions.

As an outsider, I'm hardly equipped to say that Forgiveness Vespers is a "more beautiful" way of entering into Great Lent. I'm not even sure what such a statement might mean. Instead, I will only say that Forgiveness Vespers is beautiful.

The Forgiveness part of Forgiveness Vespers is tacked onto the end of a more or less regular Vespers service. The colors of the church are changed to purple. Then priests and deacons, standing on the ambo (platform) bow, make the sign of the cross, ask forgiveness of each other, and embrace. "Forgive me, a sinner," one says. "I forgive and God forgives" is the reply. This is followed by the clergy's families, then the rest of the faithful.

The church lines up and repeats this little ceremony. Moving from the front rows to the back, the faithful form a line of forgiveness that gradually wraps its way around the church, until everybody has exchanged forgiveness with everyone else.

The hardest thing, at least for me, about Forgiveness Vespers is not mumbling words about forgiveness or hugging people I barely know – or sometimes don't know at all! The hardest part is looking someone in the eye when I ask for forgiveness. Where I come from, looking someone in the eye means that I have to mean what I say. And, frankly, its a lot easier just to go through the motions and pretend I've wronged someone than to admit to myself that I've really sinned, that I harbored bitterness in my heart toward my sister, that I judged my brother, or that I gossiped about someone else's sins and made excuses for my own.

Not that Forgiveness Vespers make me feel especially guilty! Far from it! It makes me feel honest, which I suppose is exactly what it is supposed to do. After all, Great Lent is not exactly about sorrowing over our shortcomings while wearing sackcloth and sitting in a pile of ash (not that there's anything wrong with that). Great Lent is about confronting the dark sides of ourselves – the sides that we like to keep in the shadows and pretend aren't there – to hold our sins and our shortcomings up before our Heavenly Father, and, with the help of Divine Grace, to overcome them (even if we fail to do that most of the time).

Forgive me, a sinner.