Happy Saturday! I know, I’m really late. I tried. I promise. But I was struggling. Thoughts just weren’t meshing like I wanted, but during a walk this past Wednesday the word dwell kept coming to me. Here’s hoping it will tie scattered thoughts together.
Last Friday Hubby and I saw a performance of Shen Yun, a visually brilliant production. As soon as the curtains opened, the stage exploded in beautiful, bright colors. A special screen allowed dancers to literally jump from the stage into the animation behind it. Every time it happened was the weirdest but most amazing thing we’d ever seen in a live performance. The costumes were like flowers that continued blooming in every color imaginable. The jumps, tumbles, and dances seemed to defy human ability.
The following evening, we attended a concert by the Appalucians, a quartet of two married couples who play original folk/mountain/rock music. Notes exploded from guitars, a bass, a harmonica, a banjo, a dobro, a harmonium, and tambourines. During several songs the lead played–all at the same time–a harmonica, guitar, and with his feet, a board that was a beat box at one end and tambourine at the other. Even though we were tapping our feet and swaying to the music, it wasn’t nearly what he was doing.
On Sunday, my oldest Grand and I had our first Zoom book club meeting.
Last week I wrote we’d had good news I couldn’t share. Well, if all goes well, we’ll be welcoming Grand #9 this summer.
All this beauty and joy came just as we’d entered Lent, my intended topic; to write about descending into that place of sacrifice, and shrouds of penitential purple. But a week in and I’d not found that penitential, reflective state of mind encouraged in this holy liturgical season. Even Ash Wednesday, a day of fasting and abstaining from meat, had begun in joy.
For the first time Hubby and I attended the morning mass with distribution of ashes, instead of the multicultural evening mass. Morning mass is also for the parochial school students. Though I attended parochial school, my children didn’t, so watching the students process in, their reverence for the space and excitement for participating in the liturgy caused a joy-filled nostalgic tug. I remembered attending morning mass, (Sister Mary Martha bobby-pinning a tissue in my hair because I’d forgotten yet again to wear a headscarf), filing in with my classmates. I didn’t see a single tissue or scarf that morning, but these little girls had the opportunity to read parts of the mass and serve on the altar that my female classmates and I never had.
That’s not to say the whole thing was ‘perfect’, it wasn’t. One child began reading the wrong section but quickly recovered. Not all hairbows and shirttails were neat and tidy. One little guy shuffled up to the ambo to read and back with his hands in his pockets, giving the impression he was a member of the Lollipop Kids from The Wizard of Oz. It was all perfectly human.
Working on the post I struggled with what to write, feeling guilty for not ‘feeling it’ for Lent. Was I doing it wrong because I was feeling joyful instead of penitential? Other than my regular morning devotionals, I hadn’t set out a specific action plan for the three pillars of Lent: prayer, fasting, and almsgiving. I know it’s not too late, but even writing that sentence makes me cringe because I don’t want Lent to become a series of activities to check off.
Then the walk. I still use my trekking poles and as soon as I hear the tapping I’m back on the Camino. It’s calming. I thought about Lent, how we’re supposed to be in this place of reflection and the weight of our sins, the crucified Christ. I’ve been to Calvary and carried the weight of crosses of divorce, of depression, of sin. Currently there’s family estrangement that aches. I’m not going to forget the penitential focus of the season, but I kept saying to myself, ‘I don’t want to dwell in that place.’ Some would say the fact I’m resisting it is proof I need to go there.
As the word dwell kept nudging me, a song from my years in folk choir (remember those?!) came to mind, Dwelling Place by John Foley, S.J. The refrain is, ‘May Christ find a dwelling place of faith in our hearts. May our lives be rooted in love, rooted in love.’
Last weekend in a text thread with my sisters, one mentioned the pastor she works for read Micah 6:8, a touchstone for my sisters and me, on Ash Wednesday. “You know what the Lord has required of you. To act justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God.”
Love. It really is that simple; and that hard. What Lent is about.
Chiaroscuro: the tension and play of darkness and light, like penance and joy. Like new daffodils and spent Brown-eyed-Susans. They exist together. I have my Lenten altar, and I’ll touch the pillars of Lent, just not on a schedule. Maybe Lent for me this year isn’t about a list of specific practices, but being aware of both the weight and the joy of the season, at the same time.
I hope all of you are having a great weekend. I’ll be back on Monday with Book Review Monday!
A Writer's Window 