Sitting in the barber chair this week I heard the fellow sitting next to me telling his barber about what he was and was not doing for Lent. I was moderately delighted and even surprised that somebody “in the outside world” even knew it was Lent and was speaking about it beyond his most intimate circle. Wow, church-talk, right here in the barbershop!
Sometimes, from our island of sanctification here on the boulevard, I look at the flow of traffic and the souls it bears along, and I wonder how many among them even know the great and saving work of God in Christ that is being accomplished here, and how many would recognize the culture nurtured by the sacraments and liturgy that we allow to shape the fabric of our lives. The intimacy with Father, Son, and Holy Spirit that forms and informs us; the conversations with the Holy Mother of God that pour out so earnestly; the sadness for our sins, and the expectation and extension of forgiveness.
Not everyone enjoys this divine light and celestial music in their busy modern lives; not everyone in their desperation or their satisfaction knows to whom to turn with petition and with thanks. This grand reality of diversity which we celebrate with increasing uniformity admits by its own definition us who worship God, with the many who do not worship God, and not only because they come from foreign lands or alien cultures.
Into this polyglot conversation, we joyfully admit that we “do something” for Lent, rather like rooting for the team from our childhood hometown. Perhaps it is our contribution to the picturesque expectations of the to-each-his-own crowd. But if we stop to think about it, already it’s been a few weeks since we remembered that Lent, the Great Fast, has three equal legs, prayer, fasting, and almsgiving. Maybe, just maybe, by this time we’ve settled for That Thing We Gave Up and we’re calling that Lent. Rather than hope this one-legged stool can keep us upright, perhaps now is a good time to review, refresh, and renew our participation in what we know can and should shape us for the whole year.
Privileged to pay pilgrimage to Fatima for the first time this past autumn, I was both moved and encouraged by the events that occurred there, and the personalities who participated. Our Lady appeared to three shepherd children out in the rustic and rugged landscape where they followed their charges. They were young, but serious beyond our imagining about their responsibilities to their families, and about their faith. Our Lady asked of them one thing: that they pray.
But they already prayed. They prayed almost constantly; it’s how they passed the time while they were together. They prayed alone, too. They skipped school to visit the church and pray more. Yet Our Lady asked them to pray.
They were not insulted by the suggestion that their prayer was insufficient; they did not argue that they were already quite prayerful, possibly even as much as was prudent. No, they listened to Our Lady’s request and with renewed fervor set about praying – for those who did not pray.
By the power of the Holy Cross on which the sinless Son of God died for all our sins, we, you and I, like the children of Fatima, can offer our sacrifice not only for our own sins, but also for the sins of others. We can deny ourselves pleasures for the good of other people who seek only pleasure. And we can pray for people who do not pray.
This powerful work of reparation, which is grounded in and modeled after Christ’s saving act on the Cross, is our participation in and emulation of the divine charity that is our only hope. To pray for those who do not pray, to offer sacrifice for those who do not worship, to attend to the glory of God for the benefit of those who pay Him no mind, this also is the invitation of Lent.
Almsgiving is the material work of charity and bears great fruit toward the forgiveness of our own sins. We give from what we ourselves were planning to use, a self-denial that is not limited to fasting. And yet, Jesus asks for more, though not material: prayer, the sacrifice of time and attention and care and love. Is it harder to sacrifice our limited time, our precious attention, for someone who does not care for nor love us, or for someone who does not care for nor love God? Yet Christ does both, and insists that we too do both.
It is a shock to encounter faith and prayer anywhere outside of church because it is, in reality, uncommon. Lent calls us not only to do penance for our own sins, but also to offer sacrifice on behalf of those who do not worship, and to pray for the ones who do not pray. We are graced to know that our very lives depend on our communion with Christ; this knowledge compels us to pray for all who do not share this awareness, and the joy it bestows on us; to pray for them as if their lives depend on it.
Monsignor Smith
