Cleanse your hands, you sinners,
and purify your hearts, you of two minds. Begin to lament, to mourn, to weep. Let your laughter be turned into mourning and your joy into dejection. Humble yourselves before the Lord and he will exalt you.
On this Shrove Tuesday we can welcome Saint James' scolding. He directs us through the narrow gate into Lent.
Much of our Christian religion, which formulated its earliest teachings in the Greco-Roman world, is intentional, rather than emotional. When the Apostle urges us to "Let your laughter be turned into mourning." he is not berating us for being in a good mood. He is not chastising us for being happy.
Rather, he is directing us to enter the Spirit of the Season intentionally. Even if someone has just told me the funniest joke I've heard in my life, and I can hardly stop giggling when I think about it, I should enter the funeral parlor quietly, out of respect for the grieving family. Americans do the same thing when, at the beginning of any major sporting event, they stand up and reverently listen to the Star Spangled Banner. We're not clowning around, winking at each other, or play-conducting the music. We're thinking serious thoughts about the flag, the defense of the country, and those who have paid the ultimate price. Assuming these poses is an intentional act to fit the moment; it is not suppressing our emotions or artificially arousing our feelings.
Entering Lent, the Church invites us to lament, mourn, and weep. We consider the Passion of Christ, beginning with his willingness to be baptized with us for the forgiveness of sins. He shares the cup of our helplessness as we can neither save ourselves nor cease doing evil. We are indeed immersed in a sinful world and it is impossible to avoid the contagion of guilt. With us he experiences confusion, anxiety, and abandonment; they are the price of freedom and the consequences of love. He will understand our sadness when we murmur, "It is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. He will embrace the anguish of the parent who must say to the child, "I am sorry; I did the best I could with what I had." He knows the guilt of the survivor, the remorse of the penitent, and the pathos of the compulsive who cannot control their impulses.
Entering Lent, we go with the Lord into this dismal history of human failure and reckless foolishness. We restrain the impulse to throw the first stone because he is standing by the woman, and she is one of our own. We might be moved to tears, even as we're moved by a patriotic anthem or a funeral dirge. But that's not necessary. Lent is deeper than our feelings; and an emotional reaction can distract us from our purpose. LIke the opera singer who sings a sad aria before a weeping theater, we are not carried away by the emotion. Rather, Lent takes us to the Heart of Christ and Communion with Our Father, a silence that is very deep, peaceful, and blessed.
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I love to write. This blog helps me to meditate on the Word of God, and I hope to make some contribution to our contemplations of God's Mighty Works.
Ordinarily, I write these reflections two or three weeks in advance of their publication. I do not intend to comment on current events.
I understand many people prefer gender-neutral references to "God." I don't disagree with them but find that language impersonal, unappealing and tasteless. When I refer to "God" I think of the One whom Jesus called "Abba" and "Father", and I would not attempt to improve on Jesus' language.
You're welcome to add a thought or raise a question.