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» Believe as you Pray
» Family Ties
» In Light of Faith
 
Second Sunday of Lent, Cycle C March 4, 2007
by Anne Ruggaber
My brother suffered a brain injury at birth that left him afflicted with cerebral palsy. He has struggled with severe physical disabilities throughout his life.
He was born to parents who were determined to help him lead a productive, happy life. In the days before special education classes, they got him a tutor, and he learned to read.
They found ways for him to use his gift for music. Through the years, he progressed far beyond expectations and is able to live more independently than anyone would have thought possible. I am very proud of my brother.
At Mother’s 85th birthday party, he sang “May You Always Walk in Sunshine” to her in a lovely tenor voice. The applause was long and loud, and he and mother both beamed with joy.
I share this story because my brother, like many with disabilities, often experiences people looking past him or away from him. But on that day, he was beautiful, not only to his mother, but to everyone present. The guests looked beyond his disability and saw him as he really is, a unique and gifted person.
In 30 years of parish ministry, I have been privileged to see many transformations, when the patience and love of community life brought forth the beauty of a person whom society had deemed to be unacceptable.
Sadly, I have also seen rejections, indifference, and closed circles.
The feast of the Transfiguration is an annual reminder to us that we are called to look at those we meet with different eyes. Peter, James, and John saw Jesus as he really was: for that moment, the glory of God in the person of Jesus was revealed to them. The vision faded, and they had to go back down the mountain.
I’m sure that in the difficult times that lay ahead, they often recalled the vision, kept it in their hearts and found purpose and courage through it.
Perhaps they were enabled by the experience to recognize Jesus present in the crippled people who came for healing and the poor who needed help, and even those who whined and complained about trivial things in the life of the community.
Perhaps they recalled Jesus’ habit of hanging out with society’s undesirables and revealing their beauty through a loving gesture, or simply by treating them with respect and dignity.
Vatican II declared that the primary sign of Christ’s presence is the gathered community, and yet many of us fail to recognize him in those around us. We see them as too broken, too ordinary, too troublesome to possibly image Christ!
It may be hard to take the time, the patience, the love, look beyond all of that, to see the divine shining through. But if we would be like Christ, that is exactly what is required of us, to look beyond the frailties and quirks of human existence and there to find God.
The story of the Transfiguration is challenging to those who would take community life seriously, especially when it is paired with Paul’s strong words about those occupied with worldly things, whose god is in their stomach.
It’s no accident that the Church gives us these two readings at the beginning of Lent. The call of Lent is to learn to see as God sees. To do that, we need to get rid of our superficial attitudes about what or who is of value.
We need to free ourselves from the distraction of an overabundance of material goods.
We need to free ourselves to see the genuine beauty of every person, even those whose poverty, disabilities, or appearance make them hard to look upon.
When we look into their eyes instead of at their limitations, we just might experience a transfiguration of our own.
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Conversion a vital part of Lent
by Mary Hood Hart
Recently a parish priest asked a question of a group of adults: “What do we normally associate with Lent?”
“Sacrifice,” one said.
“Prayer,” said another.
“Almsgiving,” said a third.
And while all answers were indeed correct, the priest was hoping to elicit another word.
“What about conversion?” he asked.
In overhearing this exchange, I was struck by how frequently we fail to see the forest for the trees. Indeed, we too often get caught up in the practices of our faith without contemplating the deeper questions.
Why are we doing this? What are we hoping for? Will we be changed?
On Ash Wednesday, we hear the words “Repent and believe in the Good News.”
Most of us, when considering repentance, believe we are striving to turn away from sin and tidy up our lives.
And while that is certainly an important definition of “repentance,” we may be inclined to limit ourselves to a strict moral interpretation without taking into account the word’s broader implications.
According to my dictionary, “repent” also means to change one’s mind.
How many of us begin the season of Lent expecting to change our minds?
If we are willing to entertain the thought, how many of us are open to the possibility that the change we undergo may be more than a mere adjustment of habits? More than a shift in attitude?
How many of us are open to the possibility of a radical conversion?
“Radical” is a word that’s taken on negative connotations in our times. Baby boomers remember the dangerous radical groups of the 1960s.
We speak of the radical left or the radical right and believe that both ends of the spectrum are frightening in their fanaticism.
Change is also frightening. Many times, when a marriage is suffering, one spouse will tell the other, “You’ve changed. You’re not the person I married.”
And while change is a natural occurrence, something that can’t be avoided, we find it disturbing, unsettling, discomforting. Even positive change, as when an individual overcomes an addiction, can create serious disturbances in a family accustomed to dysfunction.
Yet it’s necessary to consider the words “radical” and “change” in a positive light, in order to approach Lent with an attitude receptive to God’s grace.
The word “radical” is derived from the Latin word for “root” and its primary definitions relate to that derivative. Adding the word “radical” to “conversion” suggests a change that is fundamental to one’s core.
How many of us approach Lent with the hope, the expectation, that, over its 40 days, we would be fundamentally changed?
If indeed we were to approach Lent so disposed, most of us would think twice about showing up to receive ashes.
What if that dark smear on our foreheads meant more to us than a seasonal sign of our Catholic identity but instead the consequences of the cross that it represents: a complete dying of self?
Are we willing to embrace that death?
In “A Cry for Mercy: Prayers from Genesee” Henry Nouwen writes: “…how can I ever celebrate Easter without observing Lent? How can I rejoice fully in your Resurrection when I have avoided participating in your death? Yes, Lord, I have to die — with you, through you, and in you — and thus become ready to recognize you when you appear to me in your Resurrection. There is so much in me that needs to die: false attachments, anger, impatience and stinginess… I see clearly now how little I have died with you, really gone your way and been faithful to it.”
Opening our hearts to the possibility of radical conversion is not easy. We must surrender our personalities, our egos, our images, our hopes, our dreams, our habits, our pasts, our futures, our weaknesses, our strengths.
Along with what we perceive as “wrong” with us, we must surrender everything that feels comfortable, right, and true.
We enter the desert thirsty, hungry, bereft, weak, frightened, vulnerable. And, thus, emptied of self, we are infused with the spirit of God.
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A collision course
by Barbara Hughes
If you’ve ever been involved in an automobile accident then you know the impact reverberates through your life long after the accident.
Not only does the crash play over and over in your mind, but depending on the circumstances, you may have difficulty ridding your inner ear of the sound of screeching tires or clashing metal.
On the positive side, you are likely to be a bit more cautious when you get behind the wheel, making you a more defensive driver. But not all collisions are limited to the clash of physical objects.
The season of Lent offers a perfect example. Lent invites us to ponder the question: when did the collision between your appetites and the needs of your soul take place and how does it continue to reverberate through your life?
It may have happened during a retreat, while reading Scripture or while at prayer, but for most people the collision takes place when they’re faced with the reality that all things are passing except the love of God.
Often it takes the death of a loved one — a serious illness or a major catastrophe — to grab the attention of the spiritually smug long enough to re-evaluate priorities.
The “Surely you don’t mean me?” phenomenon is somewhat universal for those of us who have feet of clay. And as much as I hate to admit it, Jesus was talking to one of his own when he said, “Get behind me, Satan” and he could well be saying the same thing to me.
While it’s true that famine, wars and violence toward society’s most vulnerable are rooted in injustice, all three are fueled by greed and indifference.
As citizens of the earth, we all share responsibility for the fact that the world is on a collision course with the Word of God. And so we do well to ask ourselves what will it take to get our attention?
It’s not that Christians are hypocritical; it’s just that human beings tend to be somewhat visually impaired, some more so than others. John of the Cross warned, “The appetites are like a cataract on the eye or specks of dust in it; until removed they obscure the vision.” (Ascent of Mount Carmel)
Many a Christian has scoffed at the theory of global warming, relegating all environmental concerns to the tree hugging population.
And the war in Iraq only became highly unpopular when thousands of U.S. citizens started coming home in coffins. For those who had the foresight to see the dangers, the inclination to point a finger at others or adopt a self-righteous manner can present another stumbling block.
Unless we’ve reached sainthood, there’s a good chance that integrating our faith with life happens in a less than perfect manner.
And so Lent calls us to greater accountability and contrition. The distribution of ashes on the forehead, the weekly ritual of traveling the way of the Cross and Scripture readings that call us to repent remind us that we’re all sinners.
Lent is not just about doing “churchy” or religious things. It’s about making the connection between faith and the way we live.
It’s easy to condemn our lack of resolve, deny our failures or numb the pain with distractions, but that’s not what Lent is about. Lent is a time to come to terms with our own poverty, and I’m not talking about a lack of money or the goods of the earth.
Thomas Merton hailed the importance of poverty of spirit and we need look no further than the Beatitudes to appreciate this. Jesus began the Sermon on the Mount with the words, “Blessed are the poor in spirit for theirs is the Kingdom of God.” (Matt. 5:3)
But why all the emphasis on poverty of spirit? In “Thoughts in Solitude,” Merton explained, “The more we are content with our own poverty, the closer we are to God for then we accept our poverty in peace, expecting nothing from ourselves and everything from God.”
He goes on to say, “Finding nothing in ourselves that is a source of hope, we know there is nothing in ourselves that is worth defending and so we go out of ourselves and rest in Him in Whom alone is our hope.”
This can happen only when hearts and minds relinquish control in a way that allows God to form them without any interference or resistance from human nature.
This is the poverty of spirit that Merton called the door to freedom. It’s the freedom that Job exhibited when he praised God for all the good and the bad that had happened in his life.
For many it appears too great a price, too lofty an ideal. But Jesus assured us it’s the way to the Kingdom and so we must begin, all of us, not just the saints.
We begin slowly, taking modest steps, hopeful that one day we will be lifted high on the cross with Christ, the place where humanity collided with divinity and forever changed the world.
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Copyright © 2006 The Catholic Virginian Press. Articles from Catholic News Services, including Fr. Ditzen’s column, may not be reproduced here due to copyright considerations.
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