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With so many parishioners feeling comfortable and present to receive the Ashes, marking our Season of Lent and sharing the Eucharist in community, I sincerely thank the co-chairs and many volunteers who made possible the graciousness shared at the Sacred Heart School Gala last Saturday. With the meal, auction, and activities the Gala evening was a gift of community and gratefulness for the Catholic faith we share, and the opportunity to pass it forward
Here we are again, on this Lenten journey, which comes “providentially to reawaken us” to the gift of faith through our efforts of Almsgiving, Prayer and Fasting. St. John Chrysostom’s ancient words can give us a modern perspective: “No act of virtue can be great if it is not followed by advantage for others. So, no matter how much time you spend fasting, no matter how much you sleep on a hard floor and eat ashes and sigh continually, if you do no good to others, you do nothing great.” As I consider my own efforts for these forty days, fasting from a favorite food, etc., there is one unique resolution I have taken on in the last couple seasons that has proved beneficial to my faith. Hopefully we each take the time to replenish and affirm our own personal efforts of Almsgiving, Prayer and Fasting—and Acts of Good—during these forty days. Whatever our Lenten efforts these forty days, may we keep in mind how this season can deter the effects of the seven deadly sins: Pride: “Speak as little as possible about yourself; don’t dwell on the faults of others.” Lust: “Only use your phone/computer when necessary, limit social media.” Avarice: “Be hospitable with your visitors; find joy in giving.” Anger: “Don’t get caught up in other people’s anger—listen; don’t react.” Envy: “Pray for the person you feel envy towards, with gratitude for who they are.” Gluttony: “Say ‘no’ to things you don’t need at the store; eat slowly and pray before meals.” Sloth: “Wake up as soon as your alarm goes off; try a brief form of personal exercise, prayer, quiet time before your day/work begins.
We may not follow through perfectly with our Lenten resolutions, but whatever hope our Almsgiving, Prayer and Fasting offers may our faith find a seed of replenishment. My forgetfulness is gaining a strong foothold in my personal endeavors, so hopefully the following isn’t a repeat. May this “Seventeenth Century Nun’s Prayer” bring forth a smile and reflective consideration whether old or younger: “Lord, Thou knowest better than I know myself that I am growing older and someday will be old. Keep me from the fatal habit of thinking that I must say something on every subject and on every occasion. Release me from the craving to straighten out everybody’s affairs. Make me thoughtful but not moody; helpful but not bossy. With my vast store of wisdom, it seems a pity not to use it all but thou knowest, Lord, that I want a few friends at the end. Keep my mind free from the recital of endless details; give me wings to get to the point. Seal my lips on my aches and pains. They are increasing and love of rehearsing them is becoming sweeter as the years go by. I dare not ask for grace enough to enjoy the tales of others’ pains, but help me to endure them with patience. I dare not ask for improved memory but for a growing humility and lessening cock sureness when my memory seems to clash with the memories of others. Teach me the glorious lesson that occasionally I may be mistaken. Keep me reasonably sweet; I do not want to be a saint; some of them are so hard to live with. But a sour old person is one of the crowning works of the devil. Give me the ability to see the good things in unexpected places and talents in unexpected people. And, give me, O Lord, the grace to tell them so. Amen.”
May God bless you this Lent, Fr. Tim
FYI: My heart has been unsettled with the recent, unprovoked invasion of Ukraine, especially for the innocent men, women and children always in harm’s way. With a taste for poetry may I share a poem written by Vachel Lindsay that seems apropos at this time:
Abraham Lincoln Walks at Midnight (In Springfield, Illinois)
It is portentous, and a thing of state
That here at midnight, in our little town
A mourning figure walks, and will not rest, Near the old court-house pacing up and down.
Or by his homestead, or in shadowed yards
He lingers where his children used to play,
Or through the market, on the well-worn stones He stalks until the dawn-stars burn away.
A bronzed, lank man! His suit of ancient black, A famous high top-hat and plain worn shawl Make him the quaint great figure that men love, The prairie-lawyer, master of us all.
He cannot sleep upon his hillside now.
He is among us:—as in times before!
And we who toss and lie awake for long
Breathe deep, and start, to see him pass the door.
His head is bowed. He thinks on men and kings. Yea, when the sick world cries, how can he sleep? Too many peasants fight, they know not why,
Too many homesteads in black terror weep.
The sins of all the war-lords burn his heart.
He sees the dreadnaughts scouring every main. He carries on his shawl-wrapped shoulders now The bitterness, the folly and the pain.
He cannot rest until a spirit-dawn
Shall come;—the shining hope of Europe free; The league of sober folk, the Workers' Earth, Bringing long peace to Cornland, Alp and Sea.
It breaks his heart that kings must murder still, That all his hours of travail here for men
Seem yet in vain. And who will bring white peace That he may sleep upon his hill again?
