But more thoughts on that later, first, a story:
As a typical Christian, I also decided to fast on Wednesday, but because I work as a nanny, I didn't have a chance to go to mass until 5:30 pm; and for everyone else who fasted on Ash Wednesday, you understand my pain. I didn't particularly want to go to church, but it was the only time I was able to go, and begrudgingly I let myself be dragged there by my friend Terri. Since we were both hungry and irritable, our plan was to leave church straight after communion and quickly get something to eat before we were supposed to visit our friend in D.C.
Well, as is the case when you want to leave early or don't want to be somewhere, time seems to drag by really slowly, and every little thing seems to be conspiring to make you late. First all the readings were long, and then the songs were long, and then the child sitting in front of us wouldn't be quiet.... So on and so on. Mass seemed to be dragging by; every time I looked at the clock, only a minute or two had gone by. And it just kept going, and going, and going. Finally, it was time to get our ashes, and the packed church began piling through the line to receive them. Of course, since the church was so packed, this was no small feat, and took an even more impressive amount of time. As Terri and I sat back down with our ashy foreheads, we start noticing that people were leaving right after receiving theirs. So many people exited early, that our priest even made a comment about it when everyone was seated again.
"I hope everyone knows that without receiving the Eucharist along with their ashes, the ashes don't really mean anything?" he said, with a sad smile. "If people realized that it isn't the ashes that make this mass special, but instead, having the opportunity to commune with Jesus, maybe the church would still be as full as it was when we all entered." (Terri and I were squirming in our seats right now, because we did, in fact, really want to leave. We wanted to take the Eucharist and then vamoose). "I wonder," he continued, "how we act differently with ashes on our faces? And I wonder, how would we all act if we always had our crosses on our foreheads?"
This is the point that I started finally paying attention to church. I began to realize that I had not been acting very Christlike by fidgeting and wanting to leave church early. I had let myself become so caught up in the ceremony of church, and had lost significance of the mass. But the bigger question remained:
What would I do differently if I ALWAYS had a cross on my forehead?
That really got me thinking. What would I do? What would I change? What could I do to transform my faith into one of fire and passion, rather than one of ashes and stagnation? What would I give up, and what would I start doing? How would I act? Would I still hang around the same people? Would I tell the same jokes? And as I kept thinking, the list kept growing longer and longer. I would stop swearing, start donating more, help out more strangers, spend less time watching TV shows and spend more time building relationships with others. I would read my bible on a regular basis. I would try to enjoy church. I would tell my friends about Jesus. I would stop judging others from what I have heard about them. I would try to eat right and exercise. I would pray in public. I would love everyone in my path. (I could keep going, but I think you get the point).
And then the question presents itself:
Why don't I change these things now?
The plain and simple truth is that I am frightened. I am afraid of what others will say or think of me. That they will cast me off. But if I truly am a Christian, and truly believe in all the things that I preach, why should I be afraid of that? Shouldn't my one concern be whether or not I truly love Christ, and am loving the world as He does? Because if that is my true concern, nothing else should matter.
(Not to say that it's easy, but that I need to shift my priorities).
So, the challenge for Lent becomes not what I can give up, but rather what I can do. Can I challenge myself to be more like Christ? Is it possible to love the world like Jesus?
Well, that is what this Lent is for. To challenge ourselves to live out our faith, and to become closer to our Lord in the process. And I am challenging you to do these things as well. Maybe not all of them, but at least consider what you can do in your life to live out your faith. What is possible right now to transform our faith from ashes to fire? To look around yourself and not only give up the now habitual sweets or snacks, but to really see what needs to change in your life to glorify God.
Ideas? Other things to change? I'm definitely not perfect, and I need to be held accountable too. If you ever need someone to do something with you, just give me a text, email, or Facebook me, and I will be more than happy to do something with you this Lent.
Glory!
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