Lenten Reflections

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lent, life, reflections

Well.

Today I’m thinking about redesigning my blog somewhat. I recently learned how to add HTML tags to change the appearance of text in WordPress, but I’m not going to do something that radical. I’m probably just going to change my preferences for default text. I’m also considering redoing my header images and changing my theme.

It’s spring. Spring cleaning time. I want to rearrange the furniture.

It’s also Lent.

As always, about halfway through Lent, I always have to take a step back. Resisting the temptation to eat candy is easy after about a week, and I start to forget why I’m doing this.

Obviously the intent of giving something up for Lent is to bring us closer to God. However, I have to ask myself if I’m being too easy on myself–if I should be giving up something else instead, if I should get creative.

Giving up TV? I barely watch it any more. Giving up the Internet? Pretty much impossible, what with school and work requirements. And giving up leisure Internet time is out of the question, too–the spirit is willing, but the flesh is very weak. I deleted a bunch of casual games off my phone, too–after a week where I wasn’t constantly distracted, I didn’t miss those any more, either.

This Lent, I plan to try to fast more–not necessarily the full fast, but at least giving up little snacks and whatnot. Just as a self-control thing.

But maybe it’s not a question of what I shouldn’t be doing, but what I should.

Maybe it’s time to get away from the computer in my downtime and sew those dresses that have been sitting on the dining room table for a year.

Maybe it’s time to grab my sister (https://tworoadsdivergedinyellowwood.wordpress.com/, hello sweetie 😉 ) and start planning our garden for this year. (It. Is. Going. To. Happen. This. Time. People!)

Maybe it’s time to just hang out with my youngest sister a bit more.

And to stay on track, maybe I should try journaling again. Or meditation.

Ultimately, Lent is for us. It’s not about restrictions. It’s about growth.

Parce, Domine, parce populo tuo, ne in aeternum irascaris nobis.

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Ashes

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agents of shield, ash wednesday, catholic culture, catholicism, doctor who, lent, spiritual life

“Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return.”

Somehow, those words sound strangely beautiful to me. They always have, but I haven’t quite been able to put words to why until lately.

Maybe part of the reason why can be found in two shows that I’ve watched recently.

In the season finale of the first season of Agents of Shield, Fitz and Simmons are locked in an airtight steel box at the bottom of the ocean with (almost) no way out, and they talk about dying, as one does in a steel box at the bottom of the ocean. “It’s not so bad,” Jemma says, “that the rough matter in us will one day be part of a star.” (Or something to that effect.

In “The Rings of Akhaten,” the Doctor has taken Clara on an adventure far beyond her place in time or space. They go to a distant planet, where they meet a little girl whose one duty is to sing a song. Time has run out since the Sun-Singers started, however, and the little girl is terrified, so the Doctor tells her a story: that she is the only one like her, that every element in her body was forged in the heart of a supernova, and that nowhere else in all of time and space is to be found that singular identity that forms her.

During our new pastor’s Ash Wednesday homily, he quoted a lesser-known corollary of these same words: “Remember, dust, that you are man,” referring to the Resurrection.

It is such a curious and glorious fate that God can create things that are more than the sum of their matter.

Thoughts of An Easter’s Day

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being christian, catholic culture, crucifixion, easter, lent, living life unexpectedly, resurrection, roman catholic

Redemption–salvation–is a pretty big idea.

I mean, it’s God putting aside His throne in heaven and taking on a human nature, then dying on a cross (so not romantic!) to atone for the sins of other men, while He Himself remained blameless. If it was one of us, we’d be terrified to death–or worse, complaining like no one’s business. After all, we grumble quite a bit when someone just accuses us of not taking the trash out when we just did. (And don’t pull the ‘that’s just a little thing, I’d be much more holy when I was doing the real thing!’ with God. “He who is faithful in small things is faithful in much, and he who is unfaithful in small things is unfaithful in much.” Hate to break it to you, but that’s a double standard, which really does not work. Besides, the way we act in minor things is the same way we’ll act in the big ones. Don’t worry, though–your humble blogger is the same way, and she knows it too.)

Sometimes, the course of history changes when a small event happens to shift it slightly, into a new course, and as often as not then begins to repeat itself again. There is a tiny jar, a hiccup–the galaxy hiccups!–and then things rolls slowly on once more, as if they had never changed, though the path itself is not quite the same.

And sometimes, something earth-shattering, something tectonic dances when there is a crash and a roar, and suddenly everything is right again and everyone stares bewildered at each other, wondering what in Heaven’s name just happened, anyway!?

And what did just happen?

A truly unprecedented event.

An act of true love.

An act of selfless sacrifice.

An act that seems simple, even meaninglessness, at the time, but it shakes the foundations of the universe.

It is so simple, yet so perfect, it is the ultimate poem–without needing words.

That is what the Crucifixion was. It was the event that permanently changed history.

And in the same vein, every act that is completely selfless is also a novel happening, unprecedented, shocking. Worthwhile for its own sake.

Shock the world, and I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised yourself.

Thanks for reading, and God Bless!

Poetry for Holy Week #6: Joseph of Arimathea

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catholic culture, easter triduum, holy saturday, lent, poetry, roman catholic, st. joseph of arimathea

Well, here it is, the last poem of the “Poetry for Holy Week” series.

Enjoy!

Joseph of Arimathea
Holy Saturday
They gave Thee to Thy Mother’s arms
And then they laid Thee in a tomb;
Still in Thy face was beauty,
To be sealed away in that deathly room.
Huddled in a locked, closed room,
The Saturday vigil long to keep
Not for sorrow, but for fear
With Thy friends I wee;

Yet at the third day’s dawning,
Thou would arise again,
To go before to Galilee
And meet with human kin!
No message of sorrow there will be
Without the light of joy
Now Death itself lies dying,
And Fear is but a ploy;

Not face to Face, yet heart to Heart,
My heart will rest with Thee,
And when my words all are useless,
Then come, humility.
Not to death will my path lead,
But through it, and then on;
Ever since You opened the gates
I will trust Thee till all is over and done!

And let me keep before me
Thy Passion’s bitter pain
All my life send on me
Thy lifeblood’s healing rain!
Let me bear my little cross
In unison with Thine,
And let me live with Thee forever,
As a saintly sign.
Amen.

Poetry for Holy Week #5: Veronica

Tags

catholic culture, easter triduum, good friday, lent, poetry, roman catholic, veronica

My personal favorite of all my Holy Week/Passion poems. Enjoy!

Veronica
Good Friday
I was walking down a road one day
Chatting, laughing with my friends
Then I saw a Stranger standing there
And I knew His story was about to end
No one else even seemed to see
And I still looked, and suddenly
I was ashamed of being me

He stood there with a heavy cross
Upon His shoulder, bloody, bare
Soldiers, mocking, all around
Yet in His face was peace, even there.
And I was ashamed for my naivety,
Ashamed, for never knowing Him
Ashamed; He was dying for my sin

I dropped my head and took my veil
I couldn’t even meet His eyes
Hastily, I wiped his bruised face.
I turned away; I was going to cry.
And I was tired of all the lies.
It was pity, and apology,
And I was weak and cowardly,
Yet there in the road, He forgave—and blessed me.

There are many roads, they say,
That lead to Calvary.
Only one end there, they say.
Yet what I saw was no ending.
“It is begun, then,” the thought came,
“The great work, the saving, comes in His name.
This is no end, but a beginning to the Day!
For to this Story, there is no end;
Eternity awaits. Amen.”

Poetry for Holy Week #4: The Apostles’ Tale

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catholic culture, easter triduum, lent, mary magdalene, maundy thursday, poetry, roman catholic, st. john the evangelist, st. joseph of arimathea, st. peter, the apostles, the blessed virgin mother

This one is multiple points of view… I hope it’s not too confusing to anybody!

Enjoy!

The Apostles’ Tale
Holy Week
Peter:
Quo vadis, Domine?
See, I follow on the way,
This is where the world’s fear comes due:
“See, I am making all things new!”

---

Mary Magdalene:
Strange words to hear
Condemned lips to my condemned ear
Now, the day grows dark with fear
Small hope breeding still less cheer.

---

Mary, Mother of Christ:
Does the world not understand
Just Who it was I led by the hand,
The man they put to death today?
Their salvation slain, yet still, He saves.

I always knew it would come to this,
But the burden is no less hard to bear.
I’ll never understand why some men
Judge when they weren’t even there.

---

John:
Is there no hope for this world now?
The life grows dim upon His brow,
“Son, your mother—woman, your son.”
His work I still don’t understand—yet still it has begun.

---

Joseph of Arimathea:
The Son of God lies in my tomb,
It is hard to believe,
Never was the world so cold,
And harder still to grieve.

---

Mary, Mother of Christ:
Yet still my Son is conqueror,
Of men, and death itself lies slain!
Victorious He will rise on the third day,
And then I shall not mind my pain.

Author’s note: Yes, Mary, the mother of Christ got more lines than anyone else. She thinks much, much more than she speaks; these are her thoughts. No, I am not going to change it. This is my way of blowing sexism out of the water. The girls the same number of stanzas as the boys. 😛 Whoo!

 

Poetry for Holy Week #3: Mary Magdalene

Tags

catholic culture, lent, mary magdalene, poetry, roman catholic

One of my favorite characters in the New Testament. She’s sassy and always speaks her mind. Enjoy!

Mary Magdalene
Maundy Thursday-Good Friday-Holy Saturday
When I heard He’d been arrested, I couldn’t believe it.
He healed thousands, healed me; done only good!
How could those bigots simply not see it?
Were their heads made out of hardwood?

They handed Him over to the Romans
Shouting for His death; oh, fickle nation!
Some of those there had themselves been saved,
They were asking for their own desolation.

“His blood be on us, and on our children.”
Dooming words, thank Heaven, not mine!
No wonder He spoke to them in parables;
His goodness was casting pearls before swine.

We followed those soldiers to Calvary,
Mary and John and I, alone;
No one else could find the courage,
Some had left Jerusalem, to roam.

We stood around the foot of that cruel Cross,
I knew then that it would haunt my dreams ever thereafter.
I stood and watched Him hanging there,
Stood there, and heard those devils’ laughter.

They could not even leave Him to die in peace!
But over the mocking laughter, He spoke.
“Father, forgive them; they know not what they do.”
To hear Him forgive them! My heart broke.

Those terrible long hours to hang on a Cross,
I always thought even Romans could not do such a thing.
But then, I had never realized
That even a broken heart can sing.

They took Him down from that terrible Cross,
Laid him in a tomb hard by.
People say that I’m never short of tears,
Yet I had no tears left to cry.

Three days, three long, fearful days,
Then in the garden, I saw Him again;
I had not known Him at first; I thought He was a gardener.
Then, He said my name.

And with that call, precious as the first,
My heart again awoke,
And now my voice once more I’ve set free,
For Him at last I spoke.

And now there shall be no more tears,
And fear no longer has a place in me,
For I’ve given my soul to His glorious cause,
And my reward is eternity.

Poetry for Holy Week #2: Simon The Cyrenean

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catholic culture, lent, poetry, roman catholic, simon the cyrenean

Good Friday
There was a crowd in the streets, and a tumult.
Something was happening. I didn’t care.
I was coming home from work on the farm.
I was going to be late; my wife wanted me there.

Soldiers pulled me from the crowd.
For a moment, I wondered what I’d done.
Then I looked into the press, and I saw Him.
And I knew, I wasn’t the one.

They wanted me to help with the cross.
I didn’t want to; I wanted to be off home.
But the Romans had their way; they always do.
I took the cross; He wasn’t alone.

I was reluctant, I was afraid.
And yet there was something about Him that awed me.
When we reached Golgotha, the Romans let me go.
And yet, I couldn’t go—something held me.

They drove the bitter spikes into His hands.
I tried to tell myself that I didn’t care.
Yet I was compelled to Him by something irresistible,
Though I’d rather have been anywhere else but there.

I saw His pain; His blood; His Passion.
And something inside me came to peace.
This was no ending, but our beginning.
For who would have dreamed that by His pain, we’d find release?

Poetry for Holy Week #1: Peter

Tags

catholic culture, lent, poetry, roman catholic, saint peter

A simple poem on the thoughts of Peter throughout the Triduum. Enjoy!

(Oh, and please bear in mind that I am no expert on Bible history, or theology. I will not even claim any inadvertent errors on the grounds of poetic license. I will have to claim them on the grounds of ignorance instead.)

Peter
Maundy Thursday-Good Friday-Holy Saturday-Easter Sunday
I was afraid.
There was nothing on that day but fear.
No hope—all sorrow, except by God’s aid,
And how could God’s aid extend to here?

I was so afraid that I denied Him—
Him, who I said I would never deny.
The cock crowed, and I realized what I was doing.
I was safe; they sent Him to be crucified.

I was not at the Cross’s foot; I was too frightened.
The world for me had fallen apart.
Thunder and earthquakes, the Temple veil torn—
All I could think of was my despairing heart.

For three days we hid, the others and I.
John alone had stayed by His side.
Isn’t that strange, now—John was the youngest,
Yet he stayed in the open, too loving to hide.

Then came the news, the glorious news,
I could have gone out of my mind for joy.
There is a kind of madness that makes one sane,
Mature and yet childlike—a brand new boy.

He rose, and forty days later, He left us,
And yet, at once, He never left.
For though we didn’t have our Master,
We never truly were bereft—

Years have passed, now, since that day.
His care passed to me, I know.
My feet will have to follow,
The way His had to go;

And I always must remember
Though we seem apart,
When those who’ve passed seem far away,
They’re safest, near His heart.

Thoughts For Lent #4: Palm Sunday

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catholic culture, j.r.r. tolkien, lent, palm sunday, roman catholic, st. john the evangelist, st. john's gospel, the gospel according to john, the lord of the rings

[Edit: I realized that there’s an error in this post. I said St. John’s Gospel when the Passion narrative this year was taken from St. Matthew’s. Oops. But this post is about St. John’s gospel, so I’m not changing it now!]

I recently attended an Introduction to the New Testament class at a local college, and while the instructor there had several valid points to make, I strongly disagree with something they said. They commented on the Gospel of St. John, saying that it was

heavy and rich in symbolism; jeweled and bright, you won’t see the blood, dirt and grime in this gospel.

I strongly disagree with this statement.

Today is Palm Sunday, and for today’s gospel was read the entire Passion narrative from the Gospel of St. John (though, if you go to the Novus Ordo, you’re more likely to have encountered a truncated version. It takes less time to say things in Latin than in English. Nyah! :-P) Re-reading St. John’s gospel, I find it jarringly different from what was described to me by my instructor.

Another of my teachers once said that St. John’s gospel is the crucial gospel. It shows us the greatness of the God-Man by its rich and varied symbolism, which, given enough background material, is no less rich than it was almost two thousand years ago, when it was first written. It is considered the most beautiful of the gospels, and there is the reason why, in my opinion.

In St. John’s Gospel, there is ugliness and dirt, but there is also beauty, which seems the more beautiful for the horror around it. St. John the Evangelist’s style is reminiscent of Tolkien, who drew us lovely pictures with his words: a stone statue of a king, broken, scarred, defaced, masked by an ugly, leering skull, its broken head lying on the ground, but with a crown of yellow stonecrop blossoming in the crevices of its stony hair–a broken sword, nonetheless cutting the Ring from Sauron’s hand. In the Gospel of St. John, too, there is beauty amid the blood and grime; the last words of Jesus, which are sweet and lovely enough to bring tears to the reader’s eyes, and Our Lord dying at the same time as the Paschal lambs were being slaughtered.

Perhaps the teacher of my class merely meant that the blood and grime wasn’t graphic, in an attempt to draw in those of my class who had seen The Passion?

The world may never know.

To do this instructor justice, however, I particularly liked one thing they said:

The Gospels are like separate facets of one gem, each revealing the same truth in a different way, giving us a more complete viewpoint on the life of Christ.

(Okay, they said “Jesus,” but I like saying “Christ,” so there! Hah!)

Check back in tomorrow and the rest of the week for a week of poetry! I may as well just write my disclaimer here:

The author of these posts and poems does not have a PhD in theology or Bible history, and she humbly begs the reader’s pardon for any inadvertent historical and doctrinal errors that may be contained herein. Thank you!

Anyway, thanks for reading, and God Bless!