On Lent

A good part of the US may be huddled before fireplaces still, but we are two weeks into Lent, and it looks like spring in California. The orange blossoms smell sweet, and freesia is blooming, and some landscape plant - sweet olive? photinia? - is flowering and perfuming the air with a scent reminiscent of hyacinths.  Only those who suffer winter are able to rejoice in that the beauty of spring. I miss the bulb flowers of spring in the Midwest - daffodils and tulips and especially little grape hyacinths -- and I miss the idea of a mid-winter slog that mirrors the spiritual slog of mid-Lent. Bougainvillea out here is pretty, but I don't notice its part in the landscape any more.

When glutted with good things, it is hard to appreciate them, which is what is so invigorating about Lent.  Stop being a glutton! Get rid of all these comforts!  Detach!  And then appreciate the Alleluia of Easter even more!  I welcome this period of deprivation, even if two weeks into it, I'm already failing.

Maybe I shouldn't be blogging about my plan for Lent in light of the readings for Ash Wednesday, but since I feel my resolve weakening, I'm recording my offerings here as a means of accountability. Not that anyone will know if I check Facebook "just to read a message" or have some semi-sweet chocolate chips during the chocolate hour for a pick me up before dinner because they aren't "dessert." And I've already decided I can have a glass of wine on Saturday night after the vigil Mass, even if I didn't attend that vigil, because it's like Sunday already. But since this is a diary of sorts, writing down these "plans" is kind of an examen, a scrutiny of my own weak will. And even as I write these words, I know I will not eat those chocolate chips, because it would prove to me the puniness of my spiritual muscle.

But I also found support in a recent homily. At daily Mass last week, the priest encouraged everyone to rethink the reading about hiding prayers and good deeds.  When Jesus spoke these words, religion was in the public square.  Everyone wanted to appear holy in public.  Now no one is praying in public. No one wants to appear "holy" because "to be holy" is now conflated with "to be holier than thou" or to be a zealot. If this indicated a resurgence of humility, not the effect of a desire to identify with the secular majority as open-minded, it might be a good thing.  Instead, it is an act of humility to pause for that moment of silent prayer at a restaurant before digging in like everyone else. The priest encouraged the congregation to be sign of faith in a world that increasingly views the faithful as ignorant or intolerant.

So an accounting: For my penances, I am giving up sweets and alcohol - that glass of wine after the kids go to bed has become a crutch.  My husband is giving up meat, so it will be a penance for me to figure out menus for all of us. Last night it was scrambled eggs. We'll probably be eating more tuna, which is good for our brain health anyway. Cooking is a sort of penance for me on the nights when I'd rather be doing something else, so another small penance will be trying to cook and do dishes without inner complaint.

I was going to discipline myself to go to bed by 11, but that hasn't happened. I need God to give me another 24 hours in a day.

For prayer: Reading Pope Francis's Joy of the Gospel finally.  Planning to go to Stations on Friday, but so far every Friday we have had a conflict.  Trying to do a better job at offering up little prayers throughout the day.  In so many ways, I could give God more time and attention, but right now I am just trying not to be gloomy, like Jesus exhorts in the Gospel, by giving the kids more positive attention. (the reason I won't give up coffee...)

Perhaps the homily I heard grew out of the priest's reading of Pope Francis on living the Gospel joyfully and being full of mercy.  Pope Francis points out how the Gospel message is one of hope and joy, and if we are living with it, our joy and mercy will make the gospel attractive to others.  I'm trying to take to heart his message as I read by heeding his encouragement to delight in small gifts so that my gratitude and joy might let God's invitation shine through me.

For almsgiving: Again a plan that hasn't happened is to take the family to do Many Meals again. I like the little project my sister-in-law did - crocheting scarves to give away, which got some attention from the local news, but I don't crochet.

 Instead my goal is to fill a bag a week with stuff to pass on.  I really have a selfish motive - I have to de-clutter before our move.  The linen closet needs to be culled, but some of our linens are too worn to give away except to the animal shelter for rags. Do we keep using them or pass them on and buy new?

As I look at my closet, the garage, the kids' rooms, I see all sorts of things that I am hoarding.  It is surprising how much can fit into 1500 square feet. I think about my reaction when my brother-in-law suggested we buy a house for his parents because of recent crimes in their neighborhood. I immediately cringed and thought of all the things I'd have to give up. My selfishness seems to grow as I get older.  I want to cut that strangling weed of stinginess out.

So one other work I'm offering this Lent is to try to give things easily.  Depriving myself of luxuries, treats, drinks, fancy meals is something I'm not bad at, and I kind of enjoy.  I inherited a frugal gene.  What I did not inherit is a magnanimous gene.  I have a hard time giving until it hurts.

Perhaps I should meditate daily on the quote from St. Basil that was in The Monastery Cookbook, one of the worst presents I ever gave my husband, or so he claims. (Since he plans to give up meat for Lent, he might rethink his valuation of this gift.):

Who is a man of greed? Someone who does not rest content with what is sufficient. Who is a cheater? Someone who takes away what belongs to others. And are you not a man of greed? are you not a cheater? taking those things which you received for the sake of stewardship, and making them your very own? Now, someone who takes a man who is clothed and renders him naked would be termed a robber; but when someone fails to clothe the naked, while he is able to do this, is such a man deserving of any other appellation? The bread which you hold back belongs to the hungry; the coat, which you guard in your locked storage-chests, belongs to the naked; the footwear mouldering in your closet belongs to those without shoes. The silver that you keep hidden in a safe place belongs to the one in need. Thus, however many are those whom you could have provided for, so many are those whom you wrong.
https://bekkos.wordpress.com/2009/10/08/st-basil-on-stealing-from-the-poo

On Charity

One of the perks of having a baby is that people treat you really nicely.  People at the grocery smile and hold the door. People in the neighborhood wave.

The teachers and classmates of my kids still love to peek at the baby when I arrive at pickup.

The neighbors have helped out with the trash and watching my middle kids.

The moms group at church and the Navy wives have been bringing us gourmet meals.

We've received diapers, dolls, books, dresses, and more onesies than I know what to do with.

I feel a little overwhelmed by all these gifts.  Definitely unworthy and undeserving.  I don't even really know most of these people very well - we've only been here 10 months now. I have a husband who cooks and helps with the kids and I have older kids who know how to fix their own lunches and do dishes and laundry.  I've got it pretty good around here, so I'm a little embarrassed to be at the receiving end of so much generosity.  I've told people not to worry when they ask if they can bring a meal. And then they show up with lasagna or pulled pork or spaghetti and meatballs or croissant sandwiches.

It's embarrassing to receive charity, but as my husband has pointed out, people want to help. Just say thank you, he tells me. Stop trying to take away their opportunity to serve.

They don't need to serve me, I want to say. But it's a lesson in humility to me to accept their generosity, to allow them into our messy little house with food and gifts.  I pass around the baby (even though I am still a little nervy about germs); everyone loves to hold a newborn. The kids come in smiling, excited about what's on the menu tonight. (It's all been really good - they only complained about a zucchini gratin that actually was delicious and the fourth lasagna.) Sometimes I send the kids out to pick avocados or lemons to send along. Thank goodness for the bounty of the yard, so that I can give something in return, although I don't need to.

These new friends give more than just a meal - they give me inspiration to be more generous myself, to be more open to my need for help and friendship, to be more alert to the needs in this community that has welcomed us so kindly.

I just keep wanting to give this baby kisses.