Season for the Heart.

It’s late at night…well, for me it’s late, I guess. I should probably be in bed, but I started my routine of sitting in my gliding chair (it’s okay to be jealous) and either just having some quiet time, or maybe doing a bit of non-school related reading. Tonight, I was just quiet. Lights coming off of the building light up the snowflakes as they dance outside of my window, and I’m amazed by the beautiful simplicity of it all. Then, I started to think about tomorrow—the day that we as a Christian people will begin a new journey—the season of Lent.

Tomorrow, I know that I am going to get slapped in the face with a dose of humility. When I approach the priest to have my forehead marked with ashes, one of his options of words to say—the option that I’ve heard most often, is this:

Remember that you are dust, and unto dust you shall return.

Read that again, slowly. That’s a wake-up call if I’ve ever heard one. We live in a world that tells us we’re invincible—that we can do anything and that nothing can stop us and nothing will hurt us, but the words that come with ashes wake us to the reality that it’s not entirely true. The truth is, we’re weak. The truth is, we’re sinners. The truth is, although we’d like to ignore it, we’re going to die.

Lent can be a risky season. Part of the risk is not taking Lent seriously, but rather using it as an opportunity to brag about how holy we are for giving up so many things, or on the other end of the spectrum, consistently complain to others how hard giving up that chocolate is, and that we can’t wait for the glory of Easter morning, because that means ripping open those packages of sweet goodness. But, there’s also the risk of being too hard on ourselves. There’s the risk of going beyond recognizing the wake up call that we are sinners who will eventually die, to doing nothing but focusing on that, and turning Lent into nothing but forty days of misery, anxiety, and gloom.

To me, Lent, and the message I will hear as the ashes are placed on my forehead, is a comforting reminder that we weren’t made for this world. Saint Therese referred to this world as a ship, not our home. As a Church, as the Body of Christ, we are all together on a journey toward eternity with Him—that is something that we should be excited about! The season of Lent presents us with opportunities to reflect on this. Often times, we give up things during Lent, hopefully things that are more substantial than chocolate. Giving up these things, hopefully, allows us to see that they weren’t actually fulfilling our desires in an authentic way. Lent serves to remind us that the only place to find authentic fulfillment and happiness is in the loving embrace of God. As CS Lewis put it, “If we find ourselves with a desire that nothing in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that we were made for another world.”

The seminary that I attend is operated by the monks of a Benedictine monastery. Before coming here as a student, I had the privilege of working here for two summers as an intern for a youth program. During those summers, we learned quite a bit about Benedictine spirituality, and how this spirituality is one that can be applied to the lives of so many people, not just men and women who dedicate their lives to living in the setting of a monastic community.

Last winter, I was back together with current and former interns for a reunion and a couple of days of retreat. Tonight, while I was sitting gliding back and forth in my chair (seriously guys, it’s a pretty awesome chair), this retreat came to mind. The monk who was leading us pointed out something interesting in the Rule of Saint Benedict that, as I think about it, I believe applies to what this season is all about:

“If we wish to reach eternal life, even as we avoid the torments of hell, then—while there is still time, while we are in this body and have time to accomplish all these things by the light of life—we must run and do now what will profit us forever.”

What strikes me the most in this passage is the very end—we must run and do now what will profit us forever—or as the monk leading our retreat put it—we must begin as we intend to finish.

Let’s face it—often times, we love to procrastinate. This is why it is important for us to develop routine in our lives, to give them structure. How often do we say to ourselves, “I’ll do it later”? This can be a particular challenge in our spiritual lives—“I want to make prayer part of my day, but I’m too busy…maybe tomorrow.” “I’ll go to Mass…next week.” “I need to go to confession, but I’m too nervous right now…maybe I won’t be later. I’ll do it some other time.” Now, let me be clear, my intent here isn’t to make myself sound like I’m holier than other people—trust me, I’m not. But, I’ve experienced all of these things, and I have the feeling I’m not the only one. I have days where it’s hard for me to sit down and pray—I’ve had days where I would rather do anything than sit in the chapel for Mass again—and I still get a little nervous every time I go to confession. It’s called being a human being. This desire to put things off, especially in our lives of faith, is something we need to overcome—the way to do it? Well, just dive in! Go for it—take a leap of faith! Why? Because, we need to run now and do what will profit us forever—we need to begin as we intend to finish!

Let’s take a second too look at the finish line, our goal. Hopefully, your ultimate goal in life is to get to heaven. Getting to heaven requires one thing—that we are saints. Now, this doesn’t mean that we have to be formally declared a Saint by the Church, but we still have to be saintly people. To help us get there, we must begin as we intend to finish—we have to start living saintly lives—now. It’s never too late, but enough waiting—do it now. It’s not going to be easy—being a saint isn’t easy—heck, being a Christian isn’t easy. As followers of Christ, we are called to become like Him—we are called, day-by-day, to become someone greater than who we are now. That’s no easy task. But, as my dad would point out at times when I was struggling, things in life that are easy, that present us with no sort of challenge, probably aren’t of much value anyhow. This makes me think of another verse in the prologue of the Rule that my monastic friend pointed out, which speaks to this: “Do not be daunted immediately by fear and run away from the road that leads to salvation. It is bound to be narrow at the outset,” Benedict then follows with a comforting note, saying, “But as we progress in this way of life and in faith, we shall run on the path of God’s commandments, our hearts overflowing with the inexpressible delight of love.” I know that some may be thinking that all of this is fine, but it doesn’t seem very practical—I mean, how are we supposed to actually do this? To me, I think the best place to start is with our heart.

I believe that Lent is a season for our hearts. In the first reading that will be proclaimed at the Ash Wednesday Mass, we will hear the line, “Even now, says the Lord, return to me with your whole heart.” So, it seems that if our goal is eternity in heaven with God, and to get there, we have to begin as we intend to finish, the way to do it is through our hearts. The way to do it is simple—it is love. During Lent, whether our practice is to make a sacrifice or pick up a new discipline, we should always pose the question to ourselves, “Is this helping me love?” Mainly, it is to love God, but also, to love others who, like us, are made in His image and likeness. It presents us both the opportunity and the challenge to look for Him in the presence of others—especially those we don’t really care for.

When speaking of love, Saint John Paul II once said:

“After many experiences and a lot of thinking, I am convinced that the objective starting point of love is the realization that I am needed by another. The person who objectively needs me most is also, for me, objectively, the person I most need. This is a fragment of life’s deep logic.”

Love, then, involves a relationship. Love means not only recognizing, but acting on the fact that, as humans, we weren’t made to be completely independent, that we need others and they need us. If, Lent, then, is about returning to the Lord with our hearts, and to begin as we intend to finish means beginning with our hearts, with love, and the recognition of His presence in others, then, it would seem that Lent presents us with the opportunity and the challenge to love other people.

A priest friend of mine once told the story of a woman (who remained nameless) approaching him after he preached on the Sacrament of Confession, saying that she was “too old to sin,” thereby not needing the sacrament, trapped in the notion that exists within our society that the only type of sin is sexual sin. Yet, in love, the priest pointed out that if that was the case, why was she regularly destroying someone’s reputation with her words after Mass? The reason we go to confession isn’t only because we have done something that we don’t like that has made us feel bad, but it’s because our sin isn’t about ourselves alone—it’s about how we have treated others. That’s why we confess our sins to Christ acting through the person of a priest—that’s why we can’t simply “go to Jesus” privately—we have to fess up for what we did, because what we have done has not only affected our relationship with God, but with our communities as well. The sacrament is often called “reconciliation” because it reconciles us with not only God, but with the Church, as well. It allows us to wipe away those times when we failed to love, and to have the opportunity to love again.

But, it’s about more than loving other people, and loving God through other people—we have to work on loving God Himself, too. The most common way we build relationships with others is through talking to them—when we do this with God, it is called prayer. Saint Alphonsus Liguori says that when we pray, we should talk to God as if we were talking to one of our dearest friends—we should talk to Him with a sense of comfortableness. While it is good to pray to God and ask for what we need, as it shows our trust in Him, prayer should be more than that. Prayer should lead us to a relationship. Fr. Mike Schmitz, a university chaplain and popular speaker once said, “Seek a relationship when you pray, not answers. You won’t always find answers, but you will always find Jesus.”

Finally, a good way to grow in our love of Christ is to go see Him. Having a relationship with someone often involves visiting them, because they are someone we want to be with. The best way to do this is by going to Mass. As Catholics, we believe in transubstantiation, a really big word that means we believe at Mass, the Lord, using the priest as His instrument, transforms the bread and wine offered to Him into His very Body and Blood. It is still under the appearance of bread and wine—it looks and tastes like bread and wine—but we see with our eyes of faith that it is something more—that it is His very presence. Some think that we are silly for believing such a thing, but the way I see it, if God can die and raise from the dead three days later, He can also act through a priest to make this happen. So, when we go to Mass, we are really going to encounter Christ. Even when Mass is not being celebrated, in tabernacles in Catholic Churches all over the world, He is present waiting for us to come and see Him. As Saint Josemaria Escriva once said, “When you approach the tabernacle, remember that He has been waiting for you for twenty centuries.” He’s waiting to love—He’s waiting to open and transform our hearts—we just have to let Him do so.

We’re dust. And, whether or not we like it, we’ll be that way again. But, this doesn’t mean that we should live out these next forty days, or the rest of our lives, in gloom. Yes, we should be mindful of our sin, we should seek forgiveness, but we should also be consoled in the love that comes from that forgiveness—in the love that came from a man who did no wrong willingly enduring the death of a criminal—for you, and for me. This recognition that we’re dust gives us the chance to recognize our need to do what Saint Benedict calls us to do—what will profit us forever—to do what will get us to our goal of eternal splendor in Heaven. During these forty days, let’s run to the Lord, let’s seek Him out in others, let’s ask for the grace of an open heart—let’s love, and let’s not wait any longer. It’s time to get to work.

In all things, may God be glorified.

Amen.