The Lent of Our Discontent
Christ in Gethsemane by Carl Bloch, 1880
As the world indulges itself at an apocalyptic rate, we Catholics have withdrawn dutifully into the season of Lent. If we are actively participating—that is, if we are truly stretching ourself toward Him in prayer, fasting, almsgiving and that personal penance we have chosen to “give up”—we are already struggling.
At some point, Lent grinds us. It tests the limits of our trust and willingness. We see, more clearly, where we are in relation to Jesus; we become discouraged. Do we believe our offering matters to Him—will we keep it up to the end, even as it pains and costs us?
Even as the spiritual work somehow refreshes us, we do not relish the concerted, daily effort. We shirk and rebel. We drag our feet; we slog through the days. Like winter, Lent feels cold, heavy, endless. It is safe to say we prefer the days of feasting and celebration, or at least the familiar keel of ordinary time. The old temptation, the one that slithers through our minds every Lent, nips at us: Just ease up, bend the rules a little. Surely you can be excused...
In no time, maybe even before Lent has a chance to begin, our minds and hearts talk our will out of any real or consistent effort. Obligations warp into options. How easily our focus shifts away from Jesus—from what He gave up, the pain He quietly endured on our behalf—as we creep back toward our comfortable, pre-Lent baseline. Before we know it, we have cheated the crucified Jesus out of our promised offerings and burrowed ourselves, once more, in the burial mound of indifference.
In these times, as in all times, we must turn our thoughts back to Him. We must consider Jesus under the whip and on the cross. What Lenten practice of ours can compare to His hunger, His thirst, the spit of human rejection, the searing pain and humiliation? He fell, even let Himself be crushed by the cross and thus beaten all the more. This He did not because He was weak, but because we are. He wished only to show us what to do after a fall: that is, to get up, again, resume our uphill struggle.
Jesus knew only death and the worst kind of suffering lay immediately before Him. But He never forgot what lay beyond the cross, He never took the eyes of His will off the triumph of heaven. He knew He was carrying our sins to salvation, and so He pressed on. Can we not, as a simple gift of thanks, persevere in our own Lenten march? Will we not try again, and in earnest, to remove just one, small thorn or cushion wedged between His heart and ours? Or will we turn away, refuse the difficulty of gazing upon the beaten, bleeding Jesus in His time of greatest need?
Perhaps we are of the opposite inclination. Perhaps we are more prone to keep Lent in a rash or militant way—not for His reasons, but our own—and, as a result, we vent it sideways. God will quickly reveal our errors. We will brute-force our way through the week, so miserable and bitter that we cripple God and others by our words and actions. Anticipatory Saturday nights, Sundays, and other feast days that happen to fall during Lent, will spiral into days of selfishness and compulsive overindulgence, instead of a holy days of peace, rest, and worship. Lent will look a lot more like a failed New Year’s resolution or diet than a time of sacred preparation. If this is the case, we have assigned ourself the wrong penance.
It is quite likely that pride, imprudence or both wormed its way below our original, well-seeming intentions. Did we decide some complex habitual sin or addiction would be magically fixed by Lent? Did we “give up” too much, something impractical to our state in life? Who were we hoping to benefit or impress—was it Him? Lent should be moving us in the direction of Jesus, not toppling us into sin. It would be wise to reconcile with God and those we may have hurt, and pick something else that will not affect our charity. We must ask ourself and the Lord: what small luxury or habit can I lovingly give up on behalf of the crucified Lord and the souls of His precious children (my own soul included)?
Lent is a time to think small and consistent—for are we truly capable of anything else? God does not wish to crush us; nor does He wish for us to crush ourselves and others for His sake. It is not the cost or size of our sacrifice that touches His heart, but the loving way it is offered to Him, like a child handing a gift to a hurting parent. This Lent, may we work to clear the ground before His gashed and bloody feet; may we try, again and in earnest, to remove even the smallest rocks of self that pain Him.
Come, let us return to the Lord;
for he has torn, that he may heal us;
he has stricken, and he will bind us up.
After two days he will revive us;
on the third day he will raise us up,
that we may live before him.
Let us know, let us press on to know the Lord;
his going forth is sure as the dawn;
he will come to us as the showers,
as the spring rains that water the earth.
What shall I do with you, O E′phraim?
What shall I do with you, O Judah?
Your love is like a morning cloud,
like the dew that goes early away.
Therefore I have hewn them by the prophets,
I have slain them by the words of my mouth,
and thy judgment goes forth as the light.
For I desire steadfast love and not sacrifice,
the knowledge of God, rather than burnt offerings.
- Hosea 6:1-6
