The Freedom of Lent

We all know the story of the Prodigal Son. Traditionally, the father in the parable represents our heavenly father, the older son represents the Pharisees who live the letter of the law but not the love of the law, the wayward son represents all sinners.

However, the beauty of a parable is that it can have many layers which speak to us at different times in our lives and even during different liturgical seasons of the Church.

Which is why the Parable of the Prodigal Son is also a story about Lent and what happens when we misuse one of God’s most beautiful gifts ... the gift of free will.

What does free will have to do with Lent when it seems to be about what not to eat, or what not to watch, or when to go to church, or what to sacrifice? There seems to be nothing free about it at all.

But the wonderful thing about these next 40 days is that each and every day serves to remind us to appreciate the free will that is God’s gift to us; that we have the power and self-discipline to live as free people.

The key is to devote that freedom to God.

And in the Parable of the Prodigal Son, both sons show what happens when we misuse our God-given free will.

In the case of the younger son, he desired independence from his father -- both his earthly and his heavenly father -- and wanted to be in charge of his own life. He mistakenly thought that freedom could be found in the opportunity to do what he wanted; he didn't realize that freedom comes not from the opportunity to choose, but from choosing the right thing. Instead of finding freedom, he became enslaved to his own selfish desires.

On the other hand, the older son shows us a different kind of misuse of free will.

Lent isn’t meant to be oppressive, or weigh us down, or enslave us; if we let it do that, then we are like the older son who merely goes through the motions of doing the right thing. His misuse of free will is that he does it out of obligation ... it wears him down ... and there is no freedom in that. He doesn’t freely choose to do the right thing, he does it because he has to.

God created us in His image, and He loved us so much that he let us go ... and just like the father in the parable who lets his youngest son go only to eventually have him return home, God releases us because he wants us to freely choose him instead of being forced to choose him.

Wisdom teaches us that unless we are free to say no to something, we are not free to say yes to it. During Lent we are reminded that our free will of saying “yes” and “no” is a gift from a loving parent.

And that is what Lent is: a time to say “no” for a while so that we can fully appreciate it when we say “yes”.

Saint John Paul II said, “Freedom consists not in doing what we like, but in having the right (or the free will) to do what we ought.”

And that’s what the Lenten journey is ... to choose God in everything and experience that freedom he so desires us to have.

Lenten Pauses

Like New Year's Resolutions, Lenten goals can be hit or miss for me.

Every year I start thinking about Lent on Ash Wednesday, then I waste a few days trying to figure out what I will or won't do, then I order a Lenten reflection, and then before I even realize it Lent is already halfway over.

Okay, I exaggerate. But only a little.

So this year I decided to plan ahead and order a book of Lenten reflections.  I didn't necessarily need a journal since I do that anyway through this blog (and my Speak to Me Sunday series), but I knew I wanted something simple, introspective, and meaningful.

Something that would help me pause and listen to the quiet of Lent.

I've written before how I think the concept of the caesura--a dramatic pause in a line of poetry or music often used to introduce, or highlight, something that is to follow--can be applied to our daily life. It's an effective tool that tells us to stop. Right now, whatever it is we are doing, and breathe, listen, think, dream, pray.

For it is these moments that tell us more about life than all the running around we do to live it. 

So in my search for a Lenten reflection, imagine how I felt when I discovered this from Upper Room Books: Pauses for Lent (40 Words for 40 Days). In this simple book, the reader is introduced to a single word every day during the season of Lent. Each daily reading begins with a word (still, Abba, way, serve, see, light, love, prune) followed by a brief meditation and a simple suggestion on how to live the word.

The book arrived today, and I'm excited to build in the pause ...

and come to the quiet of Lent.

Fisticuffs: a mano-a-mano brawl (sometimes over gelato)

[Tomorrow is my turn to host Sunday Dinner, and in preparing a menu I came across this gem when the boys fought--not for my honor--but for my homemade gelato.]

Let’s face it, boys don’t gush. If they don’t like something, they’ll tell you. If they do like something, they’ll tell you. But exaggerated enthusiasm or effusiveness? That’s just not their style.

Case in point, this past weekend I made homemade gelato and served it after Sunday’s lunch with i Nonni.  

“So, what do you think? Isn’t it good?” I inquired, shamelessly reaching for compliments.

Nonna jumped right in.

“Oh this is so good!” she gushed. “Really, it’s delicious. What ingredients did you use? Truly, the best homemade gelato I have ever tasted. In fact, let me have a little more.”

Then I turned to the boys and repeated the question.

“It’s good.” they replied.

Note. There wasn’t even an exclamation mark.

So how do I know they really liked the gelato? Later that evening one son announced he was going to have some ice cream, to which the other son responded there better be some left for him, to which Joe piped in from the family room that he didn’t care what the other two did just as long as there was a scoop left for him … just a scoop, but it better be a decent sized one.

The argument went back and forth, stopping just short of fisticuffs.

See? Fisticuffs. Over my homemade gelato. That’s how I know.

They liked it! 

(Note the exclamation mark.)

The Russian Revolution told as a Soap Opera

On the way home from school Timothy announces they were watching the movie Dr. Zhivago in class. Now, Joe and I happen to really like that movie; during the early years of our marriage we watched it every winter. We'd pick an especially cold weekend night, one in which there was snow or, at least the threat of snow, and sitting before a cracking fire we'd watch the movie.

But Timothy doesn't know this so he proceeds to catch me up to speed.

"The movie starts just before the Russian Revolution, but right now there is this older guy named Victor who has a mistress, but then he seduces Lara who is the mistress' daughter. How messed up is that? Then there is Pasha, who is a revolutionary, and Yuri--that's Dr. Zhivago, by the way--marries his cousin, Tanya. But that Victor, he's a weasel," Timothy explains.

It makes me laugh how he manages to make Boris Pasternak's classic novel (which was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature) sound like a daytime soap opera.

"It gets better," I assure him. "You must be getting ready to read something about the Russian Revolution."

"Yup," he says. "We are going to start Animal Farm next week."

I mention that George Orwell's book, Animal Farm, reflects the events leading up to the Russian Revolution and that the author was a critic of Joseph Stalin. But then, knowing Timothy, I laugh again.

"Oh, you're going to hate that novel," I said. "It's an allegory, so you are going to have to do a lot of interpretation and reading between the lines."

"Oh my gosh!" Timothy grumbles. "Why can't we read a nonfiction book? Why can't they just tell the story in a normal way?"

Sigh. I'm working on him. I'm just glad he reads, even if his material of choice includes facts, science, charts, and what he calls "real stuff." Right now on his nightstand is a THICK book entitled, World Heritage Sites, and every night he reads about Unesco sites such as the mausoleum of the first Qin Emperor in China, the Gondwana Rainforests of Australia, or the Abbey of St. Gall in Switzerland.

When we get home, he's still complaining. But then two things happen:

1/ I show him a Washington Post article about how the CIA used the book, Dr. Zhivago, as a tool during the Cold War to undermine the Soviet Union, and

2/ Timothy's monthly National Geographic arrives in the mail.

And just like that, all is right with the Literary World.

Speak to Me Sunday: The Power of a Question

"A question holds all the potential of the living universe within it. Questions are far more valuable than answers ... if you continue to seek questions you cannot stray far off the proper road."

Anna and the Swallow Man by Gavriel Savit

I came across this quote last week while listening to Savit's book on audible during an early morning hike along the canal. The words stopped me in my tracks. I pondered the word question, a word with quest as its root. There is power in the asking, for a question propels and spurs and nudges and shoves you on a journey.

And there are many journeys within a quest.

Then I thought of question as a punctuation mark, and how it curves out, up, and around before leading straight to the period which isn't connected, but still part of the whole.

I've asked many questions throughout my life, and standing there on the canal I realized how often the act of seeking an answer became the answer itself; that is, the destination became absorbed into the quest. During those times the search for one, definitive answer allowed me to gather many answers along the way.

Sometimes, the answer may not have been what I was looking for, and sometimes an answer is for a question not yet asked.

Of course, sometimes the answer to a question is there is no answer.

But an unanswered question is, strangely enough, still an answer.

Have patience with everything that remains unsolved in your heart. Try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books written in a foreign language. Do not now look for the answers. They cannot now be given to you because you could not live them. It is a question of experiencing everything. At present you need to live the question. Perhaps you will gradually, without even noticing it, find yourself experiencing the answer, some distant day.

RAINER MARIA RILKE, Letters to a Young Poet

The Raindrop Effect

It began as a single raindrop. Which gathered other raindrops to become a thunderstorm.

That single raindrop, which became a thunderstorm, turned into a deluge.

Which caused a roof leak.

Because we had a new roof installed two years ago, U.S. Roofing fixed the roof leak and offered to paint the damaged ceilings and walls in the master bath, bedroom, and family room.

So we took advantage of the situation and decided to change the colors in our master bed and bath. A mini makeover.

Benjamin Moore ... pale oak.

Love, love, love the color.

BUT, with new paint on the walls, the baseboards looked dingy in comparison. So I painted the baseboards in the master bathroom. And in the master bedroom.

Then I eyed the bathroom cabinets ... and painted those too.

Everything is bright. Fresh.

And since we've gone this far ... I'm thinking a reading chair, new area rug, and updated artwork.

So what's happening here?

All because of a single raindrop.

Wicked Weather

So yesterday was my birthday. I had a great day, and how could I not when it coincides with WORLD NUTELLA DAY?

I mean, Happy Birthday to Me!

But my birthday is not over. This afternoon I'm headed to Columbia, SC because my sister arranged the following: paid parking, dinner reservations, and tickets to see Wicked.

Nutella yesterday, a Broadway show today. Life is good.

Of course, to get to Columbia I will have to drive through some major storms: rain (and lots of it), flash flood warnings, and a tornado watch to two.

But I will channel my inner Jim Cantore and get there.

Frizzy hair, rain boots, purple umbrella and all.

It will be wickedly fun.