Lent reminds us to slow
down, pay attention, and turn inward. So often, we are focused on doing more,
of turning activity into success. We don’t see the point or purpose of
dependence, helplessness, and ultimately passion. Most of us spend our lives
searching for more that we can contribute to society.
But when life strikes us
with prolonged illness, temporary incapacitation due to an accident or injury, or
aging, we call ourselves burdens. Waiting in passivity can be excruciating, but
moving through Lent by meditating on the Passion of Jesus grants us clues about
how we can wait without wasting our time.
Passion is fruitful. It is
the only way we fulfill our Christian journey by following in Jesus’s
footsteps.
At the Last Supper, Jesus
said, “All things are finished.” (Some translations are “My work is complete.”)
But on the Cross he said, “It is finished.” What does this mean? He told his
disciples that his work was complete, yet there was still more to be done. The
only thing left would be His suffering and death.
This is pivotal in our
understanding that work is not our highest goal for which to strive, nor is it
what defines our worthiness. Jesus taught us that. He demonstrated that the
highest calling for all of us is to allow ourselves to become empty as His body
was emptied of Precious Blood and Water, to die to our whims and worries. In
the end, we fall into the arms of God in total dependence upon His active and
permissive will.
Lent reminds us that passion has a divine purpose, not just for Jesus, but for us all. We can meditate on the life of Jesus, in that He spent three very active years of preaching, healing, teaching, and traveling. But this was not the be-all-end-all. It was not the end, only the means to His willingness to become helpless.
Jesus allowed Himself to
be handed over to Pilate. Whatever was to be done afterward He knew was the
plan of His Heavenly Father. Living our passion might translate into
relinquishing control over how we will suffer or even what we will suffer.
Placing ourselves in total trust as we live the life God has chosen for us
means more than deciding for ourselves what sorts of sacrifices we will make
for His sake.
The path of Jesus is our
path, too.
Sometimes the things God
asks of us diverge greatly from our own plans. Lent allows us to meditate on
this reality as it pertains to what we are called to do – here and now, in this
time and place.
Not long ago, I was in a particularly painful season of waiting — a sort of mini-Lent. It seemed my life had lost its luster, and I could find no meaning in the nothingness. Like most people, I want to move forward instead of stagnate, but all of my efforts at doing so became barren.
Ben and I had just moved
to a new city and home with our oldest two girls, and we awaited the arrival of
our third daughter within weeks of this transition. While sitting at an OB
appointment, I ran into a friend from grade school. We chatted for a few
moments, then parted ways as we were called into separate exam rooms.
Two weeks later, I
received a message from her on social media. She was leaving the hospital after
giving birth, when an Amish gentleman passed by and congratulated her on her
new baby. She noticed he was wearing a sticker that read “proud father,” so she
returned the gesture. He paused, thoughtful, then said, “Thank you. Our son was
born with what the doctors think is something called Apert syndrome.”
Immediately, my friend
remembered our conversation from two weeks earlier, and she mentioned to him
she knew of another family who had a child with this condition. So she
contacted me for permission to connect us with this family. I heartily
accepted. He and his wife called me from the hospital, still unnerved at the
news.
I remembered being in that
place well and having no one to commiserate with, no answers to be given to our
big questions. It was an honor and joy to be God’s agent in that moment, to
provide the parents with useful information, hope for their son, and honesty
about the mystery of this rare disease.
It occurred to me that my
waiting, though painful, had played out in such an unexpected, but
providential, manner. Living my Lent became an enfleshed sort of prayer, an
incarnation of the season of fruitlessness. I was reminded that God makes all
things beautiful and fruitful in His time and way.
Sometimes we think we are
meant to do God’s work when He is beckoning us to do His will. We believe
volunteering for every ministry at church or school, participating in noble and
worthy charities, or otherwise doing good is automatically God’s will. But that
isn’t always the case.
There are powerful periods
of life in which we seem to be doing nothing at all, yet God is asking us to be
recipients of someone else’s love, charity, and works of mercy. His will isn’t
always obvious. We know that. There is a sort of necessary receptivity to the
Holy Spirit that must be present in our hearts at all times. Lent makes us more
aware of this need to listen to God’s voice and to humbly respond with our fiat,
even if that means saying “no” to something else that is good.
The way of God is not always our way. When we live our Lent faithfully, God moves in our lives fruitfully.
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Photo by Wolfgang Rottmann on Unsplash
