Lent 3: Eyes wide open

Early on, I developed the strange habit of squinting my eyes whenever I had to deal with something unpleasant - like clean up after my dog, remove a dead mouse or bat. Somehow, diminishing my vision made it easier to handle such unpleasant sights. I still do it, and realize I also do it with other kinds of unpleasant things . . . like those within me.

I grew up in a serious, penitential, church where Lent and all its somberness fit right in. Forty days to look at those things that keep us from being who God wants us to be was an on-going feature of the congregation’s spiritual walk. As someone inordinately self-critical, looking at those things became second nature.

But I recently realized that I squint my eyes when looking at such unpleasant things. Somehow it makes whatever it is less frightening, or disappointing. Facing one’s self-centeredness, greed, judgment of others, anger, lust, dishonesty, pettiness, prejudice, can be overwhelming. No wonder so many people treat the season of Lent like any other.

For those who take the season seriously, however, such soul-searching, while hard, is important. That’s why some of us squint the eyes of our souls to soften the blow, ease the pain and disappointment, but doing so doesn’t change the reality. Just like the dog’s mess didn’t go away, nor the dead animal disappear, our character defects don’t disappear or change because we look at them with a diminished view.

No matter what we’ve done or not done, who we’ve become or not become, nothing separates us from God’s love. That’s what I’ve heard, so we can all stop squinting our eyes and open them wide. The sunlight of the spirit is burning bright behind such clouds. It’s time to look at them as God, in God’s time, blows them away.

Lent 2: Dominant Voices

She had an unmistakable voice, some thought it was beautiful. Fresh from her high school chorus where she stood out among the others, she arrived at our first college choir rehearsal ready to assume a leading role. She took her place in the front row and sang with the gusto of an opera soprano. The director tried to get her to soften her tone and listen to the other voices, but she didn’t know how. She’d never done it before.

“The melody’s getting lost,” he pointed out, “as well as the harmonies.” She nodded as if she understood but continued her dominant performance. Little did I know the valuable lesson she was teaching me.

Recently, I was talking to a group of soulful sojourners, and the topic of negative voices came up. Despite our best efforts to listen to the positive, optimistic, voices within, the negative voices are sometimes the only ones we can hear, we confessed. Like the classmate in college, the negative voices seem to take their places in the front row and sing in such a way as to drown out all the others. As a result, we can’t hear the divine melody of our lives, nor the sacred harmonies around it.

It's hard to hear you’re a child of God when all you hear is how flawed you are.

It’s hard to hear that life’s a blessing when all you hear is what’s wrong with it.

It’s hard to hear the joy of life when all you hear is life is about striving and winning.

Yes, the negative voices are loud, but the season of Lent is a time to stand back and listen for other voices, the ones that come from God. It’s the season to silence, or at least quiet, the dominant sopranos screeching in the front row and listen to other voices and the melody given long ago.

Lent 1: Roles

“We prayed only for knowledge of his will and the strength to carry that out.”

Seeing my name on the cast list, beside the role I’d always wanted to play, was an unforgettable moment. I arrived an hour early to the first rehearsal and knew most of my lines before we were done blocking the show, but the experience was far from what I imagined. The director and I butted heads and struggled working together throughout the run, making the experience more of a chore than delight. On the surface, the show was a success, but it could have been so much more.

Looking back, I can see one of the reasons for the difficulties was that I spent more time trying to direct the show than act in it. I thought I knew better than the director and only begrudgingly did what he said.

No wonder I’ve always struggled to live a life of faith. Instead of being content as an actor in life, I’ve tried to climb into the director’s chair and tell every person, place, or thing how they should be. It’s exhausting, as anyone who’s tried can tell you. While the show may end up looking successful, it could be so much more.

Lent is a season to climb out of the director’s chair and back onto the stage. There’s a role specifically for us, but we waste precious time trying to be in charge of everything and everyone. Now is the time, Lent is the season, to return to our proper roles. Chances are the director knows what he’s doing. He doesn’t need our advice. He just needs us to do what he created us for.