The Lenten season is more than half over, and in “The Little Black Book” of six-minute meditations, there has been much emphasis on baptism and on cleaning out of the Temple in preparation for Passover. Spring has ever been a time of cleaning up and clearing out. We spend weeks removing from our homes the dirt and debris of winter. We like to welcome spring into a world which sparkles with the freshness of renewal and rebirth.
We too are temples, and we have six and a half weeks to prepare for the arrival of Easter, that sacred time of resurrection. During those weeks we are asked to make sacrifices and to cleanse ourselves of the habits and practices that interfere with our ability to be the true representatives of the Lord. Perhaps we have become lax in the observation of the sacraments, sleeping in on Sunday mornings rather than attending Mass. Or we have skipped confession altogether, telling ourselves that we aren’t too bad considering the public sins of others. We learn to rationalize and convince ourselves that we are better than many and as good as most. These messages of caution are meant for the real sinners among us — surely not for us.
When I was growing up in Atlantic City, in the middle of the last century, I dreaded the coming of Lent because I saw it as a dark period when I was expected to give up things I did not often have anyway. Candy was a rare treat at any time of the year, but it seemed that during Lent it was something essential that I was asked to forego. Those sugary morsels became the devil’s instruments, taunting and tempting with evil intent. On Easter Sunday, the few chocolate and marshmallow eggs hidden in my basket within the green celluloid grass represented redemption, and the message of Resurrection was lost on a 9-year old with a satisfied sweet tooth.
As I matured, I concluded that my ritual of cleansing and renewal was better realized not by my sacrificing special foods that I do not crave anyway but by my providing for others less fortunate the ordinary foods that they need not for satisfaction but for sustenance. I also recognized that this need is not limited to holidays but is ongoing. My own appetite has declined with the passing years, but a family with growing children has a constant appetite for nourishment. If I enjoy a piece of dark chocolate from time to time during Lent, I can do so without guilt so long as I remember to buy an extra jar of peanut butter so that a hungry child can enjoy a favorite sandwich. The message that best resonates in my mind is, “That which you do for the least of my children you do unto me.”
Make the best of the rest of Lent so that on Easter Sunday you might enjoy your family gathering knowing that you have obeyed the Lord’s most important commandment, that of loving others — even the stranger who is enjoying the meal you have helped to provide.
Ann Dow writes from West Deptford.
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