A homily for the First Sunday of Lent, Feb. 21, 2021
Gn 9:8-15, 1 Pt 3:18-22, Mk 1:12-15
Chocolate and ice cream are not sinful.
Hot dogs and bologna are not evil.
Tuna casseroles are, but that’s a whole nuther kettle of fish.
As we mark the First Sunday of Lent 2021, we can concentrate on the little things we choose to “give up” or we can concentrate on the big things we really ought to be giving up. And the crosses of all sizes that we should be picking up.
Lent, the 40 days and nights we use to prepare for our greatest feast, the triumph of Jesus Christ over sin and death through his cross and Resurrection, traditionally has been the season of no meat and no treats. That’s not exactly sackcloth and ashes or self-flagellation in the village square, but those little self-denials are intended to be passable substitutes.
And while, yes, Lent does give us almost six weeks to do some spiritual, emotional and social housecleaning, we shouldn’t see ourselves as SUVs in need of going through the car wash to scrub off the grimy effects of being out in the world.
We may have put on the quarantine 15, but it’s not primarily our paunch we need to shed.
We’re not copies of Charlie Brown’s friend Pig-Pen, who attracted clouds of dirt and dust incessantly no matter how often or how vigorously he bathed.
We’re humans, children of God, imperfect but striving for perfection with the grace of the Spirit. We’re going to get a little dirty from time to time, because life is messy. And that’s OK. We dust ourselves off and press on.
As long as we scrape off some of our self-centeredness, a bigger task this Lent after months of isolation because of pandemic stay-at-homes. We didn’t mean to get this way; it just happened, a side-effect of the virus. When we clean up, when we give up something for Lent, we can give up focusing inward excessively.
To be blunt, we can give up selfishness.
Fortunately, to sustain us on our pilgrim journey, we have the Word, the Sacraments and our prayers.
Prayer.
Prayer is the first of the three pillars of Lent. One of the three indispensable legs of the figurative stool we sit on, the table we set our lamps on.
How each of us prays is unique, as long as each of us prays. Rosaries and chaplets, on our knees facing Jerusalem, sitting in traffic and realizing we’ve not chatted with our loving Creator recently.
Formal or casual.
Hours-long or mere seconds.
Our Father.
Uh, hi, Jesus, how’s it going? How can I be more like you today?
Well, the Lord probably would reply, some of your brothers and sisters are in need. That’s why almsgiving is another of the three pillars.
But while Jesus is deeply in favor of charity — everything he lists in Matthew 25:40 when he’s describing the least among us — Jesus really prefers that almsgiving takes the form of social justice.
As it’s been said, but not said enough, we can pull a drowning person out of the river (necessary charity) or we can go upstream and keep people from falling in in the first place (social justice).
Perhaps, then, the alms we give this Lent are gifts of time, talent, intellect and righteousness more so than cash or bundles of warm socks, as valuable as those are. Even socially distanced, we can bind up our community’s wounds through good deeds and direct action, through mentoring, perhaps simply through being present when someone needs reassurance that they’re not alone. That they’re never alone while the love of God shines on them. Which it always does. Brightly.
Two down.
Then there’s fasting and abstaining. The no meat, no treats routine we’ve heard about all our lives.
Give.
It.
Up
For.
Lent.
The whole self-control, self-discipline, focus-on-things-not-of-this-world mind-set. And after a couple of millennia, this pillar can indeed be considered tested and trusted. We can clearly delineate between wants and needs, and want less.
It’s possible, it’s admirable, it’s healthful to live more simply, not only by eating less but by reducing our waste and our carbon footprints and any other damage we’re doing to God’s Creation. ‘Tis the gift to be simple, the Shakers sang.
But even though people on a diet are encouraged to exercise by pushing the plate away from themselves, does pushing joy away really make us better children of God? Do we figuratively cross our arms over our chests and tuck in our chins to block out the temptations of Haagen-Dazs and Hershey’s?
Or does sharing joy by embracing all of humanity mean we’re fasting from isolationism and xenophobia and any other phobia that erects walls?
This Lent, let’s build our three pillars by what we add, not what we take away. Let’s build all three pillars out of Love.
