Ash Wednesday has come and gone - that funny day when more Catholics (and even some non-Catholics) go to a weekday, non-obligatory mass than they do any typical Sunday mass. I suspect attendance may nearly rival that of Christmas or Easter. But hey, I can't criticize people for showing up for the celebration of Holy Eucharist. Oddly enough though, I think the phenomenon of wearing a visibly ostentation symbol of conversion upon one's forehead on the very day the Gospel advocates praying, fasting, and almsgiving in secret is not a little ironic. I also can't help but think that the reception of said symbol is the big draw for most people. But who am I to presume what is in a person's heart for attending mass. Furthermore, it's not as if I wasn't wearing the ashes all day myself. I'm not dogging ashes; I just think the paradox between public witness and private conversion is a little amusing.
So yes, Lent is here. A favored season on mine, but one I so rarely feel prepared to enter into. At first I ask myself why should it matter if I'm ready or not. I mean, isn't that the point of Lent - to prepare for Easter? All well and good, but I guess even a sojourner on his way to a significant destination still prepares his gear and provisions before setting out. For your information, I'm not much of a hiker or camper, so I could be wrong. Either way, at this point it makes little difference. Lent is here now, and now is the acceptable time. What is God calling me to do, to change, to listen to?
Compassion strikes as one of those qualities worthy of reflection this year. It goes with out saying that to suffer with someone (the literal meaning of "compassion"), is no easy or pleasant feat. It's hard enough to endure my own sufferings, let alone empathize with another person's pain. I'm currently aware of someone who is going through trials beyond measure right now. Yet as he spoke about the serious medical predicament of someone in his family, I said nothing - not even an "I'm sorry." Since then I just recall the words of Jesus,"Blessed are those who mourn" (Mt 5:4).
There is a time for suffering, for mourning, for sorrow. One only need be reminded of the canticle from Qoheleth (Ecclesiastes), or at least the song "Turn, Turn, Turn" by The Byrds. Mourning is one of those unsavory states no one enjoys residing in. And I don't know about you, but when someone's day is darkened by tragedy, it's kind of uncomfortable to be around them, to share in their sorrow. But I know that when my life is touched by grief or pain, and I see the world and everyone around me going about with smiles on their faces, it can hurt all the more just to show up and be present. It's like the lyrics of the song "The End of the World" by Skeeter Davis have come to life... well except for the whole bit about breaking up with someone. It's worth, then, being aware that this is the reality for so many others and that maybe they just need someone to acknowledge and accept their grief.
Now I know I'm perilously bordering the old adage "misery loves company," but I'm not suggesting that a person in pain need surround him or herself with sad, sulky people or that folks should feel obligated to match their neighbor's level of mourning. The world does go on after all. But it is still our duty to "bear each other's burdens" (Gal 6:2). I can make someone's suffering just a little easier by showing that I actually do care - a word, a gesture, a prayer. A little bit of empathy can go a long way, difficult and uncomfortable though it may be at times. In the end, however, the latter half of that beatitude may indeed be fulfilled: "Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted."
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