Sacrifice

A few months ago, I went to an elementary school in Humboldt Park with another person from Urban Village to talk to the school's principal about ways that our church could volunteer. As the principal described the highlights and challenges of leading that school, she mentioned that they sometimes have issues with children making frequent trips to the school nurse and having to leave the classroom When I asked why, I learned that many of the students aren't sick, they're hungry. That was jarring. People sometimes talk about giving something up for Lent and there are lots of reasons to do so. That process often is a sacrifice, which isn't a word that people usually like to hear or use. One reason we sacrifice, however, is to draw closer to another person or to God. Going without something (like intentionally skipping a meal or going without food for a day) affects our bodies and can remind us that there are others who have to do this every day. That, then, can be a reminder that we must never forget those who go without and we must work to make sure that all have their daily bread. Sometimes sacrifice can bring abundance.

Praying for change

I've been going to St. Procopius Benedictine Abbey for spiritual retreats off and on now since the mid-1990s. At first, I was pretty regimented about the whole process. I'd follow a strict guideline of when to pray, when to read, and when to attend prayer and worship with the monks. I don't regret that way of going about it because I think it helped me get accustomed to actually going on a spiritual retreat. With experience, though, I've cut myself much more slack. If I feel like reading, I read. If I feel like praying, I pray. If I feel like napping, I nap. If I feel like going for a walk, I head outside. I still attend all the communal opportunities for prayer and worship (there are four a day), but I now go into each retreat not really sure what will come out of it. Usually a verse or theme emerges.

One of the things I like about St. Procopius is that nothing much changes. The same monks are here, the same schedule is pretty much kept, and I stay in the same room. It's been more than a year since I last came out here, though, and change is happening. Seven monks died in 2009, including two I knew somewhat well. Father Thomas, the guest master (think of him as the concierge of St. Procopius), who always seemed ageless to me, is also slowing down a bit.

It struck me this morning that "change" would emerge as the theme of this retreat. Not just my observation of change taking place here at the abbey, but the change that needs to always take place within me. This isn't a novel revelation, but I realize that I've been spending way too much time lately wanting other people to change to adjust to my wants and needs and way too little time praying for a changed heart within me.

That can be a daunting prayer: I'm ready for my heart-my life-to change, O God. Eugene Peterson notes, "Be slow to pray. Praying puts us at risk of getting involved with God's conditions...Praying most often does get us what we want but what God wants, something quite at variance with what we conceive to be in our best interests. And when we realize what is going on, it is often too late to go back."

It's a risky prayer, to be sure. But I kind of like where this prayer is leading me during this Lenten season.

Marked

We went to my daughter's school on Tuesday night for a Fat Tuesday celebration and, of course, when you gather lots and lots of kids in a gymnasium with pizza, sweets, and a D.J., it's a jolt to your senses (at least to my 42-year-old senses). One of the highlights for our kids--as it often is at an event like this--was getting their faces painted. I was grumbling a bit because the line was long and the artists seemed to be taking their sweet time about it, but I must say that these were some pretty cool designs. Caroline had a kind-of Mardi Gras design and Ethan had a dragon on his face. There was no way they wanted to wash these marks off when we got home so they slept on towels over their pillows that night. Ethan was a particularly careful sleeper, I think, and may have slept on his back the whole night.

Yesterday hundreds of people were walking around downtown with a different design on their faces, or, specifically, their foreheads. Ash Wednesday. Many people heard the sobering yet important words, "Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return." I was marked with my ash cross over the noon hour and received a few double takes, including a woman on the L who asked about it.

The kids on Tuesday night and the many yesterday were all marked for different reasons and the passage I was reading this morning really jumped out at me as a great text to relate to these marks. Romans 12:9-21 is often entitled "Marks of the True Christian" and it's a powerful list of entreaties written by a man named Paul. Depending on how you break them up, there are 25 or so ways to measure whether we have these marks. Let love be genuine. Do not lag in zeal. Be patient in suffering. Persevere in prayer. I think I may use this as a key text during these next 40-plus days of Lent as I wonder about the marks in/on my heart and whether people can see them as easily as a dragon or an ash cross.