Lent 23 ~ A Time to Heal

 

One thing good about Martha’s Vineyard being seasonal is that every year when the tourist season ends and everyone goes home, the island has a chance to heal from the summer onslaught.   ~  Susan Branch

 

                In this time of lockdown or Movement Control Order, it is all too easy to focus on the dark and the negative. On the mounting death toll. On the risks. On the endless what-if’s. I’ve lived too much of my life under the shadow of fear and I won’t go there now. Nonetheless, I’m not buying into the bliss of intentional ignorance either. That’s irresponsible. We must do what we must to be safe and to keep others safe too.

          It is a time of genuine worry and fear. But there’s something else too. Something beautiful out of all this pain and uncertainty.

It is a time of healing

          We need to heal from our dependency on the heady brew of the conveniences of daily life. We need to heal from takeaways, home deliveries and online shopping, just to name a few. They have made things so easy for us, and many of us have come to depend quite a bit on such services. And that’s fine.

          But sometimes, we take our dependency too far. We make excuses to use these services to avoid going out even when it’s safe to do so. We deprive ourselves of a good walk in the sun. We choose to instead stare and pin pictures of spring blooms instead of stepping out and feasting on the many surprises which surround us. We send each other online bouquets or use florist services instead of making up a small posy of blooms from our own little plots.

          When we return home tired from work, the takeaway beckons enticingly, and we tell ourselves we need a break, that a meal prepared from scratch, even a simple one, is too much of trouble. It’s fine when it’s an occasional option, but sometimes, we let ourselves go and make it a habit, and too soon, it becomes something we cannot do without.

          In my little town where we are free from at least the stress of traffic and long lines, many of my townspeople have come to overly rely on food services and food vendors for their daily meals. Eating out is not a luxury here. From the wealthiest to the poorest, almost everyone either dines out or sends out for food. On the rare occasion that people cook, there’s again that heavy reliance on ready made dips and marinades.

They want Grandma’s cooking but someone’s got to do all the heavy lifting for them.

          Over time, little by little, we begin to lose all that was bequeathed to us from generations before. We either forgo gardens or we procure the services of professional gardeners. We search out restaurants and cafés for the warm memories of old kitchens and food cooked with love. We don’t trouble ourselves cooking for our kids and family. We prefer to work than to return home to the whining and groaning of our kids. We hire home tutors and use that as an excuse to remain longer at work because that’s so much easier on our tempers than to struggle with our children over homework and exam preps.

          But with a lockdown, with restricted movement, all our previous refuges have to be vacated. We can’t go to work. Restrictions take away the luxury of some of the services that have become an unhealthy staple in our lives. It’s a terrible time. But even with Stay At Home orders, life still needs to go on. We need to make important financial decisions. But kids need to learn too. Family needs to be fed. House needs to be cleaned. Other needs need to be met as well. But no one’s there any more to do it for us.

We’re on our own

          It can be daunting, it can be frustrating. Some days can be hour after hour of mistake after mistake. But times like this can also be beautiful. Just like that beautiful island that benefitted from tourist dollars needs the rest of the year to heal from the effects of tourism, we too need this downtime to heal from certain conveniences that might have made life easier but also eroded life of value.

          We heal by going back to basics. We heal by simplicity. We heal by doing things ourselves as opposed to always depending on someone else.

          We heal by taking the time to do things. We heal by stepping back from rush and speed and instead, begin to savour moments.

          We’ve been given a gift. Let’s take it. Let’s go home to heal.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lent 22 ~ Burn and Beam Always

To Jesus Abandoned

O Divine Jesus, lonely tonight in so many Tabernacles,
without visitor or worshiper,
I offer You my poor heart.
May its every throb be an act of love for You.
You are always watching beneath the Sacramental Veils;
in Your Love You never sleep
and You never weary
of Your vigil for sinners.
O lonely Jesus
may the flame of my heart
burn and beam always in company with You.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lent 19 ~ Night of Four Crosses

We have in our day no prince, prophet, or leader,
no burnt offering, sacrifice, oblation, or incense,
no place to offer first fruits, to find favor with You.
But with contrite heart and humble spirit
let us be received;
As though it were burnt offerings of rams and bullocks,
or thousands of fat lambs,
So let our sacrifice be in Your presence today…   ~  Daniel 3: 38 – 40

 

          I had been praying with blessed oil for physical and mental healing of a few people. Then, I missed the prayers two days in a row. Today, I went back to the blessed oil – but with an odd knowing – I am to pray differently. As if the missed days were some sort of marker, a break to indicate a transition of intention. So, I trace the Cross on my forehead today and pray a special Protection Prayer for all I carry in my heart – beloved family and friends, – and well, for the not so beloved by me too.

          Restricted Movement Order issued. A few steps removed from complete lockdown. From being cheery and carefree yesterday – despite knowing about the order – today – a strange urgency and uneasiness descends upon me late this morning.

          On business in the city, far from home. I’ve got to get home, I’ve got to get home. No panic. Just urgent.

          In the face of the pandemic, I had asked my husband a few days ago if we needed to stock up on essentials, in case we went into lockdown. No, we’re fine, he replied confidently. I left it, trusting him.

          Today, I’m away from home in the morning, and he calls me and tells me he’s gone and bought us enough supplies.

          This wasn’t what we discussed yesterday. My stomach tightens at what made him change his mind.

          I’m driving back in the afternoon. Uneasiness increasing. I probe it, trying to discern the reason. I tell myself it’s to do with the Restricted Movement Order, but deep inside I’m not so sure. I pray for the safety of all in my heart. Anxiety increases.

Jesus, place Thy hand upon my heart, I pray. If it’s from You, tell me what to do. If not, take it away.

In a slice, the tension vanishes.

          I reach home. Life goes on. I’m my old self again.

          Hours later, returning home with my husband late at night after a quick trip to the town, I think of the empty church in the city and in many places the world over. Masses and prayer services cancelled. This was prophesied centuries ago, I tell my husband as I alight from the car.

          Looking up at the dark night sky, the Southern Cross constellation catches my eye. Nothing new. Every time we get home at night, I see it when I get out of the car. I pause and gaze awhile at it. As I always do.

          But as I shut the car door behind me, I catch sight of a second Southern Cross. My husband has busied himself with his roses. I turn back to the sky, trying to puzzle out what I’m seeing. A mirror image of the first constellation. I must be mad.

          I call for my calm and practical husband and he comes. And he sees it too.

          Then, he raises his finger towards the dark sky, dotted by a million diamonds. There’s a third Cross, he points out.

          And he is right. Out of all the stars, yet another set of 4 especially bright ones, unmistakably positioned as a Cross.

          I am calm. No fear nor excitement. Fully alert.

          Look, says my husband again. There’s a fourth.

          Four Crosses in the southern night sky.