Ashes

Yesterday was likely one of the most intense beginnings to the Lenten season I've ever had.

The last three years have gotten me adjusted to what fasting was like, so aside from the occasional hunger pains, it really wasn't that bad. I split a salad with another fasting friend for lunch, and got chickpeas (garbanzo beans or ceci beans) in it for protein. Tasty, and also worked really well. The one thing I really missed was chocolate, but I had a pudding cup after midnight. Haha, I'm such a slacker. ;)

I had the privilege of getting to serve at both Newman Masses yesterday, one as a lector and the other with music ministry. The first was celebrated by the pastor of the parish a few blocks down from my campus--our chaplain was over in the Student Center giving ashes out. We were joined by a guy that works at our bookstore that also happens to be a permanent deacon. It was all very solid, and Father's homily gave me something interesting to take away.

Despite growing up Catholic, I've never been to an Ash Wednesday Mass before, so it was all new to me. I didn't realize that to rend one's garments was a sign of grief or repentance. He suggested that rather than beating ourselves up over our sins, to shake off our lethargy and keep moving forward. If we allow ourselves to despair, then we've allowed sin to conquer us. That's why it's important to bounce back, confess and get back on the bandwagon as soon as possible.

Getting ashes brought on a lot of staring, incredulous questions, and even some rude comments. Considering one of my biggest stumbling blocks upon my reversion was being open about my faith, accepting ashes was a huge milestone. I admit experiencing a cold sense of dread as people stared at me on campus, and really had to struggle not to lower my eyes. By the end of the day, though, I was confidently looking back at them, almost daring someone to say something rude. In a small way, being marked with ashes is a lot like carrying the cross. The only difference is that in the West today, you typically won't be fed to lions for wearing an overt sign of Christian faith.

Last night at our meeting, Father talked about Jesus' time in the desert, and how Lent is our own invitation to enter the desert alone, to find ourselves. Immediately, I blanched--I know the desert well already, and the thought of it getting any worse makes me break into cold sweats. Heh. That said, it was a hard discussion to participate in, and I felt myself railing against some of the things he said, even choking up at a point when he asked us if we ever prayed, "God, why do we have to suffer so much for Your sake?" I knew then that it was time.

After a week of scheduling and rescheduling, I finally got a chance to go for spiritual direction with our chaplain. I'm not going to go into the details as it was very, very raw, but he pointed out a few areas that I can work on that may help to ease this darkness. More than anything, I have to accept that things work on God's time and not my own.

Allowing myself to break, fully and without reserve, in front of him was so scary. I was completely bare and vulnerable, putting myself entirely in his confidence (praise God for the seal of Confession!), and I realize now that this is exactly what Lent is about. We're to rend our hearts, to rip them open and lay ourselves prostrate and wounded at His feet. Like Christ in the desert, we show our wounds and allow ourselves to be ministered to.

...I'm terrified of that.

But, at the same time, I have a gut feeling that this is the start of deep healing for me. For so long now, I've done a halfhearted job of covering up my struggles instead of attacking them at my core. With regular direction, maybe I can finally have peace. Even now, it seems like little more than a dream.

All things are possible with Him and through Him, right? I guess all that's left to do is turn to my old mantra, not with fearful anxiety, but with peace in knowing He will come through for me. He is faithful.

Jesus, all over again, I trust in You!