I remember when I was a postdoc fellow, and I went with another fellow, who was and is Catholic, to stations of the cross in a historic church in the Charlestown neighborhood of Boston. It was the first time I was in a Catholic church for many years, and while I expected mixed feelings (and got it), the strongest was one of necessary sadness. Like seeing an old friend whom you couldn't see for really good reasons.
The Catholic church, in my mind, is at its best during Lent. Not even in a high Episcopalean church can, in my view, you get the experience the Catholic church offers. Stations of the cross puts you into Easter, where you can begin to feel all that Jesus went through.
Last Sunday, I was in D.C., where there is a strong Catholic presence, with beautiful, large and vibrant Catholic churches. I went to one. (No, I didn't go to National Cathedral). And, as much as I love the Methodist church, and as much as I prefer simple, low churches, it again made me long for the Catholic Lenten experience.
But, there is something about Lent in the Catholic church that I think embodies a lot of the reason I am Protestant, and something I cannot figure out for the life of me.
In the Catholic tradition, believers are encouraged to give up something. The spirit of it is easy to understand of course; we are almost uniformly inadequate at putting God in his rightful place, first above all other things.
But i always thought it peculiar, and, moreover, thought it would be much more beneficial to, instead of give something up, add something.
Maybe visiting the relatively forgotten in hospitals, or stopping to talk to those living on the streets. Maybe making an effort to read a chapter of Scripture a day, or make an extra effort to understand other people's point of views that you just can't quite figure out how they could think or act like that (say Donald Trump's).
For me, it tends to place in this category: forgiveness.
Forgiveness is perhaps the hardest of all Jesus' commandments. To really, really bear down to think through how you could deeply forgive someone who has hurt you significantly, repeatedly, and, without awareness, care or remorse, is an extraordinary challenge. It's one that is very draining, particularly because going into it you know its a one-way street, a unilateral effort, a task that there is no satisfaction, except knowing that you are following your King.
To add the act of forgiveness is, in my mind, a great way to expend Lenten energy. It requires hanging onto Scripture. It requires remembering the extraordinary story of Easter. It requires actively believing in Jesus as Lord, Savior, and priority. Ultimately, it is not about the person you are pardoning for hurting you. It is about God pardoning us through an almost inconceivable act, one that is as impossible to believe as it is impossible to ignore. When we choose to forgive, something in fact, I trust and feel, happens. When we forgive, that bridge from disbelief in an outrageous story of God coming down to Earth in ancient times that only insane people would believe, is drawn and lowered. And it allows us to pass to the realization that this enormously silly story is something more. Something true, something miraculous, and the cornerstone of the story of humanity.
