Right around Ash Wednesday my youngest sister introduced me to Wordle. Because she plays it daily, I thought I would join her. After all, it’s a sisterly thing to do and a great way to keep in touch. She’s quite good at it, but she doesn’t brag. Instead, she sends an “innocuous” sentence that has no obvious reference to her word dexterity. But I already know the sun is “splendid” and Zelensky’s leadership is “impressive” and occasionally work makes me say “phew.” While I don’t allow myself too many minutes to arrange the yellow and green letters, I keep at it long enough to come close to my sister’s score. And then I send my own “innocuous” message.
Should I give up Wordle for Lent? Well, National Catholic Reporter recently had an article in the March 4-17 issue titled “Wordle Reminds Us that Pleasure Has its Place, Waiting Has Its Benefits.” The author spoke of the patience and temperance required to wait another day to play again. Self-control is certainly a good thing, a worthy Lenten practice. Need I say that it’s easier to practice Meatless Mondays than Wordle-less Wednesdays?
Oxymorons are fun. Who has not been “clearly misunderstood”? Who has not tasted something “awfully good”? Matching oxymorons with Lent may be “true fiction.” But let me remind you that the most significant oxymoron, the one on which we base our faith and our eternal salvation is “life-giving death.”
The Paschal Mystery—Christ’s death and resurrection—is Lent’s theme, its purpose, its culmination. Ash Wednesday begins with a “crash landing” of purple and deserts and no snacks. We wonder if losing weight is the reason we forego sweets, and we realize that that’s a “definite maybe.” If we search our hearts, we “find missing” the period of prayer that should be included in our daily schedules, and so we resolve with “optimistic pessimism” to attend weekly Stations. The Passion Narrative read year after year may be “old news,” but it’s still the supreme Good News. We join our voices with the “small crowd” yelling “Hosanna!” Then there’s the “deafening silence” of the sealed tomb. The ending of Lent’s journey is an “open secret.” We all know that Christ’s victory on the first Easter Sunday is our victory too. Although a “bittersweet” time, the forty days that we try to follow Our Lord more closely help us to die to ourselves to live for God.
We’ve all had the opportunity to ask ourselves, “Now what should I do?” Perhaps it was a time of transition like job loss or retirement. Maybe the question followed a problem. In the well-known gospel story, we hear a rich young man ask, “Good teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life? I’ve already kept all the commandments.” As we begin Lent, we ask with the rich young man, “Now what should I do?” Jesus’ response to the rich young man answers our Lenten dilemma. “Come, follow me.”
What does “Come, follow me” mean for us?
“Oh, the possibilities!” sounds like a phrase from a Dr. Seuss book. But it also characterizes who we will be in heaven. Maria von Trapp wrote: “We shall remain the individuals we have been here on earth, but the possibilities which were created into us shall now find fulfillment.” We have a lifetime to reach our full potential, but I imagine that we all fall a bit short. The super athlete who misses the gold. The novelist whose works never made it to Oprah’s book club list. The contestant who lost on Jeopardy. The parents who feel they could have done more for their children. Those who lost jobs through no fault of their own. We may have time before our deaths to reflect on the “incompletes” in our lives. Yet we hope that God’s face will shine on us and bring to completion all that God intended when God created us. I’m looking forward to the possibilities.
My dad bent steel with mathematical precision for the amusement park rides at Cedar Point in Sandusky, Ohio. That was his full-time employment, yet I tended to think of him as a farmer. While I never went into the steel factory, I could see him daily working in the fields or barn of our small farm, feeding the cattle, harvesting the crops.
Six miles from our farm was the Sorrowful Mother Shrine in Bellevue, Ohio. Our family often went there for Mass or devotions. When walking through the woods to pray the rosary, I would see the Stations of the Cross and an occasional statue. Having moved from home over 50 years ago, I see several additions to the Shrine’s devotional sites. One that I find most fitting is the addition of St. Isidore and his wife Maria. The shrine was designed with the rustic look of a barn, complete with some farm tools. Simple farmers have a place in the roll call of the saints. The saying “Close to the sod, close to God” apparently is true. Certainly, it was true for my dad.
It is my privilege to write our sisters’ obituaries. Fortunately, I am supplied with many statistics: names of family members, dates of birth and religious profession, years and places in active ministry, and perhaps a newspaper article or two announcing achievements or awards. Invariably I am surprised by the information I never knew about the Sister. I may have known her as a teacher, but sitting in a classroom rarely affords me insight into her hobbies and talents. If I never lived with the sister, I can’t appreciate her personality or witness her idiosyncrasies or learn she is a master of quick puns. Each sister is so much more than I think she is. Maybe you and I are so much more than we think we are, too.
I was riding in the passenger seat of a hearse when the funeral director asked me, “What do you like best about your job?” We had just left a cemetery where I led a prayer for a person who had no relatives or friends. My answer was quick in coming: “The split second when family enters the funeral home, and our eyes meet. They seem so relieved to know someone is there for them.” I could have added, “My other favorite time occurs when the family leaves after visitation hours, and I hear, ‘You stayed the whole time for us.’”
When I memorized the works of mercy as a kid, I wondered if I’d ever have burying the dead as part of my ticket into heaven. Well, I don’t know whether it’s a ticket into heaven, but it is my privilege here on earth. Families face so many details when a loved one dies. Remembering details during a time of sorrow is nearly impossible. As staff support I may be able to answer some questions or perhaps foresee a need. As I stand at the entrance of the funeral home to greet, I pray short prayers for the deceased. “May they rest in peace.” And may the loved ones find bits of peace and solace through the ministry of funeral home personnel.
I wonder what Saint Valentine thinks about Valentine’s Day. The Church certainly remembers him, but the feast gives all the recognition to Saints Cyril and Methodius. Go figure. I see one connection, however. The two brothers were sent off in 863 to Slavic nations. While missionaries before them were teaching the people in Latin, the two brothers invented a Slavonic alphabet, translated the Scriptures, and thus founded Slavonic literature. Their missionary efforts were quite successful and became the model of inculturation for future missionaries. The brothers’ hearts were focused on the people they served. These German brothers threw in their lot and shared in everything. Their hearts became inclusive with their love for a different nationality.
On Valentine’s Day let’s examine the inclusiveness of our hearts. What is our attitude toward migrants and immigrants? Is there any culture we look upon with suspicion? Do we encourage learning more than one language? How open are our hearts to differences?
Recently I read a meditation that reminded me of the many times in our formation years we were told to be single-minded. Not surprisingly when I looked for the author’s name, it was a Sister of Notre Dame! There’s something about the straight forwardness of being single-minded that leaves no room for waffling. A hymn that “says it like it is” is Rory Cooney’s “We Will Serve the Lord.” The composer repudiates pleasure, idols, gold, power. The refrain rejects all siren calls: “As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord!”
Our foundress, Sister Maria Aloysia Wolbring, wrote succinctly with single-minded focus. No room is left for alternatives. Here are a couple examples: “We should do all things in the name of Jesus.” “The dear God has always taken care and will certainly continue to do so.” May we Sisters of Notre Dame, our Associates and readers do all in the name of Jesus with trust that God will always take care of us.
My mind could win a gold medal at being sidetracked. I like to think that’s a sign of creativity—even genius–but it’s far from that. No athlete gets a medal for skating or swimming into another lane. Not being focused gets us out of bounds. (I bet we all have wondered, “What am I doing here?” or “What did I come here for?”) Then we bring our mind back into bounds and realize our lack of attention only gives us more steps—unnecessary ones—in our day.
“OK, Valerie,” I tell myself. “Now you’ve lost some precious minutes retracing your steps.” So? I try—when I remember! —to get some good from my sidetrack. While I’m going back up or down the stairs, while I’ll going into the room where I should have been in the first place, I pray, “Praise and thanks!” Three words that are adoration, lifting my scatter-brained head to God, turning my heart in the direction where it should always be. For this, “Praise and thanks!”