The question asked by Lent is often read as, “What will you
give up this year?” St. Benedict focuses
on this question when he directs us: “let each one deny himself some food,
drink, sleep, needless talking and idle jesting” (RB 49:7). Most of us have memories of caffeine free,
sugar free, or snack free Lent, with accompanying withdrawal pains—not all of
them physical! Refusing our own stubborn
self-will whatever its little heart desires, even craves, is a salutary
exercise, open to expansion into other areas of life such as habits of judgement,
criticism, and complaint. And, of
course, their often-hidden companion, gossip.
However, I would like to suggest a different image for self-denial.
We do not have to look very far or very deep
to discover the issue of “too-muchness” in our lives and in the world around us:
too much food and drink, too much money, too much “stuff,” too much activity,
too much of everything except time! Lurking
behind all this too-muchness is the specter of unchosen deprivation: too little
food and drink in countless places at home and abroad, too little money for
necessities, too little clothing, too little shelter, too little education, too
little employment. Lent does not forget
these harsh realities: one of the strong
traditional practices of the season is alms-giving in all its forms.
However, for many of us “too-muchness” deafens us to the
sufferings of those who have too little.
Lent sharpens our attention on what hinders generosity at its root: the
tiny world of me and my personal too-muchness in all its forms. For Benedictines, devoted to and defined by
the Scriptures as we are, St. Paul points to a powerful tool for addressing correction
imbalance in ourselves, before we try to take on the world’s problem and our
own contribution to them. After
reminding us that the real battle in which the cosmos is immersed is not with
flesh and blood but with the powers of evil that so often manipulate humanity
to its mutual destruction. The monastic
tradition, since all the way back in its desert days, has always taken that
battle very seriously. And so
must we. St. Paul proposes a list of
armor and weapons that is well worth pondering in this season (Ephesians
6:10-17, to which I would add vs.18), but among them is one that particularly strikes
my attention: “the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God” (Ephesians
6:17).
The Letter to the Hebrews adds: “the word of God is living
and effective, sharper than any two-edged sword” (Heb 4:12). Further, it penetrates
“between soul and spirit, joints and marrow, and [and is] able to discern
reflections and thoughts of the heart” (also v. 12), Surely at one time or another, all of us, in
the course of our lectio or praying of the Hours have had the experience of
being cut to the heart by a word, a phrase, an image, a story from this
bottomless well of life that is always at our fingertips. As we travel through Lent, we can make ample use
of this very powerful weapon, not of our own design but of God’s, to cut
through the layers of our life, exposing various cherished bits of
too-muchness, and, deeper, exposing what needs or desires drive us to
accumulate them. We may sometimes want
to make use of those needs and desires as excuses—hark back to Adam and Eve in
the garden, hiding in the bushes and defending their “little” dietary
transgression by all sorts of finger-pointing (Gn 3)! It can be very enlightening and empowering to
uncover the deeper reasons for our too-muchness in our past, but translating reasons
into excuses is just finding a better set of bushes to hide in. The Sword will free us by cutting away all the
bushes, if can find the courage to see ourselves naked, stripped of all our subterfuges, disguises and, yes, excuses.
This Sword comes with no instruction manual. There is only one real instruction we need in
the process of our Lenten conversion from slavery in all its varied and
sometimes subtle forms to the freedom of the Spirit. It’s the one St. Benedict himself puts in our
hands: “Listen!” Not, of course, with
the ears attached to the sides of our head, but with “the ears of the heart”. While
sharp objects are not generally recommended for dealing with wax-deafened ears,
the Sword that is God’s Word cannot be bettered as a remedy against self-chosen
deafness!
Try it! You might not
like it—I often don’t! —but you will certainly come to hear more and more
clearly St. Benedict’s encouraging words: “What, dear brothers and sisters, is
more delightful than this voice of the Lord calling to us? See how the Lord in
his love shows us the way of life…. Do not be daunted immediately by fear and
run away from the road that leads to salvation. It is bound to be narrow at the
outset. But as we progress in this way of life and in faith, we shall run on
the path of God’s commandments, our hearts overflowing with the inexpressible
delight of love" (RB Prologue 19-20.48-49).
Oh, and when you take up this sword in the form of your
Bible or book of Hours, remember that it is “living and active” because the Word is not
primarily a book. The Word of God is a Person, the Person we are
called to prefer above all else: Jesus
Christ (see John 1:1-14).
©2022, Abbey of St. Walburga