St. Patrick’s Day

More than the story of the snakes

he drove from Ireland;

more than the flowing Guinness

and the Irish coffee laced

with Jamieson’s;

more than the green Chicago river

or the monster buttons 

urging ‘Kiss me, I’m Irish’--

more than parades and

green sweaters, shamrocks

and green-dyed carnations,

Irish soda bread,  

corned beef and cabbage--

all the trappings of being Irish

in America—

celebrating our lack

of authenticity.

St. Patrick’s Day is 

so American:

not quite real, but

trying desperately hard to be;

symbols and icons,

celebration and show,

and the conceit that we can be

whatever we want to be

if we work at it—

even Irish.

Action 12: Pray the paper

Sigh. I take it this does not mean that I can just pray for UVa to win today against Duke? Although that would be my prayer of choice.

It has always bothered me that people actually DO pray for sports teams to win. There was a priest at our church in Baltimore who routinely and publicly prayed for a Colts victory on winter Sundays, and even then, I wondered if God was a Colts fan, or whether He portioned out his favors amongst all the NFL teams--and, if so, what was His blessing schedule relative to the various teams. Did He change by the week, or by the year, or by the decade? Did He favor football over baseball or basketball or hockey? Was it just coincidence that football games were always played on Sundays (this before the days/nights of Monday Night Football...were we all keeping holy the Lord's (football) Day when we sighed and moaned and hallelujah-ed in front of the TV?) One wonders.

The difficult bit about 'praying the paper' is avoiding the blanket, one-prayer-serves-all type of prayer.  There are so many issues and events that appear to be beyond our power, that necessarily must be referred upward in the chain of command. I might be able to affect a corner of my own world by an act of prayer (a prayerful action), but when we launch off into the Washington-Post-headline level, I'm afraid that most things fall above my job description.

So, here's a collection of things I am powerless against, to name but a few:

• the finding of that Malaysian airliner (those poor passengers, their poor families)
• the Ukraine, the Crimea (people at the mercy of leaders who want power and will trample anyone in order to get it)
• political scandal (and the weariness of dealing with it; when will politicians--and their staffs-- realize that they will get caught, that anonymity no longer exists?)
• the weather (not just this endless winter, but the ill effects of storms and flood and fire and ice and snow and changed school schedules)
• the economy (including health care, the job market, the real estate market, the decline of cities, and the often irrational assignment of blame for problems therein)

Can I wrap these all up in a giant Hefty bag and put them it on God's doorstep and ring the bell? That doesn't seem quite right. 

I guess what this action is meant to do is to make me acknowledge that there is a world of problems beyond my power to solve, that I depend on the good offices of someone beyond my pay grade for help.  That is unavoidably true. It also demands that after that fact is acknowledged, I need to ask for help--not just for me and the Cavaliers or whatever frivolous 'wants' I might have, but for this world, of which I am a part. In spite of distance, time and condition, we are all connected, if only by our humanity and helplessness.

Actions 9 & 10 &11

When you manage to slip up on one of these 'do-it-every-day' resolutions, it gets easier and easier to just let it go. (Believe me, that has been my course of action in virtually every diet I've embarked upon...) But, here I am, ten days into Lent, 3 days behind, and trying to catch up because I know that I will be missing quite a few entries later in the season. It's inevitable.

Do someone else's chore. Buy a few $5 fast food gift cards to give to homeless people you encounter. Call an old friend. Certainly, this is an assortment of divergent activities--and I'm not so sure that any of them will move me any further along the path to Easter.

I've been doing someone else's chores for as long as I can remember; maybe not purposefully, as this action-item suggests, but most definitely. It almost seems to have come with the territory of being a wife and mother, a teacher or holder of any other kind of service role. Pick up the slack. Get things done. Don't rely on people doing what they say they'll do because you're bound to be disappointed. Do it yourself.

And those fast food gift cards. I make sandwiches for the homeless every month or so, that are distributed by one of the many organizations that try to help--but I don't really encounter homeless people that often. And I would wonder how, if they are homeless and without resources,  they would get to a McDonalds to cash those cards in. This doesn't seem a satisfactory effort to me.

Calling an old friend seems more like a reward than an improvement suggestion. Maybe I am just being curmudgeonly today, but I find myself arguing with the creator of these actions, at least on this week's incarnations thereof.

Instead of bustling around buying coupons and silently assuming responsibilities that aren't mine, instead of interrupting someone's day to indulge my own Lent-listed action item, perhaps I should stop excusing myself from my own chores, and should do the laundry, mop the kitchen floor, take the junk to the dump, and deliver on the many and varied promises I've made to assorted people for their projects. Clear the decks, as it were, and be the personification of all those good intentions. Number one on the list: catch up on the Lenten action items. Well, yes, sort of.

[Tomorrow: Pray the paper (pray for people and situations in the news..]

Action 8: No bitching day.

We can all look forward to a brief blog today, since bitching is what I do best. I complain--early and often. This should be the day when I close my mouth and monitor my impulses to speak. I should pay attention to my words and refrain, refrain, refrain from all the bitching I normally do.

It's cold out. (No comment.) Traffic is horrible. (No comment.) I have more errands today than time to complete them. (Silence.) This could be a very quiet day. Reflective. Observant. Thoughtful. And if I manage to clear my conversation of all my negative mumblings, I can see how truly fortunate I am. All the first world problems that I bemoan are nothing when compared to the real issues that beset everyone else.

Thank you for my 'problems', Lord, and give me grace to help solve those of your less-fortunate children..

Action 7: Give 5 items of clothing to Goodwill.

It's not just the clothes that this is about. It's letting go. I have things in my closet that I have never worn outside the dressing room where I tried them on. I have items in my china cabinet that have not seen the light of day--or night--for over twenty years, in spite of multiple moves (four, I think) in that period of time. Whether it be dresses or jackets or crystal or china, I have a hard time letting go.

There are times that this can be a virtue. I keep in touch with people longer than many people I know, sending birthday and Christmas cards, following on Facebook..(I'm not too good at picking up the phone, I'll admit.) I keep photos, I remember people, places and things, but when it comes down to getting rid of stuff, there is always the cautionary "I might need that someday" or "I paid so much for that--it's a shame.."

So here's the test: five things, five clothing items. And I am upping the ante here: they can't be the old stained or faded t-shirts that I dispose of at the end of each season. It might be the impractical shoes, or the jacket that just doesn't meld with the rest of my things (and yes, I've bought those..) It might be the sparkly dress I bought for a formal event or the one that would have looked so good on me, had I not acknowledged the twenty pounds that have altered my style somewhat. Whatever. Five meaningful items that I have clung to for far too long.

And while I am at it, maybe I should divest myself of a few other things: a bad habit or two, a few vices that I've been unable to give up for Lent (or for any other reason), an attitude or three that aren't that becoming anymore--if they ever were. Maybe I can dispense with the trendy points of view that I've become comfortable with, and shop around for replacements. Or make room for even better things that only God knows I need.

I think I can find my way to Goodwill, and perhaps even the dump.

[Action 8: No bitching day.]

Action 6: Look out the window until you find something of beauty you had not noticed before

Window-Gazing at the Folger

Window: Great Hall of the Folger Shakespeare Library

 

These windows are miracles:

organizing the sky into squares 

and rectangles

of stained-glass blue,

contained in silver tracery:

a glass geometry,

a forever joy.

Order.

My living room window frames

other wonders: 

streets full of peaceful

homes, paved roads,

brick lined paths for 

people walking dogs,

pushing strollers,

patterns for movement.

Order.

An inestimable blessing to

live in this window of calm

on this clockwork planet,

in an unfinished utopia ready

for assembly, ready for our hands,

ready for the Architect

of all order.

[Action 7: Give 5 items of clothing to Goodwill.]

Action 5: Take five minutes of silence at noon

How long five minutes can be
when measuring it in teaspoons of silence.
Don't close my eyes;
too easy to sleep or daydream.
Don't focus on my watch,
and count the sluggardly minutes,
begrudging the lack of words.

Instead, be aware of light and shadow;
experience the fluttering breath of air
that stirs a leaf beyond the glass, that lifts
a wingspread bird toward a higher branch.
Be conscious of the March sun's warmth,
its bright quadrangles sprawled
across the wooden floor where lies the cat.
God is in these details,
speaking.

For my midday sustenance,
silence at noon.
Laid to rest is the discord of the day.
In the midst of these measured hours,
I am alpha and omega, situated
between past regret and future anxiety,
listening.

Like Samuel, Lord, here I am.


[Tomorrow: Action 6: Look out the window until you find something of beauty you had not noticed before.]

Action 4--Give $20 to a non-profit of your choosing.

And here we are: just after I conclude that these actions are designed to make me look inward...presto! Here is one to make me look outside myself.....maybe. There are a zillion non-profits out there, so you DO have to look inside to see which you think is truly important. However, picking one cause to donate to involves a lot of weeding out. I am inclined toward local organizations because it seems to me that 'grass roots' is where the work gets done and the benefits are realized.

Our church has a 'family-to-family' program that is supported through various means--most recently, the silent auction at our congregational dinner. If I have it right, we set aside a small chunk of money each week that is distributed via social workers who call in to ask for help for individuals in dire need. Sometimes that money pays an electric bill, sometimes it buys shoes, or a meal--it HELPS in whatever way is most needed at the moment. No salaries are paid, no administrative costs, no bureaucracy--just help. Sad to say, that money disappears in minutes after its release each week. Someone once said to me, "Wouldn't it be nice to have enough money to have it last all day?" Yes, it would. Or all week.

So, on the better-person meter, where does today leave me? $20 poorer, but come on. One $20 bill doesn't make much difference to most of us, but if it can feed a family dinner, or keep the lights on, or the heat going, it's money well-spent.

Looking out in this way raises awareness of how fortunate I am in having all that I need, and more. I am fortunate that my family is provided for, that there's food on the table and warmth in our house, and books and clothing and transportation and safety for us all.

That's what today's action is really about: I have enough to spare. So do it.

Action 3: Don't turn on the car radio.

Sometimes this is not very hard at all. Turning on the radio opens up my safe little personal envelope of all-is-well and lets in the slings and arrows of outrageous MISfortune that often seem to populate my world. Violence in the Crimea, violence in the city, violence in my little corner of Virginia: I don't always want to be up to date. This winter, every broadcast includes reports of cars skittering off highways and yet another storm, polar vortex, disturbance, whatever, heading our way with sleet, freezing rain, wintry mix, snow or bitter cold  (pick one, no--two, oh hell, pick all of them!) in its wake. Not what I want to hear.

However, I'm beginning to detect a pattern in these recommended actions for Lent. All of them seem to direct me to be more mindful of my environment, and to turn my attention more inward than outward--at least for the moment.

When I turn off the radio (or don't turn it on) I am forced to listen to myself, and sometimes, I don't like what I hear. You see, I talk to myself, as well as to pedestrians and to other drivers, to whomever has recently set me off at home or in my family...I go back and decide what I SHOULD have said, or what I SHOULD have done. I would say that such behavior is unproductive, but it's really not. What it does is it recasts all these conversations and occurrences in my favor; it alters reality in such a way that I am the one who is right, and all my invisible conversation partners are wrong. Sometimes it takes listening to yourself to hear what you're doing wrong. And certainly, it takes a little noise modulation to allow me to hear what other messages might be coming through.

So. Love enemies. Abandon my car--at least for the day--and live in the real world. Now, turn back the noise level so I can hear, not only what I am saying to myself, but perhaps, what God is saying to me.

[Tomorrow: Action 4--Give $20 to a non-profit of your choosing.]

Action 2: Walk, carpool, bike, or bus it.

Like most Americans, I’m addicted to my car. I admit it: there are times when I actually get into my car and drive one block to the grocery store. I am not proud of that, but sometimes, if I have some heavy items on my list—milk, OJ, kitty litter-- I use that to justify my own laziness. It is so easy just to drive everywhere.

So.  Walk, carpool, bike, or bus it. Why is this an action item for the second day in Lent? The easy answer is that it’s better for the environment. Green is good. Saving energy is better for all of us. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Heard that song before, and I know it’s true. But how does this make me a better person?

I remember when I was a kid and walked to school (and yes, it was one mile to school and one mile back, uphill both ways) and on those back and forths,  I did a lot of …nothing. I daydreamed. I looked at the sky. I looked at everything around me. I NOTICED things. The color of the hill at the foot of my street when the sun hit it in mid-afternoon, the sound and the scent of rain on the sidewalk. I made up songs. I made up stories. I thought. I imagined. I grew my brain.

When the walks to school gave way to bus rides, I still had lots of down time, punctuated of course by finding a seat on the bus, or being the object of a little old lady’s polite conversation—but essentially time of my own, all in my head, unclaimed by anyone but me.

There isn’t much down time anymore for any of us. Perhaps that is the growth opportunity we’re pursuing here.  Not energy conservation, not exercise, but  rediscovering space-- to think, to dream, to puzzle through all our questions, to take the time to slow down, step out of our fast-paced cars, and actually live in the world rather than in our little mobile capsules. To be still, and to know there is a God.  

[Tomorrow's Action 3: Don't turn on the car radio.]

Action 1: Love your enemies.

Today is the day to love my enemies. What a kick-off to forty days of improvement! 

There aren’t that many true enemies around nowadays—at least of the ‘kill or be killed’ variety. Most of the enemies I encounter are of the everyday genre that keep me from being my best self, that tap-dance on my last nerve and drive me to behavior unworthy of any Christian.

Who’s the enemy? It’s the co-worker who somehow manages to make me feel inferior at every encounter. (Is an enemy just somebody you’d like to throttle now and then?) It’s the guy who zooms past me in traffic, then cuts in front of me to take the next exit. It’s the stoplight system that sees me coming and stops me at every blessed intersection when I’m in a hurry. (You gotta love stoplights?)  It’s the bad grammar and misspelled words in a newspaper article or Facebook post. It’s all of the above: the myriad occasions when I stop seeing how fortunate I AM, and focus on what’s in my way--on the impediments, rather than the journey.

So, how do you love all this? Can I look at these personal stumbling blocks as simply ‘first-world problems’ and turn them into occasions for gratitude? When that guy at work flaunts his so-called ‘superior’ skills, can I look for something he can teach me? The rude woman who jumps the line at the bank gives me an extra moment to get my own transaction in order, right? I should say ‘thank you’ (without the dose of sarcasm I’d normally inject) The stoplights? Well, I have to work on them some more. Maybe if I resolve to say a quick prayer at every intersection (as long as it’s not “Please, God, let it stay green..”) I can turn even that into an opportunity for grace.

Loving enemies…maybe the biggest enemy is myself. Loving my enemy may be as simple as changing my own combative attitude to something more like acceptance and peace.

[Tomorrow’s action: “Walk,  carpool, bike, or bus it.”—Now, THAT shouldn’t be too hard…]

Lent: Coming Distractions

It has been called to my attention that Lent begins tomorrow. Largely by the proliferation of Mardi Gras/ Shrove Tuesday posts on Facebook. I have cheerfully fallen in with this fact, as it means that today I am honor-bound to make fastnachts--a squarish doughnut whose preparation on this day is traditional for those of us of German descent. So. Fastnachts today, Lent tomorrow. Indulgence, then guilt.

Lent has always seemed to me to be peculiarly Roman Catholic. Perhaps it's the penitence thing, the guilt, the giving up of anything that gives pleasure, be it candy or ice cream or movies or TV, or (God forbid) the internet or social media. I sort of grew up with the mindset (inculcated by the good sisters who taught me) that if it was easy or fun, it must be bad for you and pursuing whatever it was would be damaging in the long run and would garner you no merit in the kingdom of heaven. That explains a lot about my life, I imagine--most notably, why I majored in chemistry rather than English.

But, here I am, on the verge of another Lenten season, unprepared to 'give up' anything for Lent, yet beset by guilt for not doing so. Facebook, however (who saves me in a variety of ways) has provided --through the good offices of my friends--some suggestions of positive things to do in order to live a holier Lenten life: a list of forty actions to be taken, and (in my case, since it all comes down to writing) to be explored and written about--one for each day.

So..tomorrow: Love your enemies (at least for the day..)