The Knitting Theologian

Today is the solemnity of the Annunciation, when the Church pauses in the midst of Lent to reflect on the Incarnation of Jesus Christ, who became human like us in all things except sin. I cannot reflect on the Incarnation without thinking of the free consent of Mary, the necessary condition for the Incarnation.

But I also kept thinking of the poem, “Annunciation” by Denise Levertov, which a friend pointed me to earlier this year. There is a wonderful passage in that poem about the “moments of annunciation” that occur in the lives of all humans.

Aren’t there annunciations
of one sort or another
in most lives?
                   Some unwillingly
undertake great destinies,
enact them in sullen pride,
uncomprehending.
             More often
those moments
     when roads of light and storm
     open from darkness in a man or woman,
are turned away from
in dread, in a wave of weakness, in despair
and with relief.
Ordinary lives continue.
                                 God does not smite them.
But the gates close, the pathway vanishes.

Reflecting back on my life, I could think of times when I had turned away from such moments in fear or dread or my own obstinate, stubborn refusal, when I had chosen myself over something much bigger than that.

It’s true that I have not been smited. It is also true that other pathways have opened, and that now I have been able, a few times, to step onto a road of light and storm. As a matter of fact, I’m on one. I have no idea where it is leading me. I only know that every time I stop and stamp my foot, fold my arms, turn my back on God, staying put is worse than going forward into the unknown.

Here is the text of the whole poem, in case you would like to read it.

Growing up, I don’t remember hearing the term “mortification” in connection with Lent. Of course we kids “gave up” something for Lent, and I remember thinking that it was just something you were supposed to do. The way I heard the term “mortification” back then was in a sense of personal embarrassment, as in “I was so mortified when I discovered I’d gone through the whole day at school with a hole in the back of my pants!”

As an adult, when I encountered the term “mortification” in spiritual reading, I usually skipped right over it. That was for religious freaks, or people with a martyr complex. Not for me! I was fine! God didn’t need me to do any of that old-fashioned mortification stuff. In my mind, “that old-fashioned mortification stuff” consisted of things like wearing a hair shirt (pretty difficult to find at, say, Target) or whipping yourself with a knotted cord (I couldn’t even poke my own finger for a blood sample in high school biology).

Well, interesting things happen in a midlife conversion process. This Lent, I am exploring the idea of mortification in a broader way. I have come to see how attached to the things of this world I am, and I have done enough spiritual reading to know that the saints and the great theologians just about unanimously endorse some form of mortification as a way to detach from the things of this world and set our hearts on eternity.

This morning, while working in the book In Conversation with God, I found a discussion on the difference between passive and active mortifications, and some information that hit me right where it hurt:

As well as those mortifications known as “passive” – mortifications which present themselves to us without our looking for them – the mortifications that we propose to ourselves (and seek out) are called active mortifications. Amongst these, the mortifications which refer to the control of our internal senses are especially important for our interior progress and for enabling us to achieve purity of heart. These are: mortification of the imagination – avoiding that interior monologue in which fantasy runs wild, by trying to turn it into a dialogue with God, present in our soul in grace. We try to put a restraining check on that tendency of ours to go over and over some little happening in the course of which we have come off badly. No doubt we have felt slighted, and have made much of an injury to our self-esteem, caused to us quite unintentionally. If we don’t apply the brake in time, our conceit and pride will cause us to overbalance until we lose our peace and presence of God. Mortification of the memory – avoiding useless recollections which make us waste time and which could lead us into more serious temptations. Mortification of the intelligence – so as to put it squarely to the business of concentrating on our duty at this moment and, also, on many occasions of surrendering our own judgment so as to live humility and charity with others in a better way. (Francis Fernandez, In Conversation with God: Daily Meditations, Volume Two: Lent and Eastertide, New York: Scepter Publishers, 2007, p. 18)

No hair shirt or whip here—but just as difficult, if not more difficult, a task. I don’t actually know whether I can manage to avoid any one of these for more than five minutes. But today I am going to try.

1. Lenten resolutions made? Check.
2. All articles of temptation out of the house? Check. (Although it was a squeaker tonight, but hey, it’s Fat Tuesday!)
3. Spiritual disposition at the ready? Check.  (For your own amusement or edification, check out this article about whether you are an Advent person or a Lent person. Full disclosure? I know I am a Lent person.)

Pray

1. Pray Evening Prayer each evening. I have been praying Morning Prayer from the Liturgy of the Hours for years, but this Lent I commit to adding Evening Prayer. Note that I will have to stretch the definition of “evening,” since I sometimes don’t get home until close to 9:00 PM. Or later.
2. Attend Stations of the Cross at my parish each Friday evening at 7:00.
3. Work with Fr. Benedict Groeschel’s Lenten meditations in The King,  Crucified and Risen.

Fast

1. Fast from alcohol, chocolate, cookies, snacks, afternoon lattes. Place money saved in Rice Bowl. (Note to self: assemble Rice Bowl, a one-minute origami project.)
2. Fast from food entirely (liquid only) on Ash Wednesday and all Fridays in Lent.
3. Fast every weekday (one main meal and two smaller meals, sufficient to maintain strength). Also fast from obsessing about fasting.

Give

1. Give money saved from lattes ($2.50), alcohol, snacks and so on to Rice Bowl (see # 1 under Fast).
2. Give away unnecessary stuff (like those boxes I haven’t unpacked since I moved back in November).
3. Don’t shop on Sunday. (Yeah, I know this is symbolic. I mean, the stores aren’t going to stop being open on Sunday just because I don’t shop. But still.)

Ash Wednesday is a week away, but I’ve been thinking about Lenten observation for a few weeks already. I already know, for example, that I will give up alcohol. (The Knitting Theologian likes her wine.)

I am contemplating giving up caffeine, as many of my friends have urged me to do, but I’m worried about doing without it. (The Knitting Theologian might like coffee even better than wine.)

For the rest of it—prayer, fasting, almsgiving—I’m still thinking.

Today I pulled a book off my shelf that I used last year during Lent. It’s a resource that pulls together Lenten customs, practices, and prayers into one place, and I recommend it highly. It’s called “The Essential Lenten Handbook,” by Redemptorist Pastoral Publications and published by Ligouri Publications.

I also found a set of online resources yesterday from Loyola Press that I haven’t really gone through yet. I did sign up for the online Lenten retreat for women, though, which, by the way, is free.

How are you planning to observe Lent?