Ah Lent! That weird Catholic pysch trip that we take every Spring. Bearing faux crosses formed of chocolate, wine and texting, we plan temptations, frustrations and even failure. Non-Catholic friends are going on cruises and planning Spring break vacations. Are we mad? Does turning off the google-chat or foregoing morning coffee really make a difference?
A popular Lenten email comic strip portrays an average “Joe” carrying a cross in the midst of a crowd of others similarly engaged. Exhausted, the man begs permission to decrease the weight of his cross. It’s too heavy to bear. Heaven is silent. He does it anyway. Once he figures out he can, he stops and shortens his cross several times. He is whistling as he walks while the rest of the crowd struggles, red faced, sweating and irritated at the unfairness of the situation, which is remedied when they arrive at a gaping crevasse. Their long crosses bridge the gap and they abandon the fool whose cross is too short to pass over. He is alone. The final heading exclaims “Stop complaining about your cross.”
A friend of mine is right now trying hard to cut short his cross. It’s not working. He’s mad, shaking his fist at the heavens. “God can take it,” he says. He’s right. The Psalms are filled with similar wails. His is the cry of a man in need of a Savior. His world is genuinely filled with pain, heartache and sorrow. All I can say is, “Yes. Cry out to God with all your heart. Cry out with all your being to the God Who saves.” As our High Priest, Jesus sacrificed Himself in atonement for our sins so the gates of heaven might be opened to us. As Prophet, Jesus embodied the Good News that the Kingdom of heaven is at hand. As King, He lives and reigns forever in that heavenly realm into which we are all invited. And through our Lenten sacrifices, He beckons to each of us to follow His way. So in imitation of Him, it is for others that we suffer, just as Jesus suffered not for Himself but for us. In doing so, we learn “to offer it up”.
Priest, Prophet, King
Reiterating early church teaching, in Lumen Gentium, the Fathers of Vatican II called on the people of God to share in the threefold mission of Christ as priest, prophet and king. At times summarized, “sanctify, teach and govern,” the meaning remains mysterious to many lay faithful. St. Paul calls all believers to be imitators of Christ, Who began all outward manifestations of ministry in the privacy of prayer to the Father. At our baptisms Christ sent His Holy Spirit so that we could do as he did. Beginning in prayer through the Son, by the power of the Holy Spirit to the 
Father, each of the three ministries (priest, prophet, king) plays a significant, though related role. Priests bring the needs of the people, the need for atonement, to God the Father through sacrifice. Prophets bring the truths of God the Father to the people through prayer and teaching, sometimes even vicariously living out their messages. Kings offer a safe kingdom, serving the good of their subjects above their own, where the people living in freedom and prosperity can offer songs of praise to God.
By our baptisms in Christ we are commissioned as priest, prophet and king in His threefold ministry. So let us offer sacrifices for our friends through our priestly role. Let us intercede in prayer as the prophets of Israel did and let us prayerfully draw them to safety within the walls of the Kingdom as any good king would do. And let us do it all by meditating on the Mysteries of the Holy Rosary, as we unite our friend’s suffering through us with Christ.
“Oh God, whose only begotten Son, by His life, death and resurrection has purchased for us the rewards of eternal life, grant we beseech thee that while meditating on these mysteries of the most holy rosary of the Blessed Virgin Mary that we may imitate what they contain and obtain what they promise.” Perhaps this prayer is better prayed at the top of the rosary, keeping us mindful of our purpose from the start. We pray asking for grace to imitate Christ’s life and to obtain His resurrection for ourselves and for those for whom we intercede. Every Hail Mary offers the opportunity to put into practice our threefold ministry. I offer this, my meditation for my friend as an example of this expression of our Christian love for one another.
The Sorrowful Mysteries
I see my friend in his Garden of Agony when his wife gives birth to their little girl. The child is dead, which in itself is enough, but dread deepens with the doctor’s concern that something in the mother triggered the miscarriage. The agony of waiting…”Please Father, let this cup pass me by.” I see him in my mind’s eye; his body bent, head bowed, hands gripped in pleading prayer. His cross is not averted, not cut short. Cancer is her diagnosis.
He is angry. Yet there is no condemnation in Christ Jesus, who knows we are all weak and fallen. In the midst of our pain, our confusion, our isolation we know we should pray. But prayer is often the last thing we can do. So at the same time our loved ones suffer, Christ calls out to us to live the dignity of our baptisms and allows us to participate in His divine work of redemption through intercessory prayer. Think about that…allows us to participate in divine work! Crying out, begging the Lord to help,which He does, in love and mercy, but also in His timing. My friend, a good Catholic, a theologian even, knows this. Still, even he must wait for his emotions to catch up with his knowing.
The Scourging at the Pillar. Her body is not her own. Poked, prodded, and exposed she knows no privacy. Bound to her as one flesh, he suffers her humiliation and pain. I pray for them both as if they are one.
Consider Mary and the women who followed the first way of the cross. Mary, first true disciple, model follower of Christ, leads the way. Watching her own Son’s torture and murder, she never turned from His pain. She bore it courageously, even ran toward it, all for love of Him, a mother’s love that spills over into her love for all God’s children. She teaches us, by her motherly example, how to do the same for those we love.
Kneeling before the Blessed Sacrament, I glance away to see through stained glass windows that Spring is finally coming. Winter was very long, but now the light filtering through the colored glass is bright and high. It will be warm outside when I leave. Easily my mind wanders to thoughts of planting flowers and other delightful outdoor tasks. Mother Mary calls me back. On my return to prayer it occurs to me that I am, by the grace of God, fulfilling my baptismal role as priest. My prayer is a sacrifice, however small, offered for the life of another. I wonder what other sacrifices I might make when I leave this holy place. Less food, less wine come to mind immediately. Not great sacrifices, especially when I consider my priests who give up wives and children for love of Holy Church. They humble me, but I must not go beyond the graces of my station. I am a wife and mother, not an ordained priest. I trust that God, Who has no need of any offerings including those offered by priests of the Old Testament, will accept my simple sacrifices because they come from my heart and because it is He Who called me to a priestly role as a lay person.
The Crowning of Thorns. Mental anguish consumes her. Restless on a bed for five weeks, she yearns for focus and purpose to her day. A brilliant mind, but now her brain is muddled; the thorns dig deep. Medications impede her thought processes. She can’t think, can’t read, can’t concentrate. When thoughts do coalesce and bring clarity to mind, her motherly nature urges her homeward to ready the room for her new baby. Yes! She must focus! She must get well for the baby. The enemy twists the crown, pressing the thorns into her skull, piercing, it would seem, even to the bone. Pain from her head wracks her whole body causing a wail from the depths of her soul—my baby is dead. Terrible memories flood her mind. Memories of a perfect, lifeless body held in her husband’s palm; memories of retching interior emptiness.
A peculiar characteristic of the prophet is the vicarious nature of their ministry. The prophet Hosea married a Harlot and gave his children horrible names according to God’s will. As prophet he vicariously lived out the relationship of the adulteress Israel with her one true God. Jeremiah lived among the people in exile, taking no wife, attending no funerals, etc. to exemplify the estranged relationship of God and His people. My head hurts. Weeping and sadness caused it. But my headache compares to my friend’s pain the same as Hosea’s personal struggles compare to Israel’s epic struggle. How strange…me, a prophet? But God’s ways are strange and marvelous indeed. See how natural tears of empathic love for a friend become an invitation from God to join in His work? Grace builds upon nature to prepare prophets for the Lord.
The Carrying of the Cross. Days of trudging through physical and emotional pain continue, step by step. Still hospitalized, still isolated from her husband and sweet children, she endures the suffering. There are instances of relief—kindnesses from nurses and doctors; the bright and cheery voices of her son and daughter over the phone; perhaps even moments when she senses her cross is carried by the prayers of others, modern day Simons. Mostly, her days are painful, slow movements ascending a bleak hill.
Jesus calls us to be imitators of Him. While we understand explicitly and implicitly this means there will be a cross to bear, let’s not lose sight of the entirety of His life. He showed us what it means to Live. Faith in the resurrection and ascension bolsters my prayers with fullness of Hope for my friends, both in this life and the next. So I pray in faith, hope and love. In love, I lament with their sorrow. In Hope I offer thanksgiving for their rescue from distress. And in Faith, I praise God for the good work He is doing for them, even though it makes as much earthly sense as Christ’s own crucifixion. In performing this service, I fulfill my kingly role, as did King David when he wrote the psalms leading his kingdom into heavenly worship through liturgical prayer.
The Crucifixion. Bodily death will overtake us all. She knows this. He does too. But her final death will not be today. Still there are many smaller deaths. For one, her thick hair is gone. Seemingly insignificant, it is not. A woman’s hair is her crown, her beauty, her femininity, her shield. Looking in the mirror, she hardly recognizes herself. Greater still, as the chemo medications decrease, is the unfolding reality of the death of her baby girl. Included is the death of the possibility of future children. So many dreams for such a young family, crushed.
Remembering the comic strip, I recall the man who cuts short his cross surrounded by other Christians who leave him alone on the other side of the gorge. Reform the image in your mind. Rather than individuals passing over on their own crosses, imagine one Cross and saints running back and forth to aide the sick, lest in their fever they fall into the crevasse. As the Father’s adopted children commissioned in the divine ministries of priest, prophet and king, we are called to be those runners.
Imitating our older Brother and our Head, we begin all our work in prayer through the Holy Spirit to the Father. The Holy Spirit guides our sacramental imaginations and teaches us how to follow Mary’s example of sharing in the suffering of others as if they were each her own Son. Joining our Lenten sacrifices in this way to His Cross, we participate with Christ in the redemption of those poor souls who desperately need their crosses shortened. And we answer both of our questions positively. Yes, we are mad; mad with love for God and his children. And yes, even though seemingly insignificant, our sacrifices united with Christ’s, change the world.
