Ah-h-h-h, the first party of Lent. The first party of Lent? That’s right, my parish school runs their big fundraising gala during Lent, and so every year in the middle of March, we all come together in the atrium of the Sheraton, wearing ball gowns and tuxedos, sipping Coronas and Martinis, and moaning about what we gave up for Lent.
This is particularly onerous because every year on Ash Wednesday our pastor reads the Gospel of Matthew which reminds us to “not look dismal, like the hypocrites” when you fast so that your “fasting may not be seen by men but by your Father who is in secret.” And just in case the stick isn’t enough incentive for us, Matthew offers us a carrot in the promise that our “Father who sees in secret will reward” us.
Sadly, it seems to not be enough, because by Monday morning, and certainly by the time the gala rolls around, everyone knows what everyone else is “doing” for Lent. This year, Jayne gave up diet Pepsi, Laura and Nancy gave up sweets and Ingrid gave up fast food. “And you,” they all turned on me when I was silent, “what are you giving up?”
I would like to pretend, reader, that I had no desire what-so-ever to share my sacrifice. I would like to tell you that I held firm, and in some polite and demure way, kept my secret to myself. But I did not. A part of me, a very weak and human part of me, wanted to blow my own horn. I wanted the praise and admiration of my friends. I wanted to hear the “ohh’s and ahh’s that I had, just moments before, bestowed on them. “That’s so hard!” I imagined them all saying, “And so original.” “How ever did you think of it?” And so, instead of graciously excusing myself to the taco-bar, I lowered my eyes and revealed my sacrifice.
“I don’t get it,” Ingrid said flatly. “What’s the point?”
“Yeah,” added Jayne, “that doesn’t make sense.”
“Why didn’t you just give up sweets?” Nancy wanted to know. Shocked, embarrassed, alarmed and a bit defensive, I allowed that my sacrifice was pretty easy, but not that easy.
“Listen,” I said, “you’re not exactly following the script. The Bible clearly says that those who seek their reward from men… truly have their reward…. I’m not feeling very rewarded here, people.” And then, not knowing what else to do, I finished my diet coke.
Needless to say, I started questioning my choice. For two days I was consumed with doubt and frustration, self-pity and self-loathing. And then I prayed. I can report that God is not above saying “I told you so.” “Do you not yet know,” He said, “that seeking the approval of man will often lead to disappointment?” I did. And with that admission, He softened a bit. “It seems,” He continued, “that we need to have our little talk again.”
This “talk” that we have is ongoing because I seem to never really get it. It goes something like this:
God: “I’m in control.”
Me: “Are you sure you can handle it?”
God: “Do the words ‘Alpha’ and ‘Omega’ mean anything to you?”
Me: “Because I don’t mind taking over every once in a while.”
God: “You don’t even know what you want for dinner let alone what you want out of life.”
And He has a point there, so I usually shut up and give Him the floor.
“What you think of as a sacrifice for Me,” he says, “is really a gift from Me. You are not so much ‘doing’ something for Me at Lent, but are allowed, in My infinite mercy, to respond to My love.”
“How then do I respond to failing to respond?” I wanted to know. “Because we both know that is the underlying theme of my life.” I can also report that God rolls his eyes.
“A simple ‘Thank You’ will do.” He said. “Thank me for my mercy. Thank me for my love. You can’t really go wrong with a sincere ‘Thank you.’”
Still, if I could orchestrate my own salvation, if I could earn my way into Heaven, giving up sweets would definitely make my Lenten short list. As it is, NOT because I want to reader (certainly not!) but because my integrity as a writer is on the line, I will divulge my Lenten sacrifice. Can I just say, though, that since I already lost any chance at a Heavenly reward, and, as you know, my reception at the Ball was less than rewarding, could you please at least feign being impressed? It will make standing under a cold shower tomorrow morning a tiny bit easier. Thank you.
