Each year when the season of Lent approaches I recall the time I spent living in a monastery. This year is no exception.
Today is the first day of Lent, and with that the onset of hopeful promises to be a better person. Many Catholics promise to give something up during the forty days of Lent as a way to be mindful of Christ's love and sacrifice. The question often asked is: What to do, or what to "give-up" for the next forty days.
Forty days of Lent can be a long time. Usually, one forgoes the pleasure of something that they truly enjoy, as a self sacrifice to keep them aware of Christ and to help them become a better person because of it.
When I went to live in a monastery I knew I was going to "give up" my freedom, spend hours praying and that my focus would be on becoming an empty vessel for God to work through me. I assumed I was going to be scrubbed clean of my faults, and shine in holiness and goodness.
The scrubbing I imagined to come with the day to day life of living the monastic way. I expected it to be hard, but grace-filled. I went into the monastery I was 19 years old.
When the Lenten season approached I wondered what more I could do? I couldn't imagine what else I could give up… Lent was another word to describe monastic life in my youthful mind… "I mean, really what more could I possibly give up?"
As I sat in prayer, hour after hour, as Ash Wednesday beckoned I knew I had to think of something, and yet nothing came to mind. With that I went to see the Abbot (The head of a monastic community.) to seek his guidance. (Yes, I lived in a Benedictine monastery in a community of men and women.)
The Abbot's office was on the top floor of the monastery. The large windows allowed a full view of the Pecos river and miles of wilderness could be seen. It was an eagle's nest, symbolic on many accounts.
Before meeting, the Abbot started with a prayer. He took my hands in his and prayed that our conversation might be guided and bless one another. Then he opened his eyes, leaned back and asked what was up.
I dove right in, telling him that I was bothered because I did not know what to do for Lent. I went on to say, "…you know this is a monastery and we already pray for hours, go to mass everyday, contemplate, mediate, sing, don't watch TV, don't eat sugar, never go shopping, don't drink alcohol, wear straight lace clothing without lace, wake up early, go to bed early, read scripture, do not eat between meals…" I rattled on and on with every little thing as if I was cleansing my soul, as if I needed to remind him that I was doing a heck of a lot given up and that I was wet behind the ears when it came to spiritual matters… and what more does God really expect?
The Abbot laughed, his big belly laugh. I smiled nervously.
Eventually, he stopped laughing. Though I was utterly confused, perplexed as to why he laughed.
The Abbot stood up, rubbed his hand on top of my head like I was a silly, little, sweet thing and gave me a hug. He then looked right in my eyes and down to my toes and said, "You can do many things, you can give up and let go of all that which isn't important or needed…
though the main thing is to be.
Focus on the gift that God gave you and give it freely away."
"Give it away?" I asked "My gift?"
"Share in life. Give of yourself." He reassured me.
It was and is my Lenten journey.
Who am I? Who are you? What is the gift we have been given? Do we give of ourselves fully, openly without strings or doubts? Are we aware of our beauty? Do we run into the arms of life with thanksgiving.
Lent… a time set aside for us to look at who we are and give it away freely.
I am no longer nineteen, and the lesson is still a tougher challenge than giving up eating meat which I did when I was nineteen the year before I went into the monastery.
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