Ash Wednesday - And Lent Begins!

My sister Sarah called my mom to wish her a "Happy" Ash Wednesday. My mom and I laughed about that, it is so Sarah.

Last Lent I was in Central America and it was a purifying experience for me. Since my conversion, I had not understood the severity of my sins and my Lenten trip through Central America gave me the opportunity to meditate on my sinfulness and rest in wonder at the limitless forgiveness of God.

Some Lenten memories:

• When I was in Grenada, Nicaragua I attended a yellow and white Catholic cathedral in the central square early every morning. There was a very young priest who usually presided and I cannot describe how beautifully he said the mass except to say that the Word rested like the pearl of an oyster in his mouth. The richness of his love for God was expressed with the tenderness and care with which he said each word of the mass. I will never forget him.
• I went to Ash Wednesday mass at the cathedral in Grenada and it was full of people. The women sitting next to me was a Eucharistic minister as well as a person who would dispense the ashes, (I did note that this did not keep her from falling asleep and snoring very loudly during the homily). When it came time to give the ashes, I noticed that her daughter waited to go up until the very end. After her mother put the ashes on her forehead she looked around furtively, opened her purse and her mother quickly deposited the remaining ashes in a small plastic case to smuggle out of church!
• In Leon, Nicaragua I attended a Stations of the Cross at the church in the middle of the square. Leon is the rival city to Grenada in Nicaragua. It has always been the haven for intellectuals and liberals while Grenada was the stronghold of conservatives throughout history. I could feel the town's personality throbbing as I walked through the streets. The city is gritty, radical, passionate. Anyway, during the Stations of the Cross a homeless man walked up to me and tried to show me something. I brushed him away, irritated that he was bothering me in church. The moment I did it, I realized what a hypocrite I was. I went up to him after mass to see what he wanted to show me and it was a very intricate drawing of the inside of the church, complete with perspective lines. I sheepishly told him it was wonderful.

• When Lizzy and I were in Guatemala during the later part of Lent we attended mass every evening with the Mayan family that we stayed with. We sat in the choir loft with the children because it was their month to sing the songs, (in their town the adults, older children and younger children took turns). The kids were fascinated that these two Gringas (white girls) would want to come to mass every day and they would stare at us and giggle and we would have short conversations about our hair or their pretty skirts.
• After Sarah arrived, the three of us went to Antigua, Guatemala where we were able to go on a short pilgrimage from church to church to see the Stations of the Cross. In many Latin American countries the Stations of the Cross are celebrated with each station at a separate church so people can process through the streets and visit each church. The setup looks like a diorama reenactment of the station and there are flower and food offerings arranged in beautiful patterns in front. At the end of the pilgrimage was the biggest church with a reenactment complete with sound effects and a big carnival in front.
• At the end of our trip Sarah, Lizzy and I attended mass in Guatemala City. The parish was obviously very wealthy. The seats were comfortable and the inside of the church was tasteful and expensive. The liturgy was more American as well. Most Latin American churches stick to a short list of songs because there are no songbooks and people have to memorize all of the songs. But this church had their own songbooks and the priest spoke more directly to the members of the church, mentioning birthdays and anniversaries during his homily. It was probably very similar to an American service but it struck us as being very self-centered and self-important after attending the humble masses of small towns around Guatemala.
  

Last year, I began Lent feeling as if I was outside of the liturgical rhythm of the Church, just a bystander looking on. This year, I began this Lent ready and prepared for a season of fasting. Not necessarily literal fasting, but the beginning of an earnest period of time where I try to draw closer to the whispers of God in my life.