Last year, the
writer Mary Karr published a beautiful book where she describes her conversion
to Catholicism. The book is called Lit.
The title refers to literature, but also to the idea of carrying within you a
kind of light, of being “lit.”[1].
This book it’s not really easy to read because its about growing
up in an abusive, alcoholic home…about her early, unsatisfying marriage…about her
own struggles with addiction and time she spent in a mental hospital.
At one point, she describes her father’s final illness. The
family knew he was deteriorating, and they brought him home to die. He often
had difficulty speaking. But repeatedly, surprisingly, he managed to
communicate one simple word: “Garfield.” Well, he had an orange Garfield the
cat coffee mug by his bed, and people thought he was talking about that.
But his daughter Mary realized, after a time, the real
meaning and poignancy of that one word: “Garfield.” He wasn’t talking about a
cartoon cat. He never even read the comic page in the paper. No, Mary realized:
that word meant something else. It was the family’s address — 4901 Garfield
Street. He was talking about where he lived. “Garfield,” to him, meant home. Safety. Security. Even,
perhaps, love. He wanted everyone to know that was where he was, where he
wanted to be, and where he belonged.
And so it is, I think, with all of us.
It’s one reason we are here, on this ordinary day, in the
middle of an ordinary week, to declare our desire, our yearning, our hope. We
want to return to God. We want to be home.
It turns out, that’s what God wants, too: Return to me, with your whole heart, we just
hear in the first reading from Joel. We are prodigal children, who have drifted
away. We need to be back where we belong, in the arms of a loving father.
And so we begin the return: Lent, the long 40-day walk back.
My brother, my sister, Lent is a penitential season, a time
for silence and introspection. Ashes are just the beginning. Our music becomes
simpler, our liturgies plainer. The Gloria
is gone. We fast, we pray. We may give up chocolates or meat or television. But
for all of this season’s sobriety, we shouldn’t lose sight of something vitally
important: this is a journey we
undertake with joy.
Part of that is because we are seeking to draw closer to God
– the source and summit of our happiness. But part of it, I think, is something
else, too. Something that goes to
our roots as Catholic Christians.
It’s right there, in our baptism. When we were baptized, our
parents and godparents received a tiny flame, a burning candle, with the words,
“Receive the light of Christ.” Well, that light still burns. Maybe it’s dimmed.
Maybe it is only a small ember now. Maybe it’s had to struggle against wind and
cold. Maybe we’ve ignored it, or forgotten it.
But the light is there.
So yes, this day is about ashes.
But Lent?
Lent is about that fire.
Over the next 40 days, let’s ask ourselves: how can we fan
the flame, and make it grow? How can we turn a flicker into a blaze?
Or to borrow the title of Mary Karr’s book: how can we
affirm to the world that we are lit?
In a few moments, ashes – the remnant of a flame — will be
placed on your forehead. And the great work of these 40 days will begin. Work
of conversion and repentance. The work of praying more faithfully, loving more
deeply.
And when you go into the world today, those ashes will speak
about belief, about commitment, and even about hope. People will pass you on
the street; see you at the office, and sit beside you on the crew room. They’ll
notice something different. Most of them may only see the ashes.
But strive for something else. Strive to let them see the
flame.
Strive to bring them the light of Christ.
Because these 40 days are about much more than ashes. They
are about that light — and about rediscovering something we may have too easily
forgotten.
In spite of sin and indifference, in spite of living in a
world crowded by cynicism and doubt, we are still what our baptism proclaimed
us to be. We are “children of the light.”
And the candle still burns ■
[1]
Wednesday 22nd February, 2012, Ash Wednesday. DAY OF FAST AND ABSTINENCE. Readings:
Joel 2:12‑18.
Be5merciful, O Lord, for we have sinned—Ps 50(51):3-6, 12-14, 17. 2 Corinthians
5:20 – 6:2. Matthew 6:1-6, 16-18 [Chair of St Peter, Apostle].
