The Lenten Season

I would classify myself as one of those lost souls who took one too many religion courses in college which forced me to question my religious upbringing and destroyed all of my childhood assumptions of heaven and hell and all in between.

I still remember my religious formation classes in elementary school. We would all yell out together "God created the world!" and define the difference between moral and venal sins with such confidence. My confidence started to wain in high school, and most definitely in college, when professors began to introduce movements such as the "Death of God" movement of the 1960s, highlight the indiscretions and sometimes hypocrisy of Catholicism and the Catholic church, and bring that damn p-r-o-o-f word into every argument against the validity of the bible. On faith alone we could not stand.

I don't enjoy being lost. If anything I wish I could still have the naive mentality of the world of my childhood: one in which Jesus fed thousands of people with only five loaves and two fish or one in which my daily prayers at night talking to God could comfort me because because I knew that even if the rest of the world shut me out, He was listening. I am trying to become "un" lost, but it is a daunting task.

This past Wednesday with the beginning of Lent, I decided to go to mass to receive ashes. While working here at a Catholic orphanage, though I have come to no closer realization of how to classify my beliefs, I have decided it is more important to be an example to my kids on the outside regardless of how wayward I might be on the inside. During the Ash Wednesday service, I expected to go through the actions and prayers of mass as automatically as I have with any religious celebration here thus far. But as Father Phil, the Chicago-raised priest and CEO of NPH, raised the chalice that held the ashes, I was overcome with the memory of my Uncle Donnie, who was passed away suddenly this past November. As a priest, my Uncle Donnie conducted countless masses before his death, and watching Father Phil raise the chalice on Ash Wednesday reminded me of my uncle more than I expected. I was flooded with almost a shame that I could not revere the symbolism of the mass or have faith in the Lenten season as he did. I was sad that I will never get to confide in him about my doubts or learn from him. As someone I respected, someone I revered for his commitment to something so unclear, and someone who I know had his doubts but drove through them, I mourn his loss especially during this time in my life. Above all, I felt a yearning to be part of this beautiful season when people so strong in their beliefs celebrate possibly the most beautiful thing that we could ever realize.

Perhaps, regardless of where I stand, this Lenten journey can be as fulfilling for me as it would be for someone who can confidently define their beliefs. As a time of reflection and cleansing of the body, a time when we can learn from the example of Jesus, and a time when we can reflect upon what exactly we are doing and where we are going, there are no qualifications one must have to take part in the observance.