A Lenten Prayer by Henri Nouwen
The Lenten season begins. It is a time to be with you, Lord, in a special way, a time to pray, to fast, and thus to follow you on your way to Jerusalem, to Golgotha, and to the final victory over death.
I am still so divided. I truly want to follow you, but I also want to follow my own desires and lend an ear to the voices that speak about prestige, success, pleasure, power, and influence. Help me to become deaf to these voices and more attentive to your voice, which calls me to choose the narrow road to life.
I know that Lent is going to be a very hard time for me. The choice for your way has to be made every moment of my life. I have to choose thoughts that are your thoughts, words that are your words, and actions that are your actions. There are not times or places without choices. And I know how deeply I resist choosing you.
Please, Lord, be with me at every moment and in every place. Give me the strength and the courage to live this season faithfully, so that, when Easter comes, I will be able to taste with joy the new life that you have prepared for me. Amen.
Lent.
I grew up Catholic so Lent was a big deal. We went to church on Ash Wednesday so we could get the ashes on our forehead. “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return,” the priest would say. Catholicism always had a way of being reverent and serious but also pretty creepy. When I think back on the rituals and all of the statues, stained glass, confessional booths, incense, chanting…I realize it’s a whole thing.
Growing up Catholic, you have these images, these memories, lots of rituals and performances. For Lent, I always “gave something up” and we ate fish on Fridays. That’s what I remember. Usually I gave up sugar because that would benefit me. I tried to give up swearing but it didn’t stick. None of it seemed to matter. I always went back to what I was doing before Lent, once it was over. It was like a diet. You committed to enduring “less” for a period of time with every intention on gorging yourself later. But it taught us to be mindful and sacrificial, I suppose. Maybe a little? At least that was the point.
I want to be mindful this Lent. I mean, I hope to always be mindful. But I’m not, so Lent is a good place to start.
I don’t practice the “giving up” of something anymore and I don’t stand in line to receive ashes. I’m remembering now, how, in Chicago, at St. Peter’s Church downtown, the line went around the city block for ashes. I worked across the street and could see everyday that church was empty. But on Ash Wednesday, people waited and waited to get in.
People are so hungry for God. For ritual. For meaning. For belonging. We want to be part of something bigger than ourselves. We long for God.
I long for God. His presence. Just to be with Him. It’s not about what I do. It’s not about what I don’t do.
It’s all Jesus. Jesus plus nothing. That’s my Lenten practice.
Eyes on Jesus. And heart, mind, soul mindfully focused on Him.
Not in some fake performance for the world or my family or my neighbors to see but in the down deep personal moments…my thoughts, my intentions, and most of all, my attention.