The day is slipping away quietly; a moment for quiet reflection has eluded me again.  I have been looking forward to Lent after an indulgent Christmas season, at least in terms of food and wine and other home comforts. But now I see it might slip away if I don't become more intentional about, well, being intentional. 

I don't really care for that word. I have been deleting emails about how to practice Lent intentionally, skipping over Instagram photos of how to do Lent in a pandemic, scrolling past encouraging messages about taking it easy on myself this year. What have I been doing for the last few weeks, months, really, but taking it easy? I feel guilty saying it because there are a lot of people suffering. There are people without jobs, without good health, without family or friends to support them, without homes, without food and without heat during these days of frigid winter weather.  Meanwhile, we struggle with Zoom, and failing Spanish, and loneliness, and too many dirty dishes from making too many tasty treats. But our calendar has been relatively clear and our home is full of family (although the 6 year old has been mourning her brothers who were home for Christmas break and now gone), and our back patio has proved a great place to host the neighbors. There are some things I like about Zoom school and outdoor church and no sports competitions (until now).  But I don't want to overlook or belittle the cares and worries of other people, or of the kids, or my own anxieties about what's next for us, even though I know it will all work out, I am confident, eventually.

Instead, for Lent, when I fast from sweets, I want to remember to say something sweet to the husband and kids, since I tend to be stingy with praise. Even though I am fasting from wine and beer, I want to keep talking and socializing with my family and the neighbors. Although I'm trying to read and pray more, I want to be a better listener.  And furthermore, I want to get back in the habit of visible acts of charity - something to engage the kids - instead of donating anonymously online with an easy click (although that, too). 

That's my own little personal look at "How to have the best Lent ever." I have a whole long list of things we could do to improve ourselves. but I'll leave those for New Year's or the next milestone birthday. 

Instead, here is a little Louis Untermeyer poem I stumbled across at poetryfoundation.org.  Also I really enjoyed a diversion into art, music, and poetry of the liturgical season at this website, artandtheology.net. (Her Lenten playlist features my sister's group Sister Sinjin).  The Stations of the Cross in Art at the Smithsonian American Art Museum is especially moving. Could a similar reflection be done at any good art museum? 

Ash Wednesday

BY LOUIS UNTERMEYER

(Vienna) I

Shut out the light or let it filter through

These frowning aisles as penitentially

As though it walked in sackcloth. Let it be

Laid at the feet of all that ever grew

Twisted and false, like this rococo shrine

Where cupids smirk from candy clouds and where

The Lord, with polished nails and perfumed hair,

Performs a parody of the divine.

The candles hiss; the organ-pedals storm;

Writhing and dark, the columns leave the earth

To find a lonelier and darker height.

The church grows dingy while the human swarm

Struggles against the impenitent body’s mirth.

Ashes to ashes. . . . Go. . . . Shut out the light.

 (Hinterbrühl) II

And so the light runs laughing from the town,

Pulling the sun with him along the roads

That shed their muddy rivers as he goads

Each blade of grass the ice had flattened down.

At every empty bush he stops to fling

Handfuls of birds with green and yellow throats;

While even the hens, uncertain of their notes,

Stir rusty vowels in attempts to sing.

He daubs the chestnut-tips with sudden reds

And throws an olive blush on naked hills

That hoped, somehow, to keep themselves in white.

Who calls for sackcloth now? He leaps and spreads

A carnival of color, gladly spills

His blood: the resurrection—and the light.

Louis Untermeyer, “Ash Wednesday” from Burning Bush (New York: Harcourt, 1928). Permission is granted by arrangement with the Estate of Louis Untermeyer, Norma Anchin Untermeyer c/o Professional Publishing Services. The reprint is granted with the expressed permission by Laurence S. Untermeyer.

Source: Burning Bush (1928)