Surprisingly, Lenten Thoughts

Hmmm…it is proving more difficult than I might have anticipated to keep up with my blog and to give you, blessed readers, insight into my thoughts and developments here at L’Abri. Many things are going on in my interior, intellectual world, but they do seem to be falling along into some discernable themes, and these I have, with the diligence of Penelope, woven together for you, into one, mighty Thought. And here it is.

Perhaps one of the most difficult things that I have been finding in my time here is certain perversities within myself: falseness, a certain sort of crookedness in my interior posture towards myself and the world. What I wish I could rid myself of most is fear. I move around the outskirts of life, a thief and a grasper, everything I receive I perceive as stolen, because I do not think of anything as mine to take. I am hungry. My soul hungers and despairs of being filled. Hungry for love, acceptance, kindness, affirmation. I could drain you dry and still not be filled. So I guard my portion, I demand fairness, but only for myself. I watch with wide eyes and a wide open mouth as the Good Things are given out, constantly fearful that I will be the one, at the end of the day, who is lacking. And yet for all that I am willing to take, I am so hesitant to take the risk of giving. I will not, in fact, be generous without the hope of return, will not give trust until it has been well and duly earned. If you look at the white stone where my name is emblazoned, it says simply, “Will Not Be Taken In Again.” This is the nature of my depravity.

They tell me this is wrong, and I find that I must believe them. I will tell you a story so that you can see why I know this must be true. I did not find it here at L’Abri, in fact I am not sure where it comes from, but it forms a Destination, a direction towards which I strive.

Once a girl was taken in a vision to a great banqueting hall. The walls were covered in sumptuous tapestries, the floors were of inlaid marble. A long wooden table filled the vast room, and on it were laid plates of gold and silver, jewel studded cutlery, and goblets of crystal. And on those plates a breathtaking feast was laid, whole roasted birds, puddings, chocolate truffles, roasts, mounds of fresh vegetables, and dew-glistened fruits. But, the girl noticed, there was something shockingly out of place about the scene. All the people sitting around the table, every last one of them, was completely emaciated, with gaunt, withered cheeks, twig-like fingers and bloated, empty stomachs. The girl was amazed, but as she watched the people at the table, the reason became clear. Each of the people at the table could only eat with a single, very long fork. They would stab a piece of food and try to raise it to their mouth with the long fork, but just before they could actually taste it, the food would slip off and fall to the floor and with a sigh they would reach out and begin again. Over and over they would try, but none of them could feed themselves with the long forks, and so they were slowly starving.

As the girl realized this, the vision suddenly changed, and she found herself again in the very same hall, with the same walls, floor, and decadently groaning table. But here, she found to her surprise, all of the people, every last one sitting around the table, had fresh, rosy cheeks, strong, sturdy limbs, and a glow of good health around them. And, most astonishingly, they too were eating with the long forks. But as the girl watched them, she could see the difference. Rather than trying to use the long forks to feed themselves, each one would pick up a piece of food and use the length of the fork to reach it across to his or her neighbor, and because the length of the fork was appropriately utilized, the neighbor got to eat, and would in turn feed a neighbor of theirs. In this way, everyone was getting to enjoy the feast by feeding their neighbor.

I think the meaning of this little parable is fairly clear. (And don't you dare tell me it's trite or sappy. Some of the most profound things that we ever experience in this life are mediated by the trite and sappy.) I want to be the kind of person who’s hunger is filled, so my attention is no longer on my own hunger, but on the care of my neighbor. When I try only to feed myself, I will always be hungry. When we all feed each other, everyone will be filled.

Okay, that was not the Thought, at least, I have neither the time nor the energy, nor, I think, the space in your attention span to flesh out the rest of the Thought. That was only a thought, which I wished to share. More to come, I suppose.

(P.S.-After I finished writing this, I was reflecting on my reflections and realized that this is becoming a part of a journey I take every Lent, a journey entitled, "Shannon Wakes Up and Realizes She Is Actually a Rather Shitty Person Who Isn't Entitled to Much of Anything." While I think the journey that was taken and is recommended to us for this season of the calendar by earlier generations of Christians went by a somewhat different title, isn't this theme, essentially, a part of the nature of Lent itself and, in fact, the waking that one is supposed to experience in this season of the year: "Wow. Good morning. I suck. I need major renovation in my heart and life. How much longer until Easter?")