My husband and I are one of those
couples that come to the Episcopal Church as a result of a “mixed
marriage.” I was brought up in the
Congregational Church, with services steeped in the austerity and simplicity of
the early New England settlers and church politics and policy endowed with
quite a liberal, open philosophy. Phil
was raised in a big Irish Catholic family, with all the ceremony and tradition
that that entails. Until meeting me he had very little exposure to any
Christian denomination other than his own.
When we decided to get married we
met with both a U.C.C. minister and a Catholic priest (who jointly performed our
wedding), but we both felt we needed to find a new path that was comfortable
for both of us. Happily we have found
that at St. Francis. There are still
times, of course, when the disparity between our religious backgrounds becomes
very clear, and none more so than the season of Lent. (Christmas is easy; the story is not too
confusing and the hymns are the same.)
I know we acknowledged Lent at my
Congregational church; the gilt side of the cross above the altar was turned
around, the minister wore his purple stole, and the scripture readings and
Sunday School lessons progressed accordingly. We had Palm Sunday and Maundy
Thursday (my favorite service of the whole year); I usually spent Good Friday
baking and decorating eggs with my mother, listening to the “Godspell” and
“Jesus Christ Superstar” soundtracks; and that brought us up to Easter Sunday
quite tidily. But for my Catholic friends,
and my Catholic in-laws, these 40 days seem to matter more than the whole rest
of the year; it’s a journey of prayer and penitence and self-denial that
culminates in a week-long retelling of
“the greatest story ever told.”
And I am left to wonder, who is doing it right?
The good news is, we all are. Psalm 37 (billed in my Bible as a Wisdom
Psalm on “the certainty of retribution for the wicked”) recognizes the ongoing
struggle of the righteous and faithful.
The psalm encourages patience and perseverance in the face of apparent
triumph by the wicked:
“our steps are made firm by the
Lord,
when he delights in our way;
though we stumble, we shall not
fall headlong,
for the Lord holds us by the hand.”
The road to salvation is a never-ending process; as Yogi
Berra would say “it ain’t over till it’s over.”
This sentiment is echoed in Paul’s
letter to the Philippians. Paul admits
that he is not there yet either, “but I press on.” He argues that just because God has given the
gift of righteousness we are still obligated to work hard to deserve it. Like the Psalm, Paul acknowledges that each
of us is a work in progress, struggling to attain the “prize of the heavenly
call of God.”
As I worked through these readings,
I kept thinking to myself that nobody is perfect, and no one way to God can be
the one right way. We all have to find
our own path. But then I came to the
Gospel reading, and remembered that there was
one man who did know the way all along, and He is also our Way, whether we are Catholic or Protestant. In John 17, Jesus seems weary and ready to
take the next step on his journey, but even in his remaining hours he is
praying for his followers to continue following him.
I confess that I still scratch my
head about “giving something up” for Lent, and the whole no-meat-on-Fridays
thing, but I am now able to see Lent as more than the story of the last days of
Christ: it is a period of preparation, repentance and renewal. And no road is
the perfect road; what matters is that we’re trying.
(Leigh King)
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