The Good Thief? (A Lenten Reflection)
You’ve probably heard this one before: a priest was walking down the street when he was accosted by a thief who demanded his wallet. As the priest was reaching for the wallet, his coat fell open to reveal his collar.
The thief, startled, said “I’m sorry Father, I had no idea.”
The priest, shaken, reached for a pack of cigarettes and offered the thief one. But the thief shook his head and said “No thanks, Father. I’ve given up smoking for Lent.”
It’s a great joke and it encapsulates a certain critique of traditional Lenten practices that has filtered down into the consciousness of many ordinary Catholics. Every year, beginning with the Ash Wednesday gospel, we are warned against the emptiness of external gestures. It is conversion of the heart that matters. Fasting from meat is meaningless if we are not actively trying to feed the hungry. We’re told to pray, of course, but we’re also warned against saying rote prayers. We’re supposed to speak to God from the heart, in our own words.
This year for Lent, my parish is using a small-group, lectionary based program where the groups meet every week to reflect on the coming Sunday gospel. The idea is to help Catholics “talk about their faith,” because apparently we’re not very good at that sort of thing.
Now I don’t object, per se, to any of this. I believe in feeding the hungry. I love our small group, which has been meeting for years and is enjoying using these new materials. And Jesus was pretty clear in prioritizing internal conversion over the external gesture.
But taken as a whole, I’m finding that Lent has become pretty “left brain.” The part of my brain that thrives on symbol and ritual feels like its gasping for oxygen.
But perhaps even more fundamentally, I’m struggling with the extent to which Lent has become all about, well, me. I can fast (partially or completely), I can pray (using traditional prayers or my own words), I can “give something up” for Lent or “do something” for Lent instead. I can avail myself of any number of opportunities for “spiritual growth” during the season. It’s up to me and my choices.
I don’t deny that there is much that is of value in this. But what has been lost is the sense of Lent as a set of corporate practices that shape a pilgrim people waiting for Easter. It’s easy to laugh about the thief in the joke above. But his decision to “give something up” marked him as part of a community. However imperfectly he may have personally lived out his Catholicism, his decision to continue with the corporate penance testified to the power of Catholicism’s communal ethos. Have we lost that?
Okay readers, it’s your turn. Agree? Disagree? What’s your experience?
Yes, the communal dimension is often lost, the one that was fostered by our all having to follow pretty specific rules for fasting: only one full meal a day, the other two together weren’t supposed to make a meal; meat only once a day; no eating between meals. (Remember how “Women’s Day” and “Family Circle” would devote cover stories in February about how to do creative things with fish? Some of this was lost when it was all left up to us, individually, to decide: “What are you doing for Lent?”
On the other hand, many parishes “do” new things for Lent. My sister’s parish in Durham, NH, holds bread and soup suppers every week at which parishioners tell how they have dealt, or are dealing, with the cross they encounter in their lives.
jak
A few months back, I happened across an article that was a meta-analysis of 50 years of reseach on the importance of rituals and routines in family life. In short, the presence of rituals and routines was positively associated with mental health and family cohesion while the absence of the same was strongly associated with depression, drug and alcohol abuse, and delinquency. In fact, the presence of ritual and routine was more important than the actual compostion of the family, in that familes who experienced the death or divorce of a member but had regular communal rituals and routines were, on average, healthier than intact families who had fewer rituals and routines.
The relevant point for this discussion is that I think Peter is on to something. Communal ritual binds us, but it is also counter-cultural. In a society that values radical individualism, the logic is that unless I get something out of a liturgical practice or communal devotion, “it” has no value. So we see the devaluing of the communal aspects of the faith. We approach liturgy, para-liturgy, and customs from a perspective that says, “What’s in it for me?” instead of “How does my participation in this activity contribute to the good of my faith community and what does it say about the importance of tradition qua tradition.” This is the liturgical equivalent of the teen who won’t play Candyland with his parents and little sister because he gets nothing out of it–and the parents who will let the teen get away with it. What does this choice say about that family? More that it is a collection of individuals under the same roof than a cohesive group working for the common good through a shared ritual.
What to do? Well, I think the first and perhaps only thing is to challenge ourselves to adopt a healthier personal respect for tradition and ritual, even those traditions and rituals that may initially “feel” suspect to me or that “I” don’t “get.” In approaching a devotional practice or cultural custom/discipline, I have to challenge myself not to ask what it does for me, but also what it says about the importance on my participation the community and its traditions and the simple act of bearing witness to the importance of tradition itself.
In this vein, I think that articles like the one that appeared in Commonweal on contemporary Catholic devotions by Cunningham failed on this level. I mean no disrespect, and perhaps I misread it, but it struck me as a rather individualistic and self-centered reflection on what was significant to him, and did not adequately respect the communal sense of devotion and spiritual practices. I think Catholic publications must struggle against the prevailing culture of “me” to treat, with respect, even those traditions and spiritual exercises the editors personally struggle to draw meaning from. I think its something we all have to struggle with, and it is a struggle, because we are all products of the culture we live in. It’s hard to be in the world but not of it. Unfortunately that applies to our attitudes toward spirituality as much as it applies to our attitudes regarding almost everything else
You’ve got it! I must say, in the simplest possible fashion, you have hit the nail on the head.
Even though we are told that a lot of the (new) behaviours in the Church are about creating and symbolising ‘community’, what they actually do is individualize and internalize our responses: if it doesn’t affect us, it has no relavance, etc.
Parked here over in England I have found it extraordinarily frustrating trying to identify my concerns in the simplest manner possible. Thank you for giving me an excellent rhetorical tool.
I have always felt that the Church is not just about the intellect and theology, but that this must be taken hand-in-hand with culture. The Catholic culture, which is a great aid to the theology, is what has been in danger of being completely lost.
I agree, Peter, and there seems to be some anecdotal evidence of the search for meaning through ritual. Our parish was suprisingly packed for Ash Wednesday, as were many others here in rural, upstate New York. The local Dutch Reformed Church, for the first time, administered ashes, and I know several of their parishioners who are giving something up for Lent and abstaining from meat on Friday. I realize that the plural of anecdote is not data, but it’s interesting, and encouraging nonetheless.
I have long thought–and still do– like you, that the whole point of not eating meat on Friday, etc., was to “do without”..to experience some hunger in order to get a glimpse…imperfect and limited though it is…of what hunger feels like. It does create empathy for those who are truly hungry, and moves us towards compassion for them, and the desire to serve God by serving them. Extravagant lobster dinners really do miss the point.
However, I was thinking this morning that it IS more than just our personal experience of hunger–important as that is– that gives the ritual its value. I find it much easier to stick to my limited diet during Lent because of the “external” guidelines. There is something about the shared ritual among the community of believers that strengthens our own commitment to our promises to God, each other, and ourselves. And that, in turn, strengthens our commitment to our community. It helped me understand that we really ARE members of the Body of Christ.
The most touching experience I ever had about the value of shared rituals and symbols was a very simple one. I’m 47, and attend mass every morning. Most of the others attendees are considerably older than I. Once in a while, one of the older gentlemen will break out in song after communion…a verse or two of Tantum Ergo, or Immaculate Mary, perhaps. They all join in, knowing the words by heart, of course, and sing melodies and words which they tell me they can’t even remember learning, as they have always just been such a part of who they are. There’s something inexpressibly lovely about it…I’m always so touched by the quiet beauty of those moments.
There are few joys in getting older. However, that being said, I belong to a parish that has mostly older folk attending. It’s a bit of an anomaly because the sensibilities are liberal; the liturgies are traditional but not torpid nor boring (au contraire!); and the abilitiy to integrate various church traditions without worrying about whether we are “becoming too conservative” or “fixating on fuzzy-headed liberalness” all exist. None of this is self-conscious. We integrate lively symbolism with boisterous and happy liturgical celebrations (they are indeed that). Maybe we are just too old to worry about which position we should be taking. Some of us observe Lent the old-fashioned way and some of us have abandoned that years ago. But we come together and are sign and symbol to each other each Sunday. That’s good enough for me for Lent or any other time of the year.
Good to see, or read, you back in action. I miss your ideas on the old blog. I hope your theology studies are going well; I remember the days when I did mine–exciting times, the 60′s–by the way, the only time I have ever been personally attacked (just stupid sarcasm, nothing to get too upset about, I guess, but one rather prominent blogger has lost all credibility with me–not Amy or Ralf, ok! They are fine. ) on a blog when I mentioned being a boomer; is that wierd or what? Four more years and I get to retire from teaching and do some writing and stuff. I will be asking for your advice when that time comes; I think I will really miss teaching–the interaction with and the humor of an all male high school really can’t be beat, but I really want to start writing and have no idea how to start. Comments on blogs, maybe. Have a good St. Patrick’s Day. Peace, Jack