The quiet hush of penance floats down with the dusting of ashes.
Then a muffled snicker creeps out of the back pew.
The silence deepens as the adults attempt ignorance. Then a giggle erupts. Another. Smother laughter bubbles up from a third spot in the pew.
We were sitting in the back of a small chapel with wonderful acoustics this last Ash Wednesday. It was that still space just following the distribution of ashes. All it took was the six year old’s whisper – “Look at the baby!” – Baby. Bald head. Dirt smudged on her pink forehead, over her wide blue eyes. And all my children were instantly stricken with the giddies.
I stuffed cough drops in a couple mouths and closed my eyes to conjure up a hypocritical image of prayerfulness. Then I puckered my mouth as my traitorous lips twitched upwards on their own accord.
My spirit could not stuff down its mirthful reaction to this irony: we adults were being so serious, and the children were naturally laughing at it all – with no malice or disrespect. This was just funny.
Certainly, there is a time for reverent contemplation and silent adoration. But, generally speaking, aren’t we often too much “with ourselves” during these forty days?
There is a reason Christ told us not to go about fasting with long, sad faces: because joy travels hand in hand with true sacrifice.
Have you ever thoughtfully observed children at Mass? These rambunctious creatures may restlessly mark the time or sometimes even prayerfully participate. But when those church doors open, they eagerly dash out to play tag across the parking lots.
Some of that exuberance should remain with us.
We need to make our prayer and resolutions – and commit to them, so we need not waste endless minutes afterwards re-thinking them. Decide and commit. Note down a couple, concrete follow up aids, and then carry on. Play. Work.
Mortification paves the way to prayer, and distracting and harmful habits must be cast off, but so much of our solemnity comes from our heavy consideration of ourselves.
When our Heavenly Father would probably just chuckle at us.
Probably hug us.
And then say, “Oh, honey, that doesn’t matter. Here is what you should focus on.” The tunnels and depths of his Heart, perhaps. The solidity of the wooden cross. Or even, His smile.
So, please, feel free to laugh at your absurdity this Lent. Do marvel over His wonders instead of mooning over your faults. Make your offering, and then go outside and play.
