The Lenten season of my childhood is gone. I can be dramatic and say something stupid like, where is God, but I know the answer to that. He’s here, in me. I think of kindness and empathy and generosity every day. I try my best to be kind, emphatic and generous every day. Sometimes I succeed, sometimes I don’t. But I know that God is not keeping tally. He just wants you to try, every single day for as long as you’re alive. That’s all you can do.
But yeah, I miss the traditions. I guess, it’s kind of the point of Catholicism- the pageantry gives the season its allure and its mystique. You deprive yourself of meat, of entertainment, you think of an entity with superhuman powers yet had allowed himself to be nailed to a cross so that you will be saved (from what, it didn’t really matter). When I was young, I believed all of that but on a level that was more philosophical than mystical.
When I grew older, it became easier to take that path and not because I believed it any less. Some were just silly (Mark Wahlberg sporting his Ash Wednesday smeared forehead on his socials), antiquated (the Stations of the Cross) or stupid (not eating meat).
I remember on one of my mother’s visits to New Zealand that happened to fall on Lent, we were craving for squid, but only if it was sold with ink which you most always never find here.
But by the miracle of Jesus and Mary, we found one at Pak N Save, but alas, the staff wouldn’t sell it to us; they were mortified that a packet had slipped through their quality control.
We had to explain (and beg), that it was exactly how we wanted it.
I don’t remember now though, whether we got it in the end.
