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Katie Brick is a Chaplain at DePaul University and is also a faculty director for the Interfaith Scholars program.
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It’s still true that good news rarely comes in on a land line prior to dawn. I was reminded of that this morning, disoriented in a “what is that noise” sort of way after a couple hard nights with fussy kids.
Cell phone news – now that comes in all shapes and sizes, 24-7, at the whim of the caller for the most part. “They’ll turn off their ringer if they aren’t available” people think – usually true – so text, voice message, the occasional triumphant or embarrassing photo traffic can take place all night without a thought.
But the land line (or in our case, cable line) is basically meant to be on and waiting for urgent calls. Its focus after hours is receiving in the moment news that might be unwelcome, unwanted, or unexpected but which is important to the caller and answerer alike. And this morning, as I stumbled out of bed (because land lines are rarely located conveniently next to one’s bed like a cell phone for reasons of common access and potential heart failure from a blaring light night call), I had a few seconds to gather myself. To process that Something had happened or was happening.
And that seemed so appropriate for this Ash Wednesday morning, the kick off to the Lenten season many Christians celebrate prior to Easter.
It’s not that God isn’t reaching out all the time or that we aren’t called to be charitable, reflective, forgiving and willing to make sacrifices 365 days a year. It’s not that our mortality (“from dust ye came and to dust ye shall return”) isn’t simply an objective, omnipresent fact for us mortal creatures who are born, live and will die regardless of wealth, creed, race, gender or desire to do so.
But Lent in general and Ash Wednesday in particular can break through the clutter of life. They can be that focusing call that isn’t shunted off to voicemail or carried on by text at my control or convenience. They say, “Pay attention to what is important and real. Now!” They remind, “There is something greater than you at work, of which you are a part.” They exhort, “Look and see. How can you be more loving? Who is suffering? How can you reach out to people living in poverty in an un-self-serving way? What are unhelpful habits or attitudes you can drop or re-tool to increase your degree of creativity, compassion and human freedom?”
Last week UMMA’s Fast-a-Thon got me thinking of some of these themes, and I am always interested to hear my Jewish friends talk about what Yom Kippur means to them and how they use it to move into right relationships. I plan to ask the Interfaith Scholars to talk about these and other experiences in our weekly meeting.
But today, and for several weeks until Easter, it’s my time as a Christian to respond to the gift of hearing a call in a special way, embedded in a community of others striving to do the same – which I always find eases the way and returns me to refocus when I start drifting away.
And rest in peace, Olga. You became my family through marriage, but I will miss you and am grateful for your life and love.