Joy!
Yesterday, my Lent began with a kiss.
Oh, I’d previously prayed Lauds on the train coming into Seattle, but this I do nearly every day. Lent is a time set apart, a time to spiritually prepare ourselves for the coming of Easter. To help set the season apart, it begins with Ash Wednesday, where we enter into the penitential season with sackcloth (figuratively) and ashes (literally).
So it was fitting that this year as I approach the tenth anniversary of my baptism, my Lent and my Ash Wednesday would begin with a moment set apart as well.
I was on my way from the train to Saint James Cathedral, where I’ve gone to the early morning Ash Wednesday Mass for some years. Nevertheless, the first part of my walk was along the same route I take every day to my office, walking with my train buddy Jim.
We walked past the Union Gospel Mission, with its crowds of homeless men and women waiting outside for a hot meal, or to share a cigarette or some company.
They reminded me that I needed to stop by my bank to get some dollar coins, as I had only a five and a ten in my pocket.
About a block farther on, we were met by a young African American woman. She was clear-eyed and relatively well put together, though her unkempt hair and the dirt on her jacket told of days living rough.
She was trying to sell a can of sprite. Reflexively I pulled the bills from my pocket before remembering that I had only the five and the ten.
I gave her the five.
Her eyes lit up, and she exploded in joy and thanksgiving. She threw her arms around me and kissed me on the cheek. Words fell out of her like a waterfall.
“Thank you,” she said, over and over, and “God bless you”.
For five dollars.
I muttered some embarrassed words and blessed her in turn. She offered me the soda, and I told her to keep it.
I walked on at a loss for words, and I could not stop grinning.
Jim, some yards ahead of me now, had stopped and turned. He said, “when I looked to see where you were, I could only think of Saint Francis embracing the leper, but then I realized it was the leper embracing Saint Francis”.
If I had had any sort of presence of mind, I’d have corrected him. He had it right the first time.
I know my sins all too well, and I’m pretty sure it was the mendicant who threw her arms around the one who was sick.
The grin didn’t fade until I was climbing up First Hill towards the Cathedral.
That was when the physical toil of the climb shook something loose in my head.
Why did I give her the five and not the ten? Why not both? And how strange that our society is at a place where five dollars – an amount I’ve been known to spend at a whim on a mocha – that five dollars could bring someone such obvious joy.
When I arrived at Saint James, I prayed the Office of Prime in the presence of God in the Blessed Sacrament, trying to process the experience.
I’m not really sure that I came to any sort of definitive conclusion, except to say that I was reminded of the same sorts of things brought on by the homily I reflected on last week. The difference was, of course, that it’s not just those who are healed who feel compelled to give back; it’s also those who are overcome with joy and want to share out that joy to the whole world.
This is the sort of joy that makes you shout in the street and compels you to kiss strangers.
Like Eisenstaedt’s famous photo of the sailor and the woman kissing on Times Square on VJ Day.
Or the Resurrection:
[Jesus] stood in their midst and said to them, “Peace be with you.”
But they were startled and terrified and thought that they were seeing a ghost.
Then he said to them, “Why are you troubled? And why do questions arise in your hearts? Look at my hands and my feet, that it is I myself. Touch me and see, because a ghost does not have flesh and bones as you can see I have.”
And as he said this, he showed them his hands and his feet.
While they were still incredulous for joy and were amazed, he asked them, “Have you anything here to eat?”
They gave him a piece of baked fish; he took it and ate it in front of them.
(Luke 24:36b-43)
Some translations use “overcome with joy”.
Notice how Jesus brings them back to earth: he asks for food. For hospitality.
He certainly does this to help prove that he’s not an insubstantial ghost, but there are many ways he could have done so.
He does not deny the apostles their joy, but he grounds that spiritual joy in earthly service.
And it’s that spirit of joy and service that sent the apostles out into the world to proclaim the Gospel.
The Doors of Saint James Cathedral, Seattle
I have often thought that this small sculpture in the context of the Camino – the Way of Saint James – where one comes by and by to the town of Santo Domingo de la Calzada, with its legendary story of the saint and the rooster.
Perhaps, though, these roosters are crowing with joy, crowing the Gospel to the world.
If physical things – everything from the ending of a war to a sports victory to five dollars – can bring us mere humans such joy, imagine our joy when we gaze upon the face of God in heaven!
Imagine having that sense of joy eternally. Our earthly joys are only the merest foretaste of our eternal heavenly joy, as our earthly liturgies are only the merest foretaste of the eternal heavenly liturgy.
Our life on earth is our preparation for the joys of heaven, as Lent is our preparation for the joys of Easter.
That’s a pretty good lesson to start my Lent.
Though I don’t know your name, thank you, Seattle mendicant. You’ve given me far more than I gave you.