NOT SKIPPING THE HARD PARTS
I went to Confession once during a retreat near a lake. My penance was to write a list of the ways I find myself trapped by sin, crumple the paper around a rock, launch it into the water, and let it sink. Later, I could remember these statements on the bottom of a lake. Not completely gone, but not with me anymore.
So, the next morning eager to do my penance, I wake up to find that the rocks have disappeared. It snowed two feet overnight.
Maybe God will put a rock in my path?
No rocks were put in my path.
I trudge down to the dock, sin list in hand, surveying my options. My options are snow. Icy snow. So, I crumple the list into a ball, pressing snow around it with the waning heat of my hands. I’m ready to let go. Hopeful and empowered, I throw as hard as I can.
The snowball disintegrates in mid-air. My sin paper falls approximately seven feet from where I stand. It does not sink.
“WHY?!” I yell (to God), as I violently kick snow into the water to sink the paper. I throw sheets of ice. I briefly consider throwing my shoe. The paper floats. I can read my handwriting. I just want this to be over with! I am muttering obscenities at this point, which feels counterproductive.
At last, I dump enough snow onto the paper and watch as it slowly, but finally, sinks.
Do you ever feel like you want to skip the hard parts?
Every time I approach Holy Week, I want to skip ahead. I want to rush through today, through Judas handing Jesus over, the agony, the scourging, the Crucifixion, the fasting, the sacrifice. I want to get to the Resurrection, the flowers, the ham, Jesus defeating death...but faster. I wanted to get over my habits of sin without having to throw fifty pounds of snow into a lake, without having to try so hard.
I am tempted to avoid the hard stuff of Holy Week. My own sin and betrayals. Jesus suffering and dying for me. But it’s right there in the hard stuff of this week that Jesus shows up. Jesus shows me what it’s like to not take the easy way out. He gives meaning to my suffering. He’s with me in it. What if I actually acknowledge my sin? What if I sit with this awful story of Judas in today’s Gospel? What if, by not avoiding, I can actually enter into this Triduum? Not just the new life, but the whole story that gets me there?
Knowing that Jesus accompanies me, can I let myself sit with the uncomfortable parts of the Holy Week stories? With the uncomfortable parts of my story? Can I trust his promise of new life? Even if it doesn’t happen right away?
Teresa Nygard