by Fred Moleck
Lenten Contradictions 2009
Contradiction IIn my part of Christendom, the ubiquitous church signs announcing Lenten fish fries started to emerge on the Monday before Ash Wednesday.
Most of them were scheduled for the Fridays in Lent from 11:00 AM to 2:00 PM. The churches with good-size kitchens and generous volunteers boasted two days—Wednesday and Fridays—for their fish fry galas.
I know of two churches who run the dinners—both sit-down and pick-up—from 11:00 AM to 7:00 PM. Apparently, they can attract the after-work crowds.
Two of the churches’ signs were classic examples of “you miss the point” category with their 4′ x 8′ signs which proudly announced, LENTEN FISH FRY—EAT ALL YOU WANT—SECOND SERVINGS, ONE-HALF PRICE.
Perhaps, since it is Lent and God loves a cheerful gluttonous giver, a wink is given to this crack in the disciplines of Lent.
The going price in this part of the kingdom is $4.50 for each platter. Why not just $5.00? Because most patrons will simply say, “Oh, just keep the change.” It’s the hidden profit of parochial marketing.
I just might be the only patron who saw a deep disconnect between “eat all you want” and the classic three-prong journey of Lent: prayer, fasting, and almsgiving.
Perhaps the martyred codfish that bravely gave up their lives for the Lenten gorgefest will find a special place in the Great Aquarium in the sky.
Contradiction II
A friend reports of hearing one of the best sermons on the need to separate one’s self from the daily grind of concerns and demands. The examples were drawn from today’s technological craze for instant communication.
Cell phones, text messaging, social-networking websites—all keep us in touch with whomever we choose. It also provides a drowning possibility with hundreds of irrelevancies.
Jesus gave the model for uncomplicating one’s life in his cooperating with the move of the Spirit to place himself in the desert for forty days and nights midst animals, weather problems, and not much to eat.
Forty seems like a nice classic number in Scripture, so, why not forty days and nights.
We also see Jesus frequently pulling himself away from his mission to heal and to teach. He needed interior rejuvenation. We have no idea what the disciples did while he was in partial separation.
Perhaps they talked among themselves trying to find out just what Jesus was doing being all alone. It didn’t dawn on them to do likewise.
More than likely they were bantering among themselves about just what their positions would be when Jesus would return and rally the troops and set up his kingdom. They never really got what Jesus was really about.
The friend who reported the great sermon also had the worship leaflet from the church with a listing of activities the parish would be sponsoring.
It was refreshing to see that the weekly activities numbered four—food pantry drive, Lenten preaching series, evening prayer, and one sacred music concert. That’s all.
I contrasted that series with a church I visited last year on the First Sunday of Lent. The bulletin listed the week’s Lenten schedule:
Monday night, 7:30—Next Sunday’s Scripture study class—Senior citizens
in Room 1; adults in Room 2; teens in Room 3
Monday night, 8:00–9:30—Lenten Prayer Shawls knitting group
Monday night, 8:00–9:00—Medjugorje Pilgrim Prayer groupTuesday night, 7:00–9:00—Buildings and Grounds Committee
Rectory dining room
Tuesday night, 7:30–8:30—Yoga for Baby Boomers (personal yoga mats required)—Gymnasium
Tuesday night, 7:00–9:00—Youth Group planning meeting for Habitat in Honduras trip—School library
Tuesday night, 7:00–9:30—Easter Liturgical Environment Committee planning session—Church. . . and on and on and on.
Note no mid-week prayer. No faith sharing. No quiet time. No personal meditation, alone or with others.
Contradiction III
A considerably over-65-year-old curmudgeon-columnist complaining about too much stuff in parish life as he eats his fried cod fish sandwich with tartar sauce, sipping on a diet cola, munching on potato chips, and looking forward to a small, 62% dark chocolate bar while his feet rest on a yoga mat.
Miserere mei, Deus.
You can reach Fred Moleck via email at fmoleck@comcast.net