March 10: Christ to Come Back, God's Love Number Twenty-One, Time

"I don't know what happens when you die, but, I can tell you, whatever goes on is painful, because her face was all twisted and contorted:  it was as if she had to pay dearly to come to me, even for a few moments, as if it were a tremendous burden; as if she was violating something or breaking a law."  And then his voice changed and frightened Ives:  "Can you imagine what it was for Christ to come back for so long a period of time when He rose from the dead and went to visit His apostles?"

It's a spooky conversation.  Ramirez's wife, Carmen, has recently died, and Ramirez is filled with grief and remorse.  He's mourning all his betrayals of their marriage, tiny and big.  And then Ramirez confesses to Ives, his best friend, that Carmen's ghost has visited him.  For me, it's one of the most moving and frightening passages of the novel.  It touches upon ultimate love (Carmen for Ramirez, Christ for the world) and ultimate sacrifice.

Love and sacrifice.  That pretty much describes what Lent is all about for Christians.  It's a time to reflect upon God's love and sacrifice for us, the children of His world.  That's why people give up things like chocolate for these 47 days.  It's a way to feel, in a very small way, what sacrifice is all about.


Take tonight, for example.  I was going to make a sacrifice for my daughter.  I was supposed to be at her spring band concert right now.  My wife and I had canceled an appointment, rearranged our schedules, and gotten a babysitter.  It was all set.  Then we got the note from our daughter's band instructor about the concert.  On March 17.  I had misread the original e-mail I had received, gotten my dates mixed up.  So, now I'm sitting in my office, typing blog posts, creating lesson plans, and waiting for my daughter to get done at the dance studio.  In short, it's a normal Tuesday night for me.

Of course, I appreciate that time I have to try to catch up on a lot of work.  After I'm done with my posts, I'm going to grade some papers and put together a writing assignment for my poetry class.  That's God's love number twenty-one:  time.  Time to write, grade, plan.  Time I wouldn't have had if my daughter's band concert had been tonight.

Now, if only Saint Marty's neighbor would make a sacrifice and use his snowplow to clear the slush and snow and ice from Saint Marty's driveway.

I gave that up for Lent, too...I mean the creamed spinach...