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...

March 12: Black Smoke

Yes, black smoke is billowing over the Sistine Chapel, indicating that there will be no band concert at my daughter's middle school tonight.  Sources close to the Vatican had been anticipating this musical event all evening.  Alas, shortly before 4 p.m., the dark plumes appeared above the conclave building, dashing all hopes.

The dark smoke also indicates that I will sequestered at the university for the next couple hours, doing my obligatory time in my office.  While the Italian press had speculated I may skip this part of my professorial duties, I will not alter my daily schedule during the conclave.  I sit by my phone, awaiting the call from Rome.

The dinner menu for the conclave cardinals is unknown.  I will be dining on potatoes and ham tonight.  Later, I will walk to the fountain down the hall for a cup of water.  Papal elections are thirsty business.  So are office hours.

While the smoke blowing is done for the night, I will continue to pray and pack my bags.

Saint Marty must be ready to head to St. Peter's Square at the drop of a hat.  Or pick up his daughter in about an hour.

What do the cardinals mean by this?