Goya, "With or Without Reason" from The Disasters of War, ca. 1814
I sometimes think Lent is a redundant season. When are we ever really allowed to forget that we are dust and that to dust we shall return? We see death everywhere; that skull under our skin is always looking back at us in the mirror. When are we ever allowed to forget that we live in a broken world and that we each contribute our small share to its brokenness? When are we ever allowed to forget that we fall so far short of the glory that was meant for us, that in our heart of hearts we are selfish frightened sons and daughters of bitches?
I will be too busy with teaching and meetings for Ash Wednesday today. After starting a new job, with lung infections that just won't stop, and after a very stress filled weekend, I'm sleeping in for the next few Sundays, spending time with Michael, and catching up with school work that is already piling up. I'm exhausted.
Rather than going through the long catalogue of my own sins, I'd rather remember some people who have real problems in my prayers, like the legions of people who are newly unemployed here and around the world, and like Roseann,