"Holy Days of Observation:" The First Sunday of Lent

Homily for the First Sunday of Lent
(Second draft)

What color are your eyes?

That’s a question you can expect
when you apply for a driver’s license
at the Ohio Bureau of Motor Vehicles.

The color of our eyes
is a standard part of our physical description.

The next part of the process
entails reading an eye chart
to determine if you have adequate sight
to operate a motor vehicle.

As we begin the season of Lent,
the Church requires us to engage in a similar eye exam.

We’re not asked the color of eyes,
but to what extent
do the teachings of Christ
color our world?

Sometimes, it’s a hard test to pass.
Like the lower lines on an eye chart,
the season of Lent forces us to squint.

But there’s a purpose behind the test.
The purpose is to help us assess our ability
to detect the hand of God at work.
In particular
the those blurry areas of our personal lives;
in the small print of our compromises;
and in the crowded-together-letters and lack of focus
that confuses our perception and understanding
of the world at large.

Sometimes, it’s a hard test to pass.
In other words, there are situations in which
it is difficult, mighty difficult,
to get a clear focus on the presence of God.

And today’s readings present us
with two examples of such situations:

An boat floating without direction
on a vast expanse of water;
a barren desert with no food or water in sight.

Finding God in situations like that
is harder than trying to read
the last line on a eye chart.

Yet Noah, leaning over the deck railing of his ship
persevered and came to see what his eyes
were straining to behold:
a distance shore and, with it,
the hand of God guiding the Ark
to the safety of dry land.

A similar thing occurs in the scene in today’s gospel.
In the desert, with no food in sight,
Jesus witnessed the presence of
angelic waiters offering him the rich banquet
of God’s Word…
a table laden with God’s grace;
powerful words and powerful prayer that gave him the strength
to withstand temptation and refuse the empty plate of Satan’s promises.

Now, you mention the word to most of us Catholics,
and the first thing we think of is “giving something up.”
Yet, the readings on this first Sunday of Lent
don’t even mention it.

That tells me that Lent isn’t so much about giving up things,
but learning “to see” things that others do not see.

Yes, I know the value of fasting and self-sacrifice and acts of charity.
But there is also a value to entering this holy season
mindful of the fact that
Lent is also meant to be a season
full of “holy days of observation.”

“Holy days of observation.”

What does that mean?

I’m not talking “ordinary observation,”
I’m talking “close observation.”

There’s a difference.

“Ordinary observation” of God’s help and grace
is what we employ on ordinary days in ordinary time;

I’m thinking here of the kind of grace
that does not require glasses or magnifying glasses
to detect;

I’m referring to the easy-to-see signs of God’s love and grace:
a daughter’s sixteenth birthday,
a son’s graduation,
a silver wedding anniversary…
that moment the most wonderful girl in the world
says yes to your proposal;
that moment that a grandchild is first placed in your lap.

We love and appreciate this signs and reminders of grace.
We don’t need glasses to see the hand of God at work
on such occasions.

But not everyday is a celebration
and it is highly important that we Catholics also learn
how to detect the power and presence of God
when fear sets in or the going gets tough:

days when the rain pour down
and the waves start crashing
and we wonder how long we’ll stay afloat;

days when life is as dry as a desert
and our spirits ache like an empty stomach.

On days like that,
can we learn to see with the eyes of Noah?

On days like that,
can we learn to see with the eyes of Christ
and detect the angels of God
coming to wait on us in the middle of a desert?

You what I think is sad?

It think it’s sad that, when it comes to the season of Lent,
a lot of people can’t seem to get their eyes off of themselves
and focused on Christ.

So long as we focus on “what we’re giving up for God,”
and never get around to focusing on about what God gave up for us,
our vision remains blurred.

Yet the emphasis on what God did for us
is the very essence of the Gospel of Christ.

Other religions speak in wonderful and beautiful terms
about the beauty of God reflected in the beauty of creation…
and their teaching is true…as far as it goes.

Other religions speak in wonderful and convincing ways
about the dignity of human life and the virtues of human love and compassion.
And this teaching reflects the true value of religion in general.

These religions teach their followers to do all kinds of good things
for the good of others and for the honor of God as they understand God to be.

Yet, only those of us who belong to Christ
know a God who was “born in a barn;”

a God who came down to earth
and willingly walked into a desert for forty days
and felt the cramp of hunger in his gut;

angry people spat on…God;
soldiers tortured…God.

Lent is the “eye chart” that registers our ability
to detect the power and grace of God…
in the lower lines of our life
Blurred by pain
distorted with confusion
obscured by despair.

It’s a hard test to pass.
Fortunately we have a well-crafted lens
to help us adjust our focus and see more clearly.

The lens has been around a long time
and it goes by an old name.

It’s called the Sacrifice of the Mass.

Specifically, its that part of the Mass
in which we place on the altar

all the things that confuse us and trouble us:

that feeling we get when walk into a doctor’s office,
that desperation we sense when the boss calls us in and tells us to hit the road,
the ache we feel in the gut when we hear about a child being abused
the anger we experience when someone we love is in pain…

here at Mass, this community of St. Al’s,
…everyone of us here…
we bring to this altar not only our hopes and dreams,
but also our suffering, our doubts and our pain…

and we place them in the hands of Christ…

the Savior of the world…

the Savior…who wept at the grave of his friend, Lazarus;

the a Savior who looked into the eyes
of a mother who child was languishing

and touched the skin of a leper…

and clothed the body of a tormented man living among the tombs…

a Savior who offered his back to the whip
and opened his hands to the nails.

He did this…all of this…so we’d never forget
that God sees every line of worry that crosses your face,
knows every doubt that clouds your vision,
feels the fear that makes your palms sweat.

In Christ Jesus, God became one of us
so that we might become one with God.

This is the deep reality that experience at the Eucharist,
this is the deep insight that the Mass unveils before our eyes:

pray deeply the mystery of the Mass
and you’re sight grows clear,
the focus gets sharp:

and you start to see, truly see,
that God is close, very close;

you are not alone,
you are never alone.