As I walk around my house, I see intimations of spring. While some blooms are opening wide, most prick the landscape with hints of a color to come. From far away, the dogwoods look dead and empty. Up close, I see the edge of a glory soon to come. Last fall, I cut back four rose bushes that I had allowed to grow without trimming over several years. These bushes had lost all shape, and I considered digging them up. Instead, I tried cutting them almost to the ground with the hopes they might start life again. Today, as I walked to the mailbox, I saw these stubs full of tiny leaves and ready to explode again.

I am always learning how to see.

I tend toward distraction or even abstraction. I easily lose my eyes to see the vital world alive all around me. Sometimes, some days, the grace of God awakens me afresh to wonder of being alive. “At the back of our brains, so to speak, there was a forgotten blaze or burst of astonishment at our own existence,” writes G.K. Chesterton. “The object of the artistic and spiritual life was to dig for the submerged sunrise of wonder, so that a man sitting in his chair might suddenly understand that he was actually alive and be happy.”

In one sense, Lent helps us to see and hear the wonder of being alive afresh. It is a time of restriction that prepares for a time of expansion. Consider the Van Gogh painting “The Potato Eaters.”

He restricts the subject to a small meal of potatoes and coffee. He restricts the brilliant colors found in his other painting. He restricts light. We gaze upon a darkened room with a small family sharing a small meal. Through restricting various elements, Van Gogh focuses our attention and in so doing, expands our ability to see. This tiny, insignificant moments opens up our eyes and hearts to simple intimacy, shared communion. The faces convey a certain kindness, a gentle love.

Lent also restricts, also focuses the mind and heart upon the way of the cross, upon the path toward faith. In one sense, Lent is a time of returning to the beginning of our faith. It is a return to baptism. The early church baptized new converts at Easter vigil. In preparation, the converts went through a season of catechism, of training in the way of Christian faith.

Yesterday, the church remembered St. Cyril of Jerusalem. This church father is specifically remembered for his catechesis. Jaroslav Pelikan says that catechism was so popular that many who had already been baptized would attend the training throughout the season leading up to Easter. In this sense, the whole church returned to the beginning of faith.[1] The church was relearning the way of Christ, the way of faith, the grace and mercy of God.

This year, the whole world has been immersed in a place of restriction. The coronavirus has limited travel, impacted our economy, reduced our social connection. In this place of restriction, our hearts could open wide to the gift of God in Christ. We might learn to see and hear and speak in new ways. Though we face the same level of unknowing, we also face the possibility of knowing again, of seeing again, of hearing again.

Joseph Ratzinger says that baptism was also known as “enlightenment.” “When, in the baptismal liturgy,” he writes, “the sign of the cross is given to the person being baptized, the following words are pronounced: “I sign you with the sign of the cross, that you may know that Jesus loves you.—I mark your eyes with the sign of the cross, that you may see what Jesus does.—I mark your ears with the sign of the cross, that you may hear what Jesus says.—I mark your mouth with the sign of the cross, that you may reply to Jesus’ call.—I mark your hands with the sign of the cross, that you may do good as Jesus does.”^[2]

May this be a time of moving toward enlightenment, toward the source of all life and hope. In our imposed and chosen restrictions, may we turn and trust the goodness of God again. May we learn to enjoy the small gifts of breath, of sleep, of spouse, of children. May we actually see the world near us with new eyes and in so doing, behold the grace of God that sustains creation moment by moment, day by day, year by year.

[1] See Jaroslav Pelikan, The Christian Tradition: A History of the Development of Doctrine, Vol. 1: The Emergence of the Catholic Tradition (100-600) (Volume 1), University of Chicago (1975).

^[2] Joseph Ratzinger and Peter Seewald, God and the World: Believing and Living in Our Time: A Conversation with Peter Seewald, trans. Henry Taylor (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 2002), 398–399.