Lent* at Sea

There is absolutely nothing penitential about being on a cruise ship. In fact, few things are more in the spirit of Carneval (literally “carne val” or away with meat, denoting the feasting one does before the meat goes away) than ocean cruising. “Would you like three appetizers, sir?” “A second lobster thermidor? Of course!” One must find one’s penance in forgoing all the offerings, at best. But one positive aspect of such a Lenten journey is the opportunity to pray at sea.

Now I’m a land-lubber, and the most land-locked of those. I was born far away from any useful water source. Lake Michigan’s beaches were full of dead alewifes when I grew up, and worse yet, my mother had an inexplicably morbid fear of water, so much so none of her children were encouraged to go near it. I didn’t learn to swim until I got to West Point, where they pointed me to the pool, handed me a old rifle with the barrel full of cement, and told me to get to the other side without drowning. Actually, that was the final test, but the twenty or so African American cadets and I in what they called “rock-squad” swimming class felt like it was the beginning.

Anyway, I now feel very secure that I am drown-proofed, but I retain an abiding respect for the sea. Amidst a transatlantic crossing, one spends days away from the sight of land, so early morning is a perfect time to go out on a balcony, take in the majesty of the Good Lord’s creation, and render him homage. Nothing makes you feel smaller, and the world bigger and full of wonder, than staring out above the abyss.

If it makes me feel insignificant, that’s a good thing. In the larger scheme, we all are. That may be the point. There is a larger scheme, and we all have very small and insignificant parts. Bishop Robert Barron is fond of describing it as the contest between the theo-drama, the story the Lord is actively writing, and the ego-drama, the one each of us seeks to star-in all by ourselves. I like to call it the meo-drama, just to make the point sharper. The way of the Lord leads to peace of mind; the way of the ego leads to constant aggravation. The world doesn’t go our way. We’re never as rich, as thin, or as popular as we want. The government doesn’t accept our policies, the courts don’t abide by our rulings, our neighbors don’t live by our rules.

Reinhold Niebuhr, the American theologian, is credited with the Serenity prayer: “Lord, give me the serenity to accept those things I cannot change, the passion to change those I can, and the wisdom to discern the difference.” There is great wisdom in this simple statement. Notice that serenity (and humility) is the foremost request, because life will be an unending series of things we cannot change. Only then comes the request for passion, because without the Lord’s guidance, our passions are mostly (if not entirely) ill-used. Finally, the prayer ends with the call for wisdom, which will temper both the heat of our passion and coolness of our restraint.

I write all this because I often get asked–either in wonder or incredulity–“Pat, how can you remain so calm amidst everything going on? Are you unconcerned about (fill-in your favorite controversy, there are so many)? Don’t you see the severity of our situation? How can you be unmoved?”

First off, I’m often moved, moved to prayer. For those who see prayer as meaningless, I’m sorry, but in my world, it changes everything, starting with me. Second, as a student of history (I’m not sure one is ever a master of history), I know how much worse things have been before, even in my limited span of years. Name a challenge, and I’ll name its historical topper.

I call to mind Jesus admonition in the Olivet Discourse (Matthew 24:6-13)

“You will hear of wars and reports of wars; see that you are not alarmed, for these things must happen, but it will not yet be the end.

Nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom; there will be famines and earthquakes from place to place.
All these are the beginning of the labor pains.

Then they will hand you over to persecution, and they will kill you. You will be hated by all nations because of my name.

And then many will be led into sin; they will betray and hate one another.

Many false prophets will arise and deceive many; and because of the increase of evildoing, the love of many will grow cold.

But the one who perseveres to the end will be saved.

And this gospel of the kingdom will be preached throughout the world as a witness to all nations, and then the end will come.”

No, I’m not suggesting we’re in the end times, except for the fact we’re always in the end times, in general, and you and I are very much in our very own end times. One of the key traits of the Devil (and yes, I do believe Satan is real) is his tendency to scatter, just as Christ seeks to bring all things together. Nothing is more emblematic of this today than the constant harangue from our algorithms telling us how stupid, how biased, and how evil others are. And of course it has its effect, dehumanizing us just as it dehumanizes those with whom we disagree.

People decry horrid language by our politicians by using equally objectionable language. Some take to the streets, protesting or interfering with federal agents who have guns; others decry any restraint concerning how American citizens are treated at home. How one feels about the killing of one of the worst, mass-murdering terrorist leaders of the last fifty years is determined by your politics. A senior politician predicts the defeat of US military forces as they are out there, fighting. Of course there are policies and politics to be validly debated here, but this is all scattering, not discourse.

This Lent, I’m participating with the Hallow app in reading the Brothers Karamazov and reflecting on it. It has been a moving experience thus far, and we’re only two weeks in! One of the lessons Dostoevsky presents is “everyone is really responsible to all men, for all men, and everything.” What seems logically impossible is actually a call to recognize we are all constantly contributing to the holiness or sin of all those around us. Constantly, and with everyone. Our good and evil acts, no matter how minor, ripple out across the community and the world. Refuse a beggar, cut-off a driver, post a false meme, share another’s secrets, and you may have no idea what evil you may have wrought. And that ignorance is not an excuse.

This is not a call for passivity, because the alms you give, the person to whom you yield, the truth you insist upon, and the confidence you keep also ripple out. Rather than judging, we are called to acknowledge our own sinfulness, then to proceed from humility, realizing we are no better than anyone else: we’re just as responsible in all cases. Like another biblical saying about removing the beam from one’s own eye before trying to remove the splinter in your brother’s, once we are seeing aright in our own life, we can clearly see how to respond to others (even in politics!).

The really amazing part? Once one truly embraces this approach, one is freed from the need to judge others, and instead can act solely for their good. Which brings joy and peace of mind.

So this Lent, if the way you’re living seems to be a collection of scattering, if you’re always angry, consider the alternative.

“Behold, now is a very acceptable time; behold, now is the day of salvation.

* After I wrote this, I realized that while many of my friends know all about Lent, others may not. Lent is a penitential season (for many Christians, especially Catholics) leading up to Easter. During this period, we are asked to deny ourselves some things we like, fast and abstain from certain foods, give alms to the poor and generally recommit ourselves to the Way.