So, I know Lent has traditionally made school boys cuss and Jewish granddaughters come to despise ironing, but has this predominantly Jewish, Catholic tradition really earned her stripes as nouveau chic within the mainline church...or more with the glam loving' working middle class moms and retired, overly energetic, gay white men?
The last time I checked articles about Lent were fused with social media inscriptions of ashen foreheads and "love you, mom" banners scrolling underneath. Not that the Wall Street Journal didn't actually take a step up in my book by giving credence to such an historically significant religious holy day, but I was all expecting to see photos of the drive by Ash-ins enthroned by ivory flowing cabanas plumped with robust velvet pillows and tall glistening wine glasses while twenty somethings relaxed with their friends after posing for endless selfies.
Don't get me wrong, taking close-up photos of yourself to post and show the world- is no more narcissistic than a Facebook post about what you ate for breakfast, where you bought your groceries, which Bachelor you are "more like"..., this week's greatest accomplishment. Honestly, selfies couldn't be less flattering- nose hairs you didn't know could grow that long, lines, rolls, shadows and shades that only exist in your mind- or on every screen in America- so Dennis Martin from Loyola, I'm sorry but get a clue.
It does seem that this day which officially marks the day Jesus began his wilderness journey in the desert, probably a close second to hell, has come, for some, to mean little more than a glass of wine relaxing by the pool while forgoing dessert...I mean, dessert not in liquid form, of course.
The sexiness of this season, like all others, has its appeal on glossy paper, screens that promise relief, rest, retreat, a few days of ME time. The problem is I don't really remember being invited to get to know "me" a little better, to hang out with me, to rub my feet, to get a tan, a pedicure, fill myself another glass and another and another. It's not that I don't need- or WANT...some or all of those things... I mean don't every touch my feet...but hanging out with me isn't bad? I'm not saying the wine is worth giving up either, BUT - seriously, when else- if not NOW, if not when it's okay for the world to know that you're focussing internally, digging deep for the extra push, the big reveal, looking for a little more than just the usual leftovers-when? If we can't stop, if we can't take more than 1 deep breath per day, if we can't find solace as we burry our toes under the dirt from whence we have come...if we can't let go and let it be during the season of Lent..when? And why all the charades?
Meditation, yoga, pilates, white cotton rippling in the distant background and bearded angelic old men emerging directly from the Grecian shores of paradise... champagne on a striped picnic blanket in New York's Central Park, dogs actually catching and returning the frisbee...? Let's not let the sexy keep us hidden from ourselves, the self in which exposure would absolutely unravel...yet with threads still willing to be bound again...and again, and again.
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