Poverty comes in many forms. It isn’t just financial. Trust me, as a priest I find that some of the poorest people I’ve met in my journey have had the largest bank accounts and the weakest spirituality. The love of things that will pass often drive people to insanity as they chase the elusive dream of happiness through objects of little permanence. True giving is mostly foreign to them and the most content, the happiest, are those who give with the way we should love, with wild abandon! The starkness of Lent brings us all to a level playing field and perhaps, if we allow it, to mold us to something better.
I, personally, find that I am living in what I often call a perpetual Lent. I am somehow never salvageable, never free, never loved, never quite whole; never safe. My past mistakes and transgressions are never far from my next thought, as I never find myself able to feel forgiven or a recipient of God’s grace. As easily as I forgive and give grace, I withhold from myself with rare exception. Perhaps it is why I built Saint Miriam, for people like me, who hurt and despair that they are not good enough for God. I am still living in my Lent. I am poor.
Now, to be clear, I am not living in the abject poverty of some, or on the streets like those we care for with our outreach, and I make my way in the world within a comfortable two-income household (although three kids make a huge dent via groceries!). But I am poor as I have lost things that I never thought I could. I almost lost this parish to a pandemic. I lost friends and parishioners who I thought loved me but betrayed me over lies. I lost the naïve trust in others I once so easily enjoyed. I lost my dad, and I lost my mom, too, and now that day of my nightmares has come, and I am an orphan once again. I was adopted as an orphan by my wonderful parents, but I know that now since mom is gone, I return to being an orphan again. So, yes, I am poor in many ways. That is why I see a therapist so that I can try to heal and not lose my mind while I desperately try to help others like me.
I am also in poverty because I almost lost my second son after my wife and I suffered the loss of our second child in miscarriage. Caleb was seriously ill, and we continue to deal with his health issues and protect him. He is whole in so many ways, and certainly beat the odds, but his constant medical needs have taken a seat deep within Katelyn and I and we worry constantly. So, in that way, the way of worry, I am also poor. Now with our nation unrecognizable to me, I also feel hurt every single day. I pray every day and I weep often. I am unsure of my place in the world anymore, I am not even sure I should be a priest any longer. Perhaps I will never feel whole again. So, I am poor in this respect, too.
I suppose this is why I sink deeply into every Lent. Lent is a time to turn back to God and a time to allow God to correct our mistakes and to remind us of how we hurt others. It is a season of the liturgical year that calls us to a deeper time of prayer, fasting, and almsgiving to orient our lives even more deeply toward Jesus. Lent is an invitation to interior conversion, and every Lent I pray I will not only find my own way to that goal, but also, maybe – just perchance – be able to leave my perpetual Lent to feel the joy of a new Easter.
May I one day be what I pray for all you: whole and happy.
Blessed Journey. Blessed Lent.
Monsignor +Jim