It’s still Lent. By this point in the journey, I am not as enthusiastic about Lent as I was back on Ash Wednesday. The novelty is wearing off a bit. But this Lent, I keep thinking back to the penance I received when I went to my most recent Confession.
Go home and find a crucifix, the priest said. Sit and hold it and really look at it.
You’ll see the suffering, of course, he said. But try to see the love.
I did that as my penance, and I was struck by the beauty of his directions. Because it’s easy to see the suffering on the crucifix. The agony and pain and the enormity of what Jesus took on are all so clear.
But even though we know Jesus loves us, and we know he suffered and died because He loves us, that’s not always as obvious. We might need to look at the wounds and endurance to see it, or we might need to look beyond them.
Even when it’s not Lent, I keep a small crucifix on my kitchen windowsill, where I can look at Jesus while I’m washing dishes. Now and then, I’ve been taking it down, holding it in my hand, and looking for the love.
Jesus loves me so much. He loves you so much. He suffered and died for each of us—and He did it out of love.
When I was sharing this with my sister Treasa, she told me the story of how Matisse asked Renoir why he kept painting even though he was in physical pain, and Renoir said, “The pain passes but the beauty remains.”
The pain passes but the beauty remains. The suffering is there, but so is the love.
As Lent continues, and I fall many more than the three times Jesus did on the way to the cross, I find myself thinking that this might not look like the perfect Lent. But there is so much love, everywhere we turn, in the people we encounter, and in the way Jesus walks with us every day.
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