Being raised and educated in the dogma of the Catholic church, and although now being what I call a “collapsed Catholic,” I still observe the holidays that have been traditions all my life. From February 17th, Ash Wednesday to April 1st, Good Friday, Catholics from the age of fourteen and up may give up eating meat and may even fast on Ash Wednesday and Good Friday. This time of Lent represents the forty days Christ fasted in the desert and marks the period of forty days, which comes before Easter in the Christian calendar.
This year, with the lockdowns and virtual services, Ash Wednesday was a bit of a fizzer. Even the Pope was allowing only limited numbers to receive ashes at the Vatican and sprinkling ashes on the top of the head, rather than scribing a cross of ashes on the forehead of the faithful; His Holiness intoned the phrase “Remember thou art dust and to dust thou shalt return,” which painfully put us in mind of the 530,000+ deaths from Covid 19 that our country alone has suffered.
Moreover, the tradition I observed growing up included “giving something up” for Lent. With the pandemic restrictions, I wondered what was left to give up! A friend and practicing Catholic reminded me that “giving up” had morphed into “taking on”, as in a charitable task. I wondered if donations on-line counted. Even being vaccinated and wearing a double mask deemed soup kitchens and food banks off-limits. Nevertheless this entire past year seemed a time of atonement and sacrifice. Fear and community well-being were the impetus for donning a mask to leave the house and staying home seemed a far safer option anyway. And so we did.
Back in the 60’s at my Catholic girls’ preparatory school in Georgetown, we took Lent very seriously, with our cloistered nuns singing Gregorian chants behind a wooden screen and our visiting Jesuit saying mass, sprinkling us with holy water, and waving a fragrant censor in our direction. Each Friday we followed the way of the cross and the solemnity of these traditions was intoxicating. We had fervor and a sisterhood of committed faithful.
Now we yearn for a different unity in a move toward herd immunity by May Day and a non-virtual observance of a Sunrise Easter Service, which has replaced the Easter Vigil in many churches. Here on Amelia Island this Sunrise celebration often takes place on the beach and is incredibly moving. It is the heralding of a new day, a risen Saviour, a commitment to community, and perhaps an end to ravages of the pandemic. We can only hope.
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