"THERE IS NO HEALTH IN US"

Monday after the Second Sunday of Lent

Underneath the ennobling words of the liturgy and the solemn processions and rites of the season, Lent is really about something grimy and nasty.

We keep Lent because of sin. Not generic sin, or, even more removed, “sinfulness,” as if we’re lamenting some aspect of “the human condition.” No, it’s sin, yours and mine. Pride, self-consuming self-centeredness; spiteful Anger which draws pleasure from inflicting pain; gnawing Envy which can only rejoice in the sorrow of others; Greed which grasps at accumulation hoping to find spiritual fulfillment in material things; Lust, which offers the love every soul craves through fleeting pleasures—and Gluttony which promises the same (though differently focused, the two are much alike); and Sloth, acedia, the destroyer of beauty and hope, the surrender of the soul to meaninglessness. The Seven Deadly Sins, as they’ve collectively come to be known.

We need to see them for what they are: the yellowed pus, the shredded white-skinned leprosy of the soul. This is what you and I are fighting against throughout our lives, but in Lent we focus specially on our war with sin. Lent isn’t about the giving up of bacon—that’s just a weapon to help you fight sin. Is it the best one? That depends on which sin you’re fighting.

A tradition many centuries old looks at the list of the Deadly Sins and divides them into two "types." Though these have been given different names at different times, the distinctions remain the same. There are Sins of Malice (the first three listed above) and Sins of Infirmity (the last three—customarily, greed straddles the division).

Sins of malice are sins I commit because I don’t care about you. You exist for me, my sake, my pleasure.

Sins of Infirmity are sins of weakness, sins I commit because I’ve twisted the sensual and mental pleasures God gave me to enjoy, into ends in themselves.

“And there is no health in me…”

I remember—I won’t ever be able to forget—sitting at a stop-light one night when I had to go into Hollywood. Though St Mary’s sat right on the edge of the town, I avoided going there whenever possible (when I eventually got curates at St Mary’s, they each, in turn, ventured there in my stead whenever I could manage it). It was late at night and I was stopped on Sunset Boulevard. From the street corner a prostitute called to me, offering her services. It’s not the first time I’d been propositioned by a “soiled dove,” but that’s a story for another time. What remains with me till today is the woman herself. She was older, at least in her mid-50’s (perhaps the street lamp adds years as television is said to add pounds, I dunno) and thickly-made up. Her lipstick was troweled on, she had over-powdered her face and from a distance I could see how much she’d coated her eyelids with some sparkly stuff. Her metallic clothes hung on an emaciated frame.

Older women have an appealing beauty and grace of their own. She should have, but didn’t. She wasn’t enticing or even interesting—just pathetic, even, revolting. To my mind, she is the picture of Sin. Not because of her particular profession, but because she is the perfect example of what Sin “is.” A promise of something not true, twisted from what she was meant to be.

We keep Lent because you and I commit sins—not generic ones but ugly ones that claw and tear at who we are. I may imagine my sin doesn't hurt others, but sin always hurts me. We keep Lent not merely to turn from the everyday sins we commit, but because each of us aspires to something more. “Beloved,” St John writes, “it doth not yet appear what we shall be: but we know that, when He shall appear, we shall be like Him…” We keep Lent because something inside us insists that we are made for more than malicious selfishness and careless pleasure.

As the priest reminded us not very long ago, we are dust. But you and I are dust with a calling. We are beloved dirt—and God has just begun to mold us. If you think Lent is a challenge, wait till you see what He intends for you later!