Columnists
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Columnists
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February
13 , 2002
Judging by the spiffy outfits, it’s immediately after someone’s First Holy Communion, or perhaps a Confirmation. The details are hazy in my mind (let’s not get bogged down by the facts). I’m not sure where I was when the picture was taken —probably distracted by a crisis somewhere else. I’m sure I had said to the older boy, “Watch him for a minute.” And the way he did that was by getting a grip on the toddler’s arm and holding on for dear life. This kind of thing happens often in big families, maybe in any family. Mom and dad are busy elsewhere (obviously one was the photographer here) and one of the older kids is put in charge of a younger sibling. I’ve even heard stories about older children who were permanently responsible for one of the younger kids, getting her up in the morning, dressing her, making sure she had breakfast and got to school on time. This was a fairly common practice in the big families of my generation and my folks’ generation. Child raising experts would be aghast at such a system today, although I’m not sure it was all that harmful. In years when there were no automatic washers, no electric appliances and indeed (at least on many farms) no indoor plumbing, mom needed all the help she could get. It certainly fostered some very loving, close relationships among the “co-dependent” siblings. If truth be told, I probably did more of the “Watch him for a minute,” kind of thing than was totally healthy for all involved (we had some interesting complications going on in other areas of our lives) but it doesn’t seem to have done any permanent harm. Either to the watcher or the watchee. And if it did bother one or the other, I probably would have uttered those infamous words, words that kids of my generation grew to despise: “Offer it up.” So we come to Ash Wednesday. Easter is as early as it possibly can be this year, causing consternation all ‘round. The glitter and glitz of Christmas has barely faded from memory (to say nothing of some of our front porches; I still don’t have all the outdoor lights put away) when we are asked to contemplate the purple of the shroud. We don’t have the pine needles vacuumed up and we have to contend with plastic Easter basket grass. My generation grew up with “Offer it up,” based on the idea that if we have more pain, more discomfort, more of less, we have a larger “bribe” for the Lord. If I make my life more burdensome, this theory goes, give up enough goodies, it will certainly ensure my family’s continued good health, safety, happiness, as well as our usual, above-average standard of living. Intellectually, most of us knew better. We knew our God was not the god of the pagans, requiring the sacrifice of small animals and the first fruits of our labor. But we persisted. And gave up cigarettes, booze, chocolate, colas, as well as by going on diets that were really designed to help us get into last year’s Easter dress. But even back when I was totally resistant to the idea of giving anything up, the healthier part of me knew that “Offer it up” helped me clear out some of the rubbish that cluttered my mind, the mental flotsam and jetsam that seemed to get in the way of my becoming the whole / holy spiritual person I was meant to be. Today, when I can get past that childish, immature resistance to not satisfying my every whim, “Offer it up” can lead me to a place of total contentment and peace — the “still waters” of the psalmist. I still worry about those little boys in the photograph - and their siblings. I wonder if they didn’t hear the awful “offer it up” words so often that the phrase became the “have a nice day” of their generation. To say nothing of “Watch him for a minute.” Maybe I’ll have to do some offering up of my own this Lent — just to make up.
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