This time of year, one of my favorite flowers is blooming. Helleborus hybridus, also known as the Lenten rose, is a type of buttercup plant, with sepals that resemble downward hanging petals arranged in a rose shape. They range in a variety of colors from pale white/green, to yellows, pinks, purples, and I've even seen a lovely black variety. Its leaves are evergreen, and it is a shade-tolerant plant. You almost miss it when you walk along the side of our house to the front door because you don't really see the lovely flowers unless you're looking for them.
They bloom around Lent, thus they are so-named, but I like to think that they also have that name because of the way they hang their heads, looking down in humility and repentance as we venture on this journey to Pascha.
The first week of Lent is drawing to a close. To be honest, this week and Holy Week are the hardest times for me. It is a grueling marathon within a marathon, and I must confess that its close is a relief for me.
The prostrations made from Forgiveness Vespers and during Great Compline, during matins of Presanctified Liturgy---they are acts of reverence and penitence, but also, I am keenly aware of the physical effort made with each bow. I am often reminded of how our worship uses all the senses, and the act of prostrating oneself in prayer is no different.
During Great Compline during the weeks of Lent, we pray, "O Lord of hosts, be with us, for we have none other help in times of sorrow but Thee. O Lord of hosts, have mercy on us." We make continual prostrations as we pray, and I was reminded of our baptismal service, funnily enough, when the priest tonsures the person being baptized---taking from them hair from their head as an offering to God. We have nothing to offer God, but we give what we have, emerging from the water as a newborn babe, all we have to give is our hair.
One year, I was "falling behind" in the pace of prostrations because I had a toddler tugging at my arm, my scarf was badly tied and was coming undone from the motion, my hair and glasses coming askew, and it was getting uncomfortably warm (because making prostrations is quite similar to doing burpees), and the words of the prayers that the sisters were chanting seemed to leap out at me---as uncomfortable, as difficult as it was to physically pray this way, it was all I had to give in that moment to God. I am not worthy in any way, but I was offering up my effort, my sweat and tears, my labored breath, this wretched body full of sin, that He forgive me and make me worthy to be present at His glorious Resurrection.
Spring is a hectic time on the farm, as I have mentioned before. Prepping and planting, animals and children, housework and cooking, and then the addition of the extra services. Even if we take out the driving time because we're praying at home---it's just more of another thing that has to be done. Because I am trying to teach my children how to live their faith, and the only way that I can do that is by being the example they see... so I have to stop mid-mountain of laundry, schedule dinner a little differently, ignore the clutter that still hasn't been put away on the floor, in order to light our incense and candles, and stand in front of our icon corner and pray together as a family.
I am ashamed to say that more often than not, I am still not focused on praying. My baby is fussy and wants to be up/down/alone/with me all at once. My children are restless, and since we're in the living room, all their toys are a potential distraction. I am worried that the incense will set off the smoke alarm. Did I remember to turn the stove off? I didn't get to putting away anything in my bedroom AGAIN. Why won't my seeds grow? Do I need to start them over? These and a thousand other thoughts are swimming maniacally around in my head. But then there are beautiful moments, where I am pulled back, grateful in the struggle to have the steadfast example of my husband, the calmness in weathering the storm that is me; the cross we make and the cross we bear, the expressions of peace on my children's faces peering out at me in candle light. There is serenity even within this chaos. Here is God despite my weakness and sinfulness.
One night, my husband asks me how I was doing. I said, "Fine. But a little disappointed that Lent hasn't been as peaceful as I'd like."
He smiled in that way he does and held my hand saying, "Lent is never peaceful." When you are striving towards God, it is the darkness of the world attacking you, to try and steal away your peace. But still we try, still we pray because no matter what, Christ will still be risen. Death will still be vanquished, and we must ready ourselves for that day.
I hope to take the example of my Lenten rose. To be beautiful through humility and repentance, and I wish the same for you all.
Kali Hesychia! Blessed struggle! Blessed Lent to you all!
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