That is because, as we travel the 40 days of Lent, we do so while keeping our gaze focused on the great light that is Christ’s resurrection at Easter. The season of Lent offers us a perfect time for reflection—on both our everyday and faith lives. Right now, there is a lot to unpack on both fronts.

In this month’s issue, Phyllis Zagano encourages us to spend time in reflective silence in order to connect on a deeper level with the season. And in her article “Flipping the Question,” Mary Ann Steutermann calls on us to reflect on three questions that could change our mindset and put us on a path that follows in Jesus’ footsteps.

During this time of Lent, may you find some peace and comfort amid these chaotic times—knowing that we are heading toward the light of Easter.

When COVID-19 prevented artist Mark Balma from traveling to Italy to paint frescoes of holy women, he devised a novel solution: Paint them in the United States and ship them there.

The Umbrian town of Terni, Italy, suffered extensive damage from World War II bombing. It paid the price for being a center of armament production. Through the decades, much of the town has been restored. The Cathedral of Terni presides over the town piazza. Tourists and residents hike to view the magnificent Marmore Cascades that plummet hundreds of feet into the valley below.

Despite all the restoration efforts in Terni, one large church stood alone in need of major renovation. The Church of the Immaculate Conception peered out lifelessly across a meadow. In 2017, Don Giovanni, then pastor in the Diocese of Terni, saw potential in the church. Its very name indicated life: Immaculate Conception, life from a woman.

Gathering parishioners, townspeople, Italian theologian Lilia Sebastiani, and other imaginative individuals, Don Giovanni experienced the birth of a plan. This church would bear witness to women whose faithfulness—as recorded in the Torah, the Bible, and the Quran—has endured through millennia. The women selected for the project have inspired, nurtured, and often suffered for their faith. What unites them is their faith in God, the Holy One, revered and worshipped in the Abrahamic religions.

The purpose of the project is to ignite discussion about what these women of faith reveal regarding the “genius of women.” This phrase comes from St. John Paul II’s 1997 book, The Genius of Women. What role does God desire that women exercise to bring about the kingdom here on earth? For far too long the true gift of women to the life of faith and the life of the Church has been underemphasized. Attention is needed to bring into full consciousness the feminine “genius of women.”

Once the women were selected—Eve, Hagar, Sarah, Ruth, and Naomi; the woman in the Song of Songs; the Samaritan woman; Mary, the mother of Jesus; friends Martha and Mary; women disciples at the Last Supper; and St. Mary Magdalene—to grace 10 large (14′ x 19′) panels in the Church of the Immaculate Conception, the question arose: How would they be portrayed? The ancient and enduring medium of fresco was selected.

Enter the Artist

The fresco artist chosen to portray Women of Faith is a master of the art. Mark Balma, of Minneapolis, Minnesota, and Assisi, Italy, is known as the premier fresco artist in the world today as well as a portraiture artist. Drawn to art as a child who constantly sketched his teachers and classmates, Mark was trained in portraiture by Richard Lack, and in fresco art by Pietro Annigoni of Florence, Italy, who became his mentor when Mark was 19.

Balma creates memorable portraits in a technique created by Leonardo da Vinci. His portraiture includes five presidents, generals and government leaders, and simple street people. Balma’s portrait of John Lewis, the courageous, tireless member of the House of Representatives, hangs in the Smithsonian Gallery honoring African Americans.

But it was Balma’s talent in fresco that was needed for this project. Bringing Women of Faith to life requires a multitude of qualities in addition to superb artistic ability. Many of these qualities are revealed in Balma’s personal life: a deep spirituality, a devoted prayer life, a passion for his work, intense focus, and the strength and energy for lengthy workdays often standing on scaffolding high above open space.

Preliminary sketches of the 10 panels were complete, and sacks of plaster awaited transformation into art in Terni, according to the ancient technique of buon fresco. Then the coronavirus pandemic wrapped the world in change and fear. Balma has dual US and Italian citizenship, but transportation of materials and permission to enter Italy were not possible during the pandemic’s onset.

Balma’s alternative? He has chosen an ancient Greek form of fresco from the fifth century BC to continue with Women of Faith during the pandemic. He will create frescoes on heavy linen fabric stretched on frames, not in Italy, but in Minnesota. The panels will be completed in the MoZaic Building in Minneapolis. Balma contacted the construction corporation about using the space, and the response was positive and immediate. The structure, which is to be an art center, has well-lit, ample space for his work.

Paints will be created by grinding the fresco colors into an ancient recipe used throughout the Renaissance. Prayer will initiate each day’s creation. Section by section, images of women of faith will emerge. When a panel is complete, it will be removed from its frame and rolled for transport. Panels will be shipped to Terni when the pandemic loosens its grip on the world. Immaculate Conception Church will remain a place of worship as it awaits its adornments of faith.

St. Francis of Assisi was called to a lifetime of service and devotion to the Lord by words he heard from God, “Go and rebuild my church which, as you can see, is falling into ruin.” Perhaps the message of Women of Faith is this: “Go and restore faith in God, the holy one.”

Beauty, Grace, and Understanding

Don Giovanni says of the project: “Art and beauty are two forms of communication that humans have always used. I believe these new frescoes have a unique potential to bring a message of love, peace, joy, and fullness to this and future generations. They will give beauty and a sense of completion that this building has never seen and new life to a church . . . in desperate need of repair and love.

“In the time of confusion in which we live, when old values seemed to have disappeared, we find ourselves in need of knowing more fully God’s will for our lives. We propose this study of biblical women as an attempt to reveal further the will of God.” In this place of meditation, visitors will find solace and direction as they reflect on the women who nurtured the churches of antiquity.

The frescoes are more than exquisite art. They are visible prayers that will reach from a church once destroyed by bombs into a world pleading for peace. The women’s stories expressed in Scripture and tradition offer hope and direction for living in the 21st century. Each panel contains a message for God’s people today. In meditating on each biblical story, seekers may gain a deeper understanding of the will of God.

The project invites people of various faiths to visit Immaculate Conception Church in person, virtually, or through printed material to worship and discover their shared faith in the God of all. The faith that joins these women of Abrahamic faiths is more powerful and unitive than the differences of culture they experience. Don Giovanni expresses that hope: “Our prayer is that the images of Sarah and Hagar with Abraham will allow us to believe that an interreligious dialogue is possible between Hebrews, Christians, and Muslims.”

Watch the Artist in Action and Lend Support

While the worldwide pandemic has slowed the creation of the Women of Faith frescoes, the work is now underway. When the pandemic subsides, arrangements will be made to allow visitors to view Mark Balma in action in the MoZaic Building in Minneapolis. In addition, Mark’s team has provided a link on the Women of Faith website, WomenofFaithFrescoes.com, where interested individuals can watch the work in progress until its completion. The site also features descriptions of the women chosen, as well as videos detailing the art of buon fresco.

Creating works of fresco is an expensive endeavor. Don Giovanni has found support for Women of Faith from individuals and companies in Italy and abroad. No church or government funds are used for Women of Faith. CAF AMERICA is an organization that enables cross-border giving by Americans to validated charities and charitable projects across the world. For more information, go to CafAmerica.org.

When a classmate challenged Blessed Frédéric Ozanam to put his faith into action in 1833, he took it to heart. Today his legacy lives on through this organization.

It probably started when a mother noticed that her not-so-little boy’s ankles were showing. She sighed; all his clothes seemed to be perpetually shrinking. She gathered the outgrown trousers along with a few other items and dropped them off at the local St. Vincent de Paul conference. It was a tiny donation forgotten as soon as she was home, but more than 60 years later, that gift is still remembered by the recipient.

“I remember walking to this little building that St. Vincent de Paul had in Elkhart, Indiana, and getting clothes to go to school,” recalls Ed Dolan, now 73.

He was 10 or 11 at the time, and his family had hit a rough patch. His dad, the breadwinner, had lost his job. With no income, the family turned to St. Vincent de Paul, which supplied Ed with those donated pants and other outfits to get him through the school year. Ed believes that the volunteers also gave his family enough food to fill their cupboards.

“That little time period always stuck in my mind—that our family received help at one point . . . I never forgot,” he explains.

The impact of those secondhand trousers has since multiplied a hundredfold. Inspired by his childhood experience, Ed spends nearly every day volunteering at his hometown St. Vincent de Paul conference. His pickup truck, with a blue St. Vincent de Paul bumper sticker, circles the neighborhoods of Bloomington, Indiana, picking up furniture donations and distributing them to families in need.

To him, it’s the least he can do after the generosity of others saved his own family from dire straits. “I’m giving back what my family received so many years ago,” he says.

Faith in Action

This story of a small donation making a huge difference is repeated innumerable times. In this country alone, the Society of St. Vincent de Paul serves 4,400 communities. Lay volunteers, known as Vincentians, raise money and collect material goods to provide the necessities of life: food, clothing, emergency housing, financial assistance for rent and utilities, prescription medication, education, and help with transportation.

Though many conferences are known for running thrift shops, the organization exists entirely for charity. Any profits are given back to the poor of the community, and material assistance is given free of charge to those who cannot afford even the lowest prices.

The national society estimates that they gave away more than $1.2 billion in tangible and in-kind services in 2017. In Bloomington, Ed and his colleagues distributed over 4,800 pieces of furniture in a single year, all provided at no cost.

Every single one of those pieces, piled high into Ed’s truck before being unloaded and given away, could tell a story. More times than he can count, community members have recognized Ed’s blue St. Vincent de Paul shirt and stopped to thank him, describing how the society helped them out of a tough spot or provided a bed to sleep in after they got off the streets.

One grateful recipient posted a photo of her new chairs and table on the organization’s Facebook page, commenting that her space finally felt like home. Another grateful mother commented, “They have helped me and my children in so many ways!”

“People do realize that we’re not doing this just because it makes us feel good; it is also because it’s responding to a call,” Ed says. “I feel that as a person who professes to believe in Jesus Christ as the son of God, part of the profession of faith is putting my faith into action,” he adds, echoing a belief that goes back to the very founding of the society.

The Society of St. Vincent de Paul was begun by a single individual shortly after the French Revolution. Blessed Frédéric Ozanam, a Catholic student at the University of Paris, was challenged by a fellow student: “What do you do besides talk to prove the faith you claim is in you?”

Fr éd éric took that challenge to heart. Gathering a few friends, he founded what he called the “Conference of Charity” in May of 1833 and personally tended to the poor in the tenements of Paris. Before long, others joined the group and the society placed itself under the patronage of St. Vincent de Paul, a 17th-century saint known as the “Father of the Poor” because of his dedication to missions and serving those who are in need.

Almost as if to prove that the power of Jesus, the multiplier of loaves himself, was at work, Frédéric’s idea spread like wildfire. Before his death in 1853, conferences could be found throughout Europe. Today, Vincentians serve in 150 countries across five continents.

Loaves, Fishes, and Forklifts

Loaves, and especially nonperishable items, continue to multiply miraculously in the hands of the Vincentians.

Catholic families are as familiar with charity drives as they are with the creed. The request goes out, and the faithful gather up cans of corn, carrots, and peas from pantries and store shelves. Children lug bulging grocery sacks back to their school and get a sticker or extra credit as a reward. Adults drop the bags off at their home parish and hardly think of the canned goods again.

Most never know that, through the efforts of these dedicated volunteers, those items feed thousands. In Indianapolis, the St. Vincent de Paul Council hosts what they believe to be the largest food pantry in the Midwest, if not in the country. Traversing a sprawling warehouse, an army of volunteers empty the grocery sacks and sort the contents. Cans of peas are dropped into a pallet-sized box with the rest of the peas. Boxes of macaroni are stacked neatly on a freestanding shelf.

Forklifts transport the filled boxes to another room, where more Vincentians prepare balanced-diet boxes of food for their guests. During normal times, the Indianapolis group could expect to serve about 3,000 families each week. During the coronavirus pandemic, that number increased to 3,700 or more.

Before the pandemic, families would wind their way through the warehouse in aisles created by the huge boxes of food, selecting items and placing them into a grocery cart. When social distancing orders came in place, families would pile into cars instead and wait their turn in a long queue snaking through the St. Vincent de Paul parking lot. The line ends in a tent, where smiling volunteers lower boxes of food into the trunks of cars.

In all cases, however, one of the first faces that guests see is John Thomas. Usually he is dressed in a neon-yellow reflective jacket and is directing cars into the parking lot. John has been a security guard at St. Vincent de Paul since 2017, braving rain, snow, and ice to serve those seeking help.

“This is like a family. I go to them, or some come to me, if I have something going on in my life,” he says, describing the Vincentians he works with every week.

The first time John came to this building, however, he was seeking help himself. In the cold of January 2017, John was between jobs and needed food. For him, the canned goods stacked neatly into a box were more than nourishment; they were the lure that led him to a new life.

“I started turning things around,” John recalls. “I started telling people about the program because the program changed my life around.”

Breaking the Cycle

What John describes as “the program” is known in Indianapolis as Changing Lives Forever and is called Getting Ahead by other St. Vincent de Paul conferences across the country. Vincentians have learned that the goods donated by the community, such as clothing and canned foods, provide a powerful opportunity to meet those caught in a cycle of poverty. Instead of only providing a handout, they also provide a hand up and tell their clients about an educational, life-changing opportunity.

“I try to let people know about the Changing Lives program,” says John. “[As a security guard] I meet lots of different people, talk to them, encourage them—be a better advocate for yourself; turn your life around.”

Getting Ahead, or Changing Lives Forever, is a 16-week course offered for free by many St. Vincent de Paul conferences. Those who attend meet once a week to learn about the essential resources needed to live a more stable and prosperous life. They are asked to assess themselves and to plan how they can change their own situation. Attendees also receive information about community resources.

“They write a plan out, but it’s not a pie-in-the-sky plan. It’s a step-by-step, how do I get there,” explains Domoni Rouse, coordinator of the Changing Lives Forever program in Indianapolis. “If [they] want to go to school, they have to write all the steps to get there—what’s the financial part, what’s the childcare part, the transportation part, the study part?” she explains.

Like John, many of the graduates finally achieve stability, which means they no longer have to turn to a food pantry. They can give to others the assistance and the knowledge that they themselves have received.

“I saw one person in particular,” Domoni recalls, “having her first savings account, and she said, ‘What I learned in the session, I taught my daughter, and she got a savings account too.'”

One Body, Many Missions

Nationwide, it is hard to overstate the number of ways that Vincentians serve their brothers and sisters. In most of the 4,400 communities served by conferences, volunteers give out food, clothing, financial assistance, and educational resources. But the generosity does not end there.

In New York City, Vincentians visit the sick and imprisoned, regularly spending time at nursing homes and correctional facilities. Volunteers also bring dinner to families staying at the Ronald McDonald House while their children are in nearby hospitals undergoing treatment for serious illnesses.

The St. Vincent de Paul Society serving central and northern Arizona boasts its own medical and dental clinic, serving low-income families. The group also tends nearly an acre of farmland that supplies a community kitchen with fresh fruits and vegetables.

In the large metros of Los Angeles and Detroit, Vincentians provide disadvantaged kids an opportunity to experience the joy of nature. The councils in both of these cities host summer camps at low or no cost, with Detroit offering a special session for grieving children who have experienced the loss of a family member or friend.

Vincentians in Chicago take their thrift stores one step further, hosting a “Giving Store,” where those who are reentering society after incarceration can receive clothing, shoes, coats, and other items.

The St. Vincent de Paul councils of North Texas and Cincinnati both host pharmacies that dispense free prescription medication to those who cannot afford it, most often for chronic, treatable conditions such as heart disease and diabetes. Texas Vincentians estimate that in 2018, the group gave out nearly 1,000 prescriptions valued at about $150,000.

The Face of Christ

Most importantly, however, the free material goods, visits, outreach, and education sessions provide Vincentians the opportunity to achieve an even grander goal: building friendships. This is the key to their ministry, the breath of life that prevents clients from becoming numbers lost in a cold distribution system.

“We try to think of ourselves as not just paying a utility bill or helping with rent,” explains Deb Smith, the manager of conferences at the St. Vincent de Paul Council in Dayton, Ohio, “but really trying to see the face of Christ in those we serve and providing the opportunity for those we serve to see the face of Christ in us.”

Over the course of three years, Deb, and her colleagues at St. Vincent de Paul in Dayton, became as close as family to their client Chris.

Chris first came to the downtown St. Vincent de Paul pantry unemployed and in need of food. His career as a baker had been cut short by a severe car accident, which broke his back and neck, and the subsequent need for rotator cuff surgery. Insult was added to injury as he battled for disability and insurance coverage for surgical procedures and physical therapy.

He used to bake bread, donuts, cakes, and Danishes, but by the time he came to St. Vincent de Paul, Chris could barely move his right arm. “If it wasn’t for Deb, I probably would have given up. There were some times I would come into the Getting Ahead class, I’d be in tears almost. I’d be like, ‘I just can’t do this anymore,'” he recalls.

Deb and the volunteers didn’t give up, and Chris successfully finished the course. Even after he graduated from the Getting Ahead class, Deb kept in touch. They talked regularly on the phone, and volunteers sent cards on Chris’ birthday and holidays. Vincentians drove him to surgeries and stayed through the procedure to drive him home. They celebrated and gave baby supplies when he and his wife welcomed their firstborn son in 2018. They provided bus passes to get him to physical therapy and connected him with a clothing outreach that provided professional outfits as he started landing job interviews.

“The people are great; they will do anything for you,” Chris glows, speaking with St. Anthony Messenger while en route to a promising job interview. “I honestly don’t know what I would have done without them.”

‘The Least of These’

Hope. It’s the unseen gift handed to millions by the volunteers of St. Vincent de Paul. They, in turn, feel the need to share the hope that they have received. Some build resilient families. Others contribute meaningful work to their community. Still others offer their time as volunteers. So the gift continues on, creating larger ripples with each passing moment. Sometimes, it’s hard to believe that those waves began with a pebble.

For Chris and John, this journey to hope began with a bag of nonperishable items. For Ed, it started with clothing for school. For others, it was the mattress, the emergency rent payment, or the prescription medication. These small items, given in charity and passed through loving hands by a volunteer looking for the face of Christ, literally became the pivot point of a lifetime.

It is more than a slogan, more than a convenient metaphor to prompt charitable giving. The Vincentians prove day after day that pants and canned peas, not unlike the humble seed planted in good soil, bring about the kingdom of God on earth.

After all, Christ wore clothing too. And in his own words, “Whatever you did for one of these least brothers of mine, you did for me.”

To learn more about the Society of St. Vincent de Paul or to make a donation, visit svdpusa.org.

“Lent is not an intellectual exercise, but an affair of the heart,” says this author. By centering ourselves in prayerful stillness, we open ourselves up to a deeper engagement with this holy season.

In his Lenten message several years ago, Pope Francis focused on our common humanity, our common hungers, and our common needs for spiritual fulfillment. He wrote that we all face three types of hunger: material (poverty), moral (sin), and spiritual (lack of a relationship with God). Each can be healed with the Gospel, but first, Francis wrote, we must be “converted to justice, equality, simplicity, and sharing.”

We are all hungry. We are destitute and desolate in our search for what will fill us. We usually know what we want; too often we do not know what we need. Do we want fortune? Do we want fame? Do we want a better car or a better house? Do we want more friends or fewer responsibilities?

These are questions of human life. Some are, or at least become, very real needs. Others are merely distracting temptations.

The one thing we really do need is to answer them. We need to pay attention to and select among the great kaleidoscope of choices life puts before us in such a way as to fulfill our legitimate desires without disrupting our own or others’ lives. We are always choosing between and among goods, but like the little girl in the toy store whose mother says she can choose just one doll, eventually we need to kiss the other choices goodbye.

So, how do we figure out what we truly need? How do we figure out, therefore, what we really want?

I think we find an answer in silence. Not the answer—at least not immediately—but at least the method, the path we can take (each of us) toward the way to find the answer for ourselves, and for no one else.

It is about prayer. It is about stillness. It is about stillness and silence in Lent.

In many parts of the world, Lent begins in the silent time of the year. The earth is gently awakening from its winter slumber, gradually bringing forth its remembered fullness. In other parts of the world, Lent is a time of slowing down, of increasing coolness, of moving toward the dark bright of longer nights, when the burst of dawn truly does break forth day after day, promising more, promising deeper, promising a greater silence, and, conversely, promising a greater light.

These are the days we cherish in silence as we move toward the Resurrection.

Entering into Silence

Lent is not an intellectual exercise, but an affair of the heart. Ash Wednesday comes around each year. We get ashes. We remember prayer, fasting, and almsgiving. We say we’ll do better at something, or not do something else at all. Whatever sin or addiction has plagued us since the turn of the year, the one we have not yet managed to get rid of despite our New Year’s resolution to somehow dislodge it at the roots, Lent presents us with another chance. But how?

We think and we think and we plot and we plan. If the use of too much Internet or salt or sleep is on our minds, like the three little pigs we huff and we puff until we blow those little houses down, unfortunately to no avail. We work away at our dependencies as if everything depends on us. It does not. Everything depends on our own dependence on God. And we cannot learn anything about that depen-dence by thinking and plotting and planning—by huffing and puffing.

We need to open our hearts. We need to be quiet.

But how?

Some time ago, when I was relearning how to pray for the umpteenth time, I realized that I was just plain talking too much. Everything was going on in my head. That was it. Just in my head, nowhere else. I’d built a wall between me and my emotions, a very practical thing to do if you want to maintain control over everything in life. It is not a very practical way to approach prayer, because it stifles the longings of the heart. I yearned for knowledge that I was really praying, that I was someway, somehow connecting to the God I said I loved and whom I said, at least, I wanted to follow in the way Jesus taught.

But, as I learned in graduate school, so long as I was talking—whether in class or on an oral exam—there was no way I would be questioned, especially no way I would be asked a question I could not answer.

That may work in graduate school, but it is not a smart way to pray.

Entering into Silence

So here is what I have learned. Take it, or not, as you begin your own journey through Lent. Whether the ground around you is getting colder or warmer, whether the light outside is getting dimmer or brighter, I offer you the suggestion, at least, that the desire you carry in your own heart to listen to and love the Lord with all you are and have will be opened and answered if you offer first of all your own silence to the project.

That does not mean becoming a vegetable. There are many ways of being silent and many aids to doing so. Of course, if you know what keeps your mind active on thoughts other than the presence of God, you should be able to become aware of when such thoughts present themselves. I hesitate to call whatever it is a “temptation,” for it may or may not be. But there are some things in our lives—food, music, conversations—that stick a little more firmly to the surface of our minds and form a sort of coating that keeps away the silence.

I am not saying you need to give up all conversations, or music, and certainly not all food for Lent. I am saying that as we become more and more aware of our need for silence, even throughout this holy season, one or some of these choices might pop up as a bit of a barrier to silence, and therefore as a bit of a barrier to our maintaining the type of silence we need so as to be able to hear the voice of God in our hearts.

Let me give you an example. I happen to like jazz. I kid around sometimes, calling it my “liturgical music” because the syncopation and the words of some of the songs, especially the love songs, often fit my mood when I am trying to be alone at prayer. But sometimes, that very syncopation and those very words become an obstacle as they take over my mind. I think here of what is called “the Bol éro effect,” the repetitive beating of a single strand of music that the French composer Maurice Ravel did on purpose. As the syncopation and words take over my mind, I find I am helpless to hear anything God might present or even to say anything to the Lord. So, sometimes—actually more than sometimes—I “give up” jazz.

Now, there is nothing wrong with jazz. For other people, for other people’s minds, the same thing might happen with Gregorian chant, or with ABBA, or with the music of the Beatles.

These are all wonderful creations, but they can each in their own way become distractions to the project at hand. Which is silence with an open heart. Which is silence with an open heart before the Lord.

Looking back, I see how much those fasts were fueled not only by the enthusiastic idealism of youth, but also by my need to flex my moral muscles, to feel self-righteous. I was proud of the degree of deprivation that I undertook—and, if I’m honest, I felt some disdain for those who couldn’t or wouldn’t go to such extremes as I had.

As I’ve aged, my idealism and moral muscle power aren’t quite what they were back in my 20s. I don’t attempt such look-at-me kinds of fasts anymore. I’d like to hope that this stems from a bit more spiritual maturity, more humility, less need to impress myself or others, and a clearer focus on the spiritual invitations of the penitential season.

But as I think about the new generation of young climate activists, such as Varshini Prakash and the Sunrise Movement or Greta Thunberg and her school strikes for the climate, I’m reconsidering. These young people are asking hard things of us who are older. They see clearly that the world we are handing to them is damaged and degraded. They understand, in stark terms, that if we continue with our too-little, too-late, business-as-usual approach, the world will pass various environmental tipping points from which we can’t recover—and that they, in their lifetimes, will experience the brunt of the ensuing catastrophes. In the face of such a bleak future, they are demanding that we change our lifestyles, our laws, our economics, the very assumptions and habits of modern first-world living—an entire paradigm shift that must happen at scale and at speed, which is no small thing.

I think that, at our core, we also want what they want. We don’t want to preside over the kind of destruction that is happening right now. We want a kinder, gentler, thriving, cooperative world—for them, for generations yet unborn, and for ourselves. The pleasures and satisfactions offered by our current way of living pale in comparison to the kind of just and equitable future they are asking us to help create.

It’s no exaggeration to say that we are addicted to using a lot of energy and natural resources to support our current way of life. In fact, according to the article “2,000 Watt Society, ” in the United Nations University magazine Our World, we Americans use about six times more energy than our global “fair share ” and 40 times more than the average Bangladeshi.

How can we make the changes that the younger generations rightfully demand of us? It feels impossibly daunting, so the temptation to do nothing is very great. But while any one person’s impact may seem small, each of us can do what is ours to do. Both as a Christian and as a world citizen, I want to do something more, and I think the Lenten season may be a way to move toward the future I want to help create.

Fasting for the Environment

Lenten fasting has traditionally been about food. Given that a meat-heavy diet is more than twice as environmentally impactful as a plant-based diet, couldn’t that be a place to start? What if, for the season of Lent, we ate half as many animal products as we usually do—or even, if we want to be hard-core, none at all?

Another potential Lenten fast is from consumption. What if, for the season of Lent, we decided to cut in half our purchase of nonessential items or even cut out such purchases entirely?

We might also look at our use of energy—for our household and our transportation. What if we made at least one energy-saving investment in our home, whether that is installing LED light bulbs or a more efficient furnace? Or perhaps we could cut out any unnecessary travel. Given the restrictions of the pandemic, this should be an easy lift.

Almsgiving is another aspect of the Lenten season. Why not choose to direct some of our resources toward organizations—faith-based or secular—that are working hard to create a more livable future for all? What if we made a commitment to purchase renewable energy credits, which help offset the environmental impact of our energy use?

In God’s Hands

The third element of Lent is, of course, prayer. Because the task before us is so all-encompassing and intimidating, prayer is essential. It not only sustains our own hope, but I believe prayer also has powerful, world-changing effects far beyond our own sphere. I don’t pretend to understand how this works, but as a person of faith, I believe that it does—not as an excuse to avoid doing something “tangible, ” but as a complement to it. Prayer really can move mountains, and that is the scale of what is required now.

The needs of our historical moment are pulling me out of my middle-age comfort zone into a sharper-edged sense of commitment. And I’d like to think that the deprivations of the pandemic have both helped me pare things down to a more essential level and toughened me up enough to live out my commitments more seriously. The Lenten season provides a wonderful opportunity to make all of this tangible.

The question, of course, is whether we can do this in a way that rises to the seriousness of the moment and yet somehow holds our own actions lightly at the same time: caring deeply and yet unattached to outcomes. That’s the paradox, which only the faithful, contemplative imagination can manage. Our future may be in our hands, but we are in God’s.

A vibrant relationship with God requires us to own our emotions—even anger. Just ask Job and Abraham.

My older sister Patricia died of spina bifida before I was born. My younger sister Linda died of spina bifida when I was 3. Given that I was raised in a traditional, stoic, Irish-Catholic family, my sisters and their deaths were never talked about. In fact, I didn’t even know they existed until I was 5 and found their names in our family Bible. “Who are these people?” I asked my mother.

“They are your sisters.” That was all she said.

As I grew, I thought about them a lot. Eventually, I began to ask my mother why God did this to our family. She said simply that some crosses were heavier to carry than others. Somehow that answer and the related resignation didn’t work for me. And so I began to become angry. Specifically, I began to become angry with God.

For most of my youth, I felt this anger was wrong, sinful. Yet it didn’t go away. I encountered more and more suffering that did not make sense. A friend lost both his parents by the eighth grade. A very good priest dropped dead of a heart attack. The brother of a friend died in Vietnam.

As I began my work as a psychologist, I would touch on spiritual matters with my clients. I found that I was not alone in my anger. Worse, I met people whose explanations for tragedy were heartbreaking.

One woman, for example, believed that her prayers for a dying daughter did not work because her prayers were “not worthy of God’s attention.” Even my own father, as he dealt with a series of strokes, told me they were “punishment for my sins.” As I heard such struggles, I felt more and more that, because of anger, I was bound to grow away from my faith. Then I read the Book of Job.

Job: Not Merely Silent Suffering

Given that the Catholicism of my youth did not include a great deal of biblical study, I knew very little about Job other than the phrase “the patience of Job.” When I read this marvelous book, I realized among other things that Job was hardly patient. In fact, like me, he was angry!

The story of Job begins with a bet. Satan is arguing with God, saying that faith is easy when everything is going well in one’s life, but that people tend to lose that faith when times are tough. He then brings up Job, pointing out that Job has great faith but is also very comfortable and successful. But suppose, suggests Satan, that Job falls on hard times: Will he then be so faithful? God gives Satan permission to take away everything of Job’s but not to harm him. Satan does this, but Job holds on to his faith. So Satan ups the ante by asking God to let him harm Job directly.

And so Job ends up homeless, penniless, and afflicted with horrible skin diseases. He begins to seek an explanation from God. In fact, Job demands an explanation!

Job’s friends show up and offer standard explanations for his troubles. “You must have sinned,” suggests one. “You haven’t prayed hard enough,” says another. And yet Job continues his outcry, ultimately demanding that God show up and explain himself.

And God shows up! Granted, God tends to put Job in his place and never really answers Job’s “Why?” question. But the important points are that God shows up and that he never punishes Job for his outcry.

But Why, Lord?

I think the Book of Job is there to encourage us to embrace our outcries, not suppress them; and to struggle with the “Why?” question, not dismiss it. And so, somewhat timidly, I began to allow myself that anger.

It soon became clear to me that I needed to explore my anger at several levels. The most immediate level was the “Why?” question that was a large part of my youth. As I began to read, I found out that the “Why?” question has in fact given rise to a specific area of theological study called theodicy. Specifically, theodicy examines the issue of how an all-good, all-loving God can permit evil.

As I explored my anger, I came across the book May I Hate God? by Pierre Wolff. Despite its provocative title, this is a very gentle-spirited book that reminds us that God is a loving parent; and that loving parents, upon learning that their child is angry with them, want to hear about the anger—not necessarily condone it, but hear about it. This opened up to me the awareness that, when I am angry with God, my tendency is to express that anger in the same way I do at a human level. I shut down and use the “silent treatment.”

Novelist Joseph Heller put it another way in his novel God Knows. King David is reflecting on whether he is angry with God and concludes, “I’m not angry with God. We’re just not speaking to one another.” So it was with me and the God of my understanding.

In any case, Wolff’s book helped me to accept my anger. But I still struggled with the “Why?” question. Other thinkers offered helpful insights. Viktor Frankl did not answer this question, but he observed that, while we don’t always have a choice over what happens to us, we always have a choice regarding how we face it.

Similarly, Rabbi Harold Kushner, in his well-regarded When Bad Things Happen to Good People, offered what for me was a novel idea—that perhaps God wasn’t responsible for some of the bad things that happened to us.

At first, Kushner’s notion was comforting. Maybe God wasn’t behind my sisters’ illnesses or children with cancer or senseless random shootings. Maybe those things just happened. Somehow that thought made me fear God less. Yet the thought that perhaps God wasn’t behind all bad things that happened created another question articulated by Annie Dillard, who wrote in For the Time Being, “If God does not cause everything that happens, does God cause anything that happens? Is God completely out of the loop?”

My anger at God brought me to wrestle with some important issues. It challenged me to reexamine my image of God. Did I see God as punitive, misreading the Old Testament? Did I see him as loving, as in many New Testament stories? Did I see him as uninvolved, caring for the big picture and leaving the details to us, as the Oh, God! films suggest?

My anger also brought me face-to-face with my struggles about prayer. Does God answer prayers? Clearly not all prayers. It’s been said that there are many unanswered prayers at deathbeds. If God doesn’t answer all prayers, to follow Dillard, does he answer any prayers?

These struggles have been productive, prodding me toward a more mature understanding of God, as well as a more clear appreciation for prayer. But I still come face-to-face with my anger.

A Personal Encounter with God

Over the past few years, I have read the entire Bible three times. It has been a truly enlightening experience. I saw clearly that Job wasn’t the only one to argue with God. Abraham did it; Moses did it; even Jesus did it! I was in good company.

I saw, too, that David’s Psalms were at times outcries. Within the poetry, one can hear the oppressed poet yelling out to God, “Do something!”

I’ve learned from my many clients who sit and try to understand tragedies in their lives. In asking these great teachers, “Are you angry with God?” I’ve heard many instructive answers. One woman wrestling with a lifethreatening illness said, “Of course I’m angry with God! But he’s God. He can take it!” Another very spiritual young woman observed, “No, I’m not angry. But I sure would like to have a peek at his operations manual.”

Harold Kushner recently published a piece on the Book of Job titled The Book of Job: When Bad Things Happened to a Good Person. It is a literate and scholarly book that offered me a new note of comfort. Kushner suggests that Job is comforted and consoled not so much by God’s explanation but by the encounter itself.

Job deeply experienced God’s presence and took comfort in that meaningful experience. I found a note of personal truth in this thought. I realized that, yes, I’ve had meaningful encounters with God in nature or in the world of great art or in the sound of my grandchildren’s laughter.

But I realized that I have also encountered God in my anger in a way that has been profound. As I voice that anger, I feel God in a manner as profound as, albeit different from, my experience of God in nature.

The story of this journey of anger has a more recent turn to it, one with which I am still dealing. I recently saw an episode of The West Wing, a program from the early 2000s starring Martin Sheen as a fictional president. Prior to this episode, the president had lost a much-loved secretary in a senseless car accident. After the funeral, he stands alone in the National Cathedral and unleashes an anger that shocked me. As an example, his character refers to God as a “vengeful thug.”

I felt I’d long validated the importance of anger in my relationship with God, yet I found myself uncomfortable with the intensity of President Bartlett’s anger. But, upon reflection, I understood it. My anger is more than annoyance or disappointment—at times it is rage. Yet, out of fear, I withhold that rage and instead, like David in Heller’s novel, stop talking to my God or at least temper my feelings. Yet, when I allow myself to approach that rage, I find God waiting for me.

And so I come face-to-face with the God of my understanding. Is that God a vengeful parent who will not tolerate my anger and will punish me for speaking up? Such was the God of my youth. Or is the God of my understanding a loving God willing to wrestle with me, willing to accept my vented rage in the name of open, ongoing dialogue and genuine encounter? And do I have the courage to fully embrace this understanding of God and remain in dialogue in the midst of my rage?

The great Jewish scholar Abraham Joshua Heschel once wrote, “God stands in a passionate relationship with Man.” Anyone who has lived in a longterm, passionate relationship learns that passion is a package deal. You can’t have the joy and ecstasy unless you also accept and embrace the anger and alienation. I’ve dealt with several couples who say they don’t fight. But they are in my office because their relationship is stagnant. Without the struggle, there is no passionate intimacy.

The Path of Relationship

I realize at this point that, for me to have a joyful, peaceful, vibrant relationship with the God of my understanding, I must also embrace the rage. Not just annoyance, but rage!

And so, as I struggle, I return to reflect on my mother’s faith in the face of tragedy. I see that her faith was not some passive, shoulder-shrugging, “Oh well, it could be worse” type of faith. Throughout her life, she believed not only in the power of prayer but also in the persistence of that prayer. Like the woman in the parable seeking justice, she would not quietly plead or go away. Rather, she would “storm heaven with prayers.” Nor did she let tragic loss engender cynicism: on her deathbed and with absolute certainty and joyful anticipation, she said, “I’m going to see my girls.”

And yet I know my path is one of wrestling and arguing. It occurs to me that perhaps within the mystical body of Christ, we both play a part. People like my mother indeed inspire me to not lose hope and to continue to believe that understanding God’s mysterious way is possible.

But perhaps people like me—the questioners, the wrestlers—help others not to lapse into passive, depressed resignation. Perhaps in encouraging others to “fight back,” we help them experience real encounters with God. Perhaps we wrestlers help others to hope that our pain and anguish do matter. And perhaps together we can link arms and sing those words of Job offered not as an answer but in hopeful expectation: “The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord!”