Here we are in the middle of the season of Lent. How are you doing with your resolutions? If you are like me, some of them have been kept and others haven’t. That may be a source of concern for us, but we can correct ourselves in midstream. I believe, however, that it is not whether we did or did not keep our Lenten do’s and don’ts. The deepest level of the matter is expressed in the first reading in today’s liturgy. According to the Book of Daniel, Azariah “stood up” in midst of the fire and prayed: “with contrite heart and humble spirit let us be received.” (Daniel 3:25, 34‑43)
I just said that it doesn’t matter whether or not we have been faithful to what we wanted to sacrifice or what we wanted to do for Lent. What we really need to look at, with a discerning eye, is the attitude with which we either do something in imitation of Christ, or we abstain from something to link ourselves with Christ.
For many years, I was a nuclear chemistry professor at Colorado School of Mines. In those days, Mines was rated the top engineering school in the United States. Our students were carefully vetted and only the best of the best were allowed admission. Today’s readings take me back to those days. I remember a day when a student slouched into my office and sat down across my desk from me. I had not seen him in class for two weeks. Now it was time for mid-term grades to go in, and he assured me that he would start coming to class again, and that he would make up all the work that he had missed. Of course he would, I thought to myself, if he had any prayer of passing my class. “Please don’t give me an “F” for my mid-term grade – my parents will kill me!” he said, with a tear in his eye. A grown man, yet still a boy with a tear in his eye.
Mercy is a strange thing. We are taught, in today’s Gospel (Matthew 18:21‑35), to forgive debts, as our debts are forgiven by our Heavenly Father. In movies, we often see the merciful hero let the ungrateful villain go; then later the villain returns and makes things even more difficult for the hero. Would it not have been better for the hero to dispatch the villain in the first place? And doesn’t mercy rob the recipient of the opportunity to learn from mistakes?
These were the questions that I asked myself, as I tried to determine the best course of action with this student. On one hand, the student might just need a nudge in the right direction, a little time to make that adjustment to graduate school. On the other hand, he needed to learn that there are consequences for his actions (or lack thereof, as in this case), and that he is accountable for the choices he makes.
Initially, I was inclined to accept the excuses he made, and to encourage the student to come to the rest of the class sessions and make up the missing work. The student had good potential. He would not be at Mines if he did not. He could do “A” work if he applied himself. We are, however, bound by academic honesty to give the grade that the student earns for a final grade, but with so little of the grade actually earned at mid-term, certainly there was a little wiggle room. Maybe we could split the difference with a “C.” These thoughts ran through my mind.
I pictured two scenarios – one was the student finally making the adjustment and turning things around. He became an honor student, and twenty years down the road, talks about those good years at Mines and that nuclear chemistry professor that hung in there and gave him a break when he really needed it. The other scenario was the student walking out of my office, smirking, and saying “sucker!” under his breath. This scenario showed him bouncing from one lenient person to another through life, refining his teary-eyed routine into a well-polished performance with a guaranteed result.
Looking at these two scenarios, one thing became painfully clear to me: both had very little to do with the student, per se, and very much to do with my ego. In the former, my ego gets stroked by being the good guy that made a difference in the life of a student. In the latter, my ego gets kicked in the chops by being the naïve sucker who accepted a lame excuse to enable a student to keep playing games. Neither scenario was focused on the student.
But Jesus teaches us to treat each person as an individual, to help them discern what God has in store for their lives. Though it is difficult to always treat a classroom full of students as individuals, it is not so difficult to do so for that one student sitting across the desk in my office.
Jesus knew how to read the hearts of people that He met in His ministry. To do so, I am convinced that He engaged them in conversation. He did not simply talk to them or with them. He was sympathetic. I am also convinced that mercy can only be authentically meted out when one is sympathetic – when one walks alongside another. This sympathy does not develop quickly – it takes time and a few well-directed questions.
Back to my slouching student. I poured him some coffee. I asked him about what it was, exactly, that he came to Mines to find. He was shocked. “Why do you want to know that?” he asked. His answer led to another question. Another answer, another question. Pretty soon we were both on the same side of my desk.
Sooner or later, we would get around to talking about that mid-term grade. By that time, we both already knew the solution, because we walked there on the same path.
Humbly and with contrite heart, then, let us continue to approach Jesus and walk together on the path to redemption. This Lent provides us with the opportunity to make such an approach to the Lord. It gives us the chance to be invited and coaxed once again into solidarity with Christ. That is so much more important than checking on ourselves to see if we’ve been good people because of our Lenten sacrifices or our acts of kindness that we proposed on or before Ash Wednesday.
May God Bless You and Grant You His Peace!