Army Strong.

Today is Ash Wednesday, the beginning of Lent. This morning my family and I went to morning Mass and then walked over to a nearby abortion clinic, starting off this year's 40 Days for Life campaign with prayer. As we approached the clinic, we saw faces peek around the corner, followed by a number of clinic escorts. They "put their game faces on" and positioned themselves near us, their blue vests armor against the barbs they hoped we'd fling. Anger shone forth from each eye, and whispered conferences showed us that they were preparing themselves for battle.

Little did they know that the battle had already begun. It began on our walk, as we prayed the Stations of the Cross. It began on the steps of the church, as the deacon led us in prayer. It began during the Mass, in which the church was filled with children who miraculously made it out of the womb despite the dangers posed by those blue-clad envoys of death and the hostile society that surrounds them. This battle began long long ago, with the Fall of Man and even in the Rebellion of the Angels. We continued it today with simple prayer.

Today we heard the call of our Captain in the words of the priest, who bade us clothe ourselves in the armor of self-denial. This is what Lent is all about: ridding ourselves of weaknesses, strengthening our souls in virtue, taking up arms as soldiers for Christ. Pope Benedict XVI's Lenten address calls us to "be concerned for each other, to stir a response in love and good works" (Heb 10:24) and strive always to walk together with our brothers and sisters towards holiness, with a mind towards reciprocity and the effects each action, good or bad, has on each of us an individual and on the Body of Christ to which we belong. In short, to practice charity.

This is why the abortion clinic escorts this morning were disappointed, and will continue to be, for the only battle they are prepared to fight is with swords, but the real battle is raging in their hearts. We must put on our armor of self-denial and join in the battle to end all battles, the battle of our lives, the battle of Love. In Christ's name, under His command, we will conquer through love, for that is the only weapon that can win over not only the most able bodies and the sharpest wits, but the coldest, thorniest, most fearful of hearts.

Hope.

At school there was always a lot of talk about how "broken" we all are, and while there is some truth to this, insofar as we are all touched by original sin and have particular struggles in our lives, I have always been frustrated by this mentality. People who talk about being "broken" often fall into one of two categories: those who think that people who are broken need to be fixed and go back to the way they were, and those who believe that we need to leave our brokenness behind and just move on. 

There is something wrong with both viewpoints. Maybe we are "broken", maybe that's what we can call that terrible unwavering temptation we battle everyday with varying success, but if we are broken we can't simply be fixed. We can't just glue together the pieces and be good as new. Because we aren't... we're better. We're new, we're different. We "break" like muscles, not china vases. With each little break and a lot of God's grace, we are built back up into something stronger than what we were before. Each sorrow, each sin, each trial, when properly treated as the opportunity for growth that it is, only serves to transform us into stronger, deeper, wiser people than we were before. 

And so we cannot, nor should we attempt to, return to our previous state or pretend that nothing ever happened. Something did happen, and maybe it was terrible, awful, no-good, and even very very bad, but somehow it changed us, and we must embrace that (there's really nothing else you can do anyway, so you might as well make the best of it) and allow ourselves to be transformed. And we will be. It might be difficult to see, especially for yourself (it's ever so much easier to see good things working in other people's lives), but the change is there. If you know anything about the Romantic movement in literature, you know what I mean when I say that the person who allows himself to be transformed by such experiences becomes sublimely beautiful. 

So don't despair... we're all mad here, and it's a beautiful, growing, fabulous madness.

PS- for anyone who knows what I mean, think back to the muscle reference and laugh... *poof*