And we do so, with those Sundays leading up to Lent, the ones which may elicit an inward groan from those of us who have become familiar with the Liturgical rhythm: "What? Zacchaeus Sunday already," we whine, "But we just had the Nativity Fast!" And Lent does seem to come all too soon after Nativity, announcing itself five Sundays before its actual beginning with the Gospel reading about the little man who wanted to see Jesus so desperately that he was willing to humble himself to the point of climbing a tree like a little child. Next, we have the Sunday of the Publican and the Pharisee, that parable warning us against being "convinced of [our] own righteousness," and thereby "despising all others" (Luke 18:9). Then comes the well-known Prodigal Son, which we might do well to think of also as the Sunday of the Loving Father. And now, the Sunday of the Last Judgment which, of course, can only be understood within the context of the three previous Sunday readings, as well as the Paschal Mystery to which our Lenten journey points. That is to say, it is not so much an answer to the question "What's going to happen when I die?" as it is an injunction to love the "least of these"--the little people, the despised, even those who reject our love--with the same love that Christ shows for the Church. As such, it paves the way well for the next and final Sunday of pre-Lenten preparation, that of Forgiveness Sunday, in which each member of the entire body of believers asks forgiveness of every other member.
This year, I have a renewed appreciation for all of this preparation. Rather than dreading the self-deprivation it announces, or rolling my eyes at its predictability, I am relishing the chance to get ready to get ready. Perhaps becoming a mother taught me something. (Here, I am thinking particularly of the folic acid I began taking just before my wedding night, in lieu of birth control, to pacify what I considered an excessively anxious doctor. Little did I know that essential nutrient would go to work the very next month, to build the healthy person we have come to know and love as Katherine!) Maybe being a mother has taught me something, with its endless preparatory tasks: preparing meals, packing snacks and extra underpants, packing for trips, dressing children for church, cleaning for parties, cleaning for houseguests... and the list goes on.
This year especially, the importance of preparation hits me with particular poignancy, as I begin to take stock of what we have in store for the upcoming birth of our baby: birth pool (check), hose (too short), bulb syringe (check--I think... should check that drawer), extra sheets (check), rubber sheet (check--though likely unnecessary as my water doesn't usually break till the end anyhow), oxytocin (must ask doctor for a script!), birth ball (check), holy water (check), incense (check)... and again the list goes on. And how does one begin to prepare for that taste of death that we encounter with the birth of a child. (If you have the answer to this one, please tell me: I'm literally dying to know!)
The moment that stands out to me from Naomi's birth is none other than that last second when I was convinced we were both dead, as my midwife's anxious voice, "DON'T PUSH: We've got a cord!!!" broke through what had up till that point been a fairly peaceful labour. In that second, I vividly remember calling out to Jesus "SAVE ME!" with the kind of fervour that only true desperation (or perhaps a few months on Mount Athos) can summon. And He did. And she cried. And I laughed. And all was well, and all manner of thing was well.
In these last five weeks of pregnancy, and the upcoming six weeks of Lent, I have no choice but to allow myself to become consumed with preparation for what is to come. There's the icon festival at our church, the first Saturday and Sunday of Lent (and I still have two icons to complete for it, God willing!) There are Lenten altar cloths to be sewn for a priest friend (eight down, four to go--that church must have a ton of liturgical-type tables!) There's the inevitable nesting that should kick in any day now (though I'm determined to limit the floor-washing to once a week!) And again, the list goes on.
And my prayer is that, in the midst of all this preparation, Pascha itself is not entirely lost...
