To the Band of Brothers: Ash Wednesday

Good morning!

When my grandfather passed away a few years ago at the ripe old age of 99, the occasion I had been dreading for a long time provided me with an opportunity for some serious reflection. I always knew my grandfather was important to me, but celebrating his funeral Mass and preaching the homily forced me to really look at the impact his life had on me. It was a beautiful occasion to really examine how much of who I am has to do with him.

As the oldest of his grandchildren, I knew him longer than any of my siblings and cousins. There’s a running joke in my family that I was his favorite. Maybe I was. Aside from being the smartest and cutest in the family, there may have been other factors that contributed to this. For one thing, after being exiled from Cuba to Spain and then uprooting the family again to Miami, I was the first of his family to be born in the United States. My birth must have meant to him a new, more permanent beginning in the country that would be his home for the rest of his life. There is no question he and I had a special relationship.

I can tell you I am a better man because of him. Not only because of the example he gave, but also because he wanted me to be better. He wanted me to excel in areas he may not have excelled in. When he introduced me to golf, I remember how genuinely happy he was when I finally outdrove or outscored him (in all fairness, he was in his 80s). I think that’s the case with every parent or grandparent. They want their children to be better than them.

It was Leonardo da Vinci who once said, “Wretched is the disciple that doesn’t surpass his master.” Like selfless masters, parents and grandparents want their children or grandchildren to go farther and do better than they ever did. Because of my grandfather, I felt an obligation to rise above the great things he was able to achieve so I could make him proud. I wanted to demonstrate to him his efforts, work, and determination paid off.

It’s like the story of the Phoenix. Egyptian mythology tells of this legendary, majestic bird. It lives a long life, building a nest of frankincense and myrrh. Then, at the end of its life, the Phoenix combusts into flames and from its ashes rises a new, more powerful, more beautiful bird. Then, the cycle continues. Like the Phoenix, my grandfather toiled and labored to build a home and set a standard. Then, when his final time came, from what he built, his grandchildren were able to rise to greater heights.

There is so much about the Phoenix that relates to our lives as Christians. While the myth was already around during the time of Jesus, is it simply a coincidence the frankincense and myrrh the Phoenix uses to build her nest are the same materials presented by two of the three Wise Men to Jesus in Bethlehem? Or, can we assume, because they were from the east and probably aware of the myth, that they were making a reference to Jesus, who one day would rise from the ashes and, from it make all of humanity rise to a new height?

Today, we celebrate Ash Wednesday and kick off 40 days of Lent. To the casual observer, it may seem odd that the first step the Catholic Church takes on the road to the Resurrection is to smear ashes on our foreheads. But if you understand Lent as a time of renewal and rebirth, of shedding the old self and transforming into a new and better self, then the ashes become a symbol of our Phoenix-like potential. From those ashes etched on our forehead, sharpened by the disciplines of Lent, can rise a greater more powerful disciple of Jesus Christ. And like the Greek myth, it can be cycled from generation to generation. 

In this spirit of constant renewal and rebirth, I encourage you to take on the Belen Lent Challenge. With the help of the members of our Mission and Formation team, follow their weekly posts on our social media pages and walk with us on the road to the Resurrection. It is our hope that together as a family called by Christ to truly live this Lenten experience, we can rise like the Phoenix and reach greater heights.

 

Auspice Maria,

Fr. Willie ‘87