A 2nd Sunday of Lent Thought About How to Really Conquer Self
It's already the 2nd Sunday of Lent. Time flies, doesn't it? Before it gets away from us, let's take a breath and assess how things stand.
“‘I shall break my neck to get rid of self by Easter,’ was the unwitting remark at Ash Wednesday-tide of one whose self was so firmly entrenched that is was quite a safe wager that the neck would be adequately broken in half-a-hundred places before self ever were gotten rid of. It was a good desire, the attainment of which would have brought much peace within and around, but it was a futile desire. To curb a few manifestations of self ‘by Easter,’ to be a little less self-centered ‘by Easter,’ to be a little, a wee little, less self-willed ‘by Easter,’ would have been a consummation devoutly to be wished for, and a most laudable and most practical attempt. But ‘to get rid of self by Easter,’ that was a task that would need a veritable miracle of grace, a re-fashioning from on high – and, while putting no limits to God’s grace or to His goodness, there was small reason for expecting such a re-vamping of an entire life. How remarkably foolish we are at times in our resolves! We note, disgustedly, some defect we thought we had corrected long ago, or some fault we never dreamed that we had. Then in the noontide of our wrath against self and in the full grip of our humiliation at the consciousness of our faultiness, we swear a mighty oath that never, no, never, never again will we ever, in any way, at any time, be guilty of such baseness. We will be done with it all at once and definitely and decisively. That resolve is good; but, if we expect that such a resolve has definitely settled the matter, we are doomed to bitter disappointment. With the deep-seated faults of temperament and character we must be resigned to what is called ‘a running fight.’ That is the way God has seen fit to have us win our way to Him, unless, of course, a rich avalanche of grace sweeps us immediately into sanctity.
“Self-conquest is indeed ‘a running fight.’ It means dealing self a blow here, and striking down the head of pride there, and prodding out selfishness in yet another corner of our life. … We should like to make one great resolve – and thereafter to be saints. But it hurts to begin today, and then begin again tomorrow and then on another morrow to start out all over again. We do advance, of course, and we do carry the war further and further into the enemy’s country, but the old tendency keeps up such a running fight to have its own way that we find it hard to realize we have beaten it back at all.
Dear Lord, I want to conquer self and to be rid of all my faults. That ‘the life of man upon earth is a warfare’ is fearfully true, and the sad part of it is that we do not win out in a single fight. It means a struggle today and tomorrow and then another morrow, and there is never any truce. I do not want to yield or run away; and so I beg of You to give me much grace, no matter how weary I am, to keep up, with You and for You, this running fight for my soul.”
Lent isn't some once-and-for-all critical final battle that decides between victory and defeat. We're not Wellington vs. Napoleon at Waterloo here. For us, Lent - like all of life - will be a running fight. For better or for worse, the dawning of each new day will likely find us fallen human creatures struggling with the world, the flesh, and the devil. Accept the facts as they are.
No matter how seriously we take our Lenten discipline, it's foolish to think we're somehow going to find ourselves perfect paragons of virtue and sanctity on Easter Sunday. No problem. As long as our intention is good and we make the supreme effort day in and day out, victory will be ours someday, if not in this life, then surely in the next.
Something to think about on this 2nd Sunday of Lent.
- Are we dead serious about Lent this year?
- Did we write down our plan for special prayer, penance, almsgiving?
- Did we connect these pious acts to the desire to grow closer to God, rather than just prove yourself to be some "champion" of sacrifice and mortification?
- Did we see that seeking your own glory isn't the point of it all?
- And in seeing that, do we understand that self must be conquered, not congratulated?
- Even more so that self must be broken, smashed, it's central place in our lives replaced by God, and God alone?
“‘I shall break my neck to get rid of self by Easter,’ was the unwitting remark at Ash Wednesday-tide of one whose self was so firmly entrenched that is was quite a safe wager that the neck would be adequately broken in half-a-hundred places before self ever were gotten rid of. It was a good desire, the attainment of which would have brought much peace within and around, but it was a futile desire. To curb a few manifestations of self ‘by Easter,’ to be a little less self-centered ‘by Easter,’ to be a little, a wee little, less self-willed ‘by Easter,’ would have been a consummation devoutly to be wished for, and a most laudable and most practical attempt. But ‘to get rid of self by Easter,’ that was a task that would need a veritable miracle of grace, a re-fashioning from on high – and, while putting no limits to God’s grace or to His goodness, there was small reason for expecting such a re-vamping of an entire life. How remarkably foolish we are at times in our resolves! We note, disgustedly, some defect we thought we had corrected long ago, or some fault we never dreamed that we had. Then in the noontide of our wrath against self and in the full grip of our humiliation at the consciousness of our faultiness, we swear a mighty oath that never, no, never, never again will we ever, in any way, at any time, be guilty of such baseness. We will be done with it all at once and definitely and decisively. That resolve is good; but, if we expect that such a resolve has definitely settled the matter, we are doomed to bitter disappointment. With the deep-seated faults of temperament and character we must be resigned to what is called ‘a running fight.’ That is the way God has seen fit to have us win our way to Him, unless, of course, a rich avalanche of grace sweeps us immediately into sanctity.
“Self-conquest is indeed ‘a running fight.’ It means dealing self a blow here, and striking down the head of pride there, and prodding out selfishness in yet another corner of our life. … We should like to make one great resolve – and thereafter to be saints. But it hurts to begin today, and then begin again tomorrow and then on another morrow to start out all over again. We do advance, of course, and we do carry the war further and further into the enemy’s country, but the old tendency keeps up such a running fight to have its own way that we find it hard to realize we have beaten it back at all.
Dear Lord, I want to conquer self and to be rid of all my faults. That ‘the life of man upon earth is a warfare’ is fearfully true, and the sad part of it is that we do not win out in a single fight. It means a struggle today and tomorrow and then another morrow, and there is never any truce. I do not want to yield or run away; and so I beg of You to give me much grace, no matter how weary I am, to keep up, with You and for You, this running fight for my soul.”
Lent isn't some once-and-for-all critical final battle that decides between victory and defeat. We're not Wellington vs. Napoleon at Waterloo here. For us, Lent - like all of life - will be a running fight. For better or for worse, the dawning of each new day will likely find us fallen human creatures struggling with the world, the flesh, and the devil. Accept the facts as they are.
No matter how seriously we take our Lenten discipline, it's foolish to think we're somehow going to find ourselves perfect paragons of virtue and sanctity on Easter Sunday. No problem. As long as our intention is good and we make the supreme effort day in and day out, victory will be ours someday, if not in this life, then surely in the next.
Something to think about on this 2nd Sunday of Lent.
We adore Thee O Christ, and we bless Thee,
Because by Thy Holy Cross Thou hast redeemed the world.
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