Encountering God's Forgiveness on a Walk Before Easter

Friday, Apr. 14, 2017

On Wednesday I walked out the door a penitent sinner, and returned knowing I am a cherished daughter of God.

This year Lent has been a disaster for me. I began with good enough intentions, but Bishop Solis was installed a week after Ash Wednesday, and between all the events associated with his arrival and the studying necessary for the theology class I was taking, I confess that the three pillars of Lent have taken a back seat to work and sleep these last 40 days. Prayer? If I was lucky I got in a decade of the rosary during my morning commute. Fasting? I didn’t give it a thought as I grabbed whatever was handy at mealtime. Almsgiving? Well, there’s still time to write a check for the CRS Rice Bowl.

Then, during the story meeting with my staff last Wednesday, as we talked about who was covering which Holy Week events, I suddenly realized that Easter is just around the corner, and I had done absolutely none of the penitential acts called for by the Lenten season. 

Suitably ashamed of myself, that afternoon I left work and went to apologize to God. For this conversation I chose as a venue the Jordan River Parkway, because it’s easier for me to commune with him when I am in his creation. I felt very much like the Prodigal Son: My intention was to say, “Father, I have sinned against you. …”

God seemed to be doing everything he could to encourage me. I was able to leave work about 30 minutes early, and the weather was perfect for an outing. As I walked from the parking lot, I was alone on the trail. I took a deep breath and silently said, “Father. …”

That was as far as I got, because creation sprang to life all around me. Birds swooped, sunlight sparkled on the water, a warm breeze caressed my face. Rather than my penitential words, the only refrain my mind could complete was the prayer from the Taize session during the previous Saturday’s retreat: “Jesus, remember me, when you come into your kingdom.”

A cluster of brown ants, thick as chocolate syrup, undulated in the dirt, reminding me that for far too long I have been toiling away without pausing to enjoy what God provides. 

A flash of white bobbing in the water caught my eye. Stepping closer, I saw a bird of ivory and ebony, with a tawny head and delicate upturned bill. I plopped down on the damp earth and watched the avocet stand, stretch out its thin long legs, and make its way into a clump of reeds. Further out, a mallard hen floated down the river. Chunky compared to the avocet, she at first glance appeared drab, but closer inspection revealed subtle shades of brown in her tannish feathers, and even a dash of bright blue on the wing.

The mallard drifted away, so I returned my attention to the avocet. It rose to wing itself over a rock, and for a moment with legs outstretched it seemed to dance across the water before settling beyond my sight.

I continued my walk. I tried again to focus on my penitential prayer, but God wasn’t finished with his display. A California quail posed on a tree stump, his feathers aglow in the late afternoon sun. Perched on a tree limb, a starling shook himself, flaunting his fluorescent ebony, magenta, emerald and gold-flecked plumage. 

As usual, the psalmist says it better than I ever could: “How varied are your works, Lord!”

I know the splendor of creation that evening was not for me alone; it was the result of God’s love spilling out into his creation, of which I am but an infinitesimal part. On the trail, joggers and cyclists darted past, a couple sauntered hand in hand, a group of children roiled by, giggling and shouting. And yet, perhaps because none of them felt in desperate need of God’s forgiveness, I was the only one who stopped to watch the muskrats swimming in the stream.

That night, for the first time in months, I picked up the Night Prayer from the Liturgy of the Hours, and it opened to the prayer for forgiveness that perfectly described my experience along the trail. The prayer begins, “Father of mercy, like the prodigal son,” continues with “I pray with the repentant thief …” and ends with “purify my heart, and help me to walk as a child of light.” 

How can I not see that as confirmation that God has forgiven me, just in time to participate in the most sacred mysteries of his Son? On Thursday and Friday the Church will relive Christ’s betrayal, suffering and death. I had a taste of that with my own bitter penitence at my failings, but also I had a glimpse of how great is his glory now that he has risen, a glory that he shares by his forgiveness of sin, a glory in which he waits with open arms if only we will turn to him and ask to be welcomed into his presence.

Christ is risen. Amen. Alleluia.