On the 2nd Sunday of Lent in 1950 I was led with several others up a winding road to the top of the hill where we had a commanding view of the Little Miami River Valley in Foster, Ohio. My heart was full of wonder and connection between nature and our liturgical year.
Such contrast between different ways of being in this world! The results make the distinctions clear, but by the time we pay attention it may be too late to change our habitual way of of thinking and sharing. I hope not, since I’m so often like the 1st tree, the one in the desert, who acts like it can live without water, or find its own source.
I was 18, and eager to be trained to a deeper spiritual life. Not wanting to be a nun, I found a place where this could happen within my Catholic tradition, as a laywoman. I wanted to be effective to help change the world that even in 1950 seem to need a sort of spiritual revolution to transform the materialism that was consuming us after the WWII Western victory in 1945.
On Ash Wednesday, as Lent began, I was privileged to go to a small farm on a very steep hill with a group of 15. On the morning of this 1st Monday of Lent I had the job to feed the male goat and male sheep who grazed alone on the lower hill, segregated substantially from the ewes and nannies on the upper hill.