Sacrifice

During the season of Lent we are invited to focus on the cross, and that means spend some time thinking about the sacrifice. Which is hard. We don’t do sacrifice.

We all know this is true. We don’t do pain, we take a pill. We don’t do hardship, we pull out the credit card. We have been taught, by the powers of consumerism and medical science, that sacrifice is unnecessary.

And we would like that to be so. We would prefer if, somehow, everything could just work out well for everyone, no harm done. Nobody suffer, nobody go hungry, no innocent people become casualties of war. No sacrifice, please. But that’s not the world we live in.

We live in this world where good and evil co-exist. And sometimes we experience pain for the sake of something good. While God did not promise to take away all our hardship and suffering, God did promise to be with us through it all, no matter how hard. In this world, sometime you suffer for the sake of something good.

It seems to me that the people of Ukraine get that. They amaze us with their courage and their willingness to stand up for what is right, even at the risk of their lives.

And right now I am wondering what is required of us in this time? What kind of sacrifice might be necessary of me, on another continent watching from afar? This morning I received a message from a relative who is on his way to Moldova to do whatever is needed. He will stay and work with some friends he made during the years he was a missionary in Ukraine.

At times like this I am forced to reflect on my own faith and wonder: What kind of sacrifice would I be willing to make? If it were necessary, would I be up to the task? I don’t know. But perhaps good, solid reflection on the cross of Christ can help prepare us for the time we might be called to make a sacrifice ourselves.

Much as we don’t want to see it, sacrifice is necessary.

When my father-in-law had terminal cancer, he was admitted to a hospice center that was on the top floor of a Catholic convent. The day he moved in, I walked with my young son through the first floor on our way to the elevator; we passed by a large colorful crucifix hanging on the wall. My son, who was not used to crucifixes, flinched when he saw this –Jesus in pain, blood pouring from his hands and feet. He said, “I don’t know if that was necessary.”

I told this story to my friend Jane later. She smiled and said, “Unfortunately, it was.”