A Reflection for Wednesday of the First Week of Lent
Find today’s readings here.
Throughout my life, I have admired (and envied) my little sister’s ability to sleep like a champion. From her baby days, Rebecca has respected the assorted moments when her body and mind need rest: She naps occasionally, but after long stretches of school work, extracurriculars and chores—the exhausting, jam-packed schedule of a high school junior—she religiously flutters upstairs at the day’s end to sleep, unapologetically. In the morning, she wakes up refreshed at 6:30 a.m., ready to seize the day. Sleep is Rebecca’s quiet-but-mighty superpower.
My father describes Rebecca as having a “pleasant disposition,” most visible in the morning, but otherwise consistent throughout the day, everyday. Rebecca is a delightful sixteen-year-old with a vibrant, active mind and the aged wisdom of a grey-bearded wizard you might find on a mountaintop; I, a twenty-three-year-old woman, ask Rebecca for life advice. Time and again, she tells me exactly what I need to hear.
Instead of following Rebecca’s path of consistent, protected rest, I maintain a winding and problematic relationship to sleep, and rest in general. I understand that rest is essential, but rest is the first necessity I kick to the curb as my to-do list grows. Rest is a privilege to forgo by choice, to be sure, when plenty of people work demanding jobs, with long grueling hours, and cannot do the same. Those of us who can afford to sleep, or at least take a break from the grind, however, need to savor guilt-free rest, like Rebecca does, because doing so could make us better people.
Today’s Gospel reflects the problem of restlessness. Jesus rebukes the rowdy, sinful crowd for seeking a miraculous sign, calling them a “wicked generation,” and tells them that the only sign they will receive is the “sign of Jonah.” Just as Jonah was a sign to the people of Nineveh, so Jesus is a sign to that generation. He warns that the current generation fails to recognize him, and they will pay for their sinful actions, their restlessness and frenzied ways of being.
Today, being a human—and a Catholic one at that—actually, an American Catholic one at that—is exhausting. We expend a lot of energy trying to do the right thing, everyday. It’s no wonder we are often tired, and might find ourselves acting like the Ninevites. But, taking the approach of our pope, who now rests while recovering from a respiratory illness, we should slow down, step back, and check in with ourselves. Even the pope needs rest. So do we.
Why prescribe rest as the antidote to chaos of the Gospel, and the chaos of our times? I turn to the Creation story. Many of us forget that God, having created the world in six days, rested on the seventh. Rest not only betters our health, in the case of Pope Francis, and our wisdom, in the case of Rebecca, but it brings us greater clarity, patience and understanding, which bring us closer to God.
