The Thin Time of Emptiness

In a time of quiet reflection now, after having served the Liturgy of Good Friday with our local community, it occurs to me that I probably have not kept the discipline of Lent very well. At least, that's the way it feels. Looking back over these last forty days I not only wonder where did the time go, but also am made aware that my attempts at ascesis were a woeful failure. I do not 'give up' things like certain types of food during Lent because none of that seems like very much of a sacrifice. Even the traditional fish on Wednesdays and Fridays really does not provide much of a hardship, so rather than give up a certain food I prefer to try and add something to my daily activities - extra prayers, extra kneeling - something like that. There should have been more of these 'extras' than there was.

One traditional monastic discipline I truly wanted to observe with integrity was the 'Grand Silence' - no speaking for a prescribed period of time each day. A worthy spiritual discipline, not terribly difficult. That is, if you don't have lots of cats.

I have lots of cats and I was amazed to discover just how difficult it is to remember not to talk to them. Cats (and dogs too, I imagine) will have their presence acknowledged in some way or another. A stroke on the head here and a hug there will suffice for a short time but when they realize you are not talking to them, then it begins: everything they can possibly do to irritate you enough to yell at them. So my attempts at Grand Silence turned out to be decidedly not so grand. But I will keep trying.

Perhaps the one thing I had hoped to grasp hold of more firmly in my heart was the emptiness of Christ: Though He was in the form of God, Jesus did not deem equality with God something to be grasped at, rather, He emptied Himself, taking the form of a slave ...

I am still overwhelmed at the very thought of a Love that empties itself, pours itself out, dosen't seek equality or rights or honour and ultimately lays down its life.

I am still not able to absorb this Truth, not fully. I know what it looks like, but at the same time, I know how very far from it I am. Lord, have mercy!

In days of ancient Celtic yore, times that were frought with distress, death and mourning were called the 'thin' times.

Given that the entire season of Lent engages us in a spiritual thin time, it seems the Easter Triduum takes us beyond thin-ness into emptiness. Within this emptiness, to whatever degree one is experiencing salvation, our temptations and delusions become a bit clearer to us and we awake, like a sleeper, to the voice of Christ saying, Come forth! as He pulls us out of the depths that we didn't even realize we were in.

Out of the depths I cry to You, Lord, hear my prayer.

The road to Pascha must include a measure of emptiness, I think (at least it should), else how would we have room for the fullness of Pascha?

Pascha is the super-abundant fullness of Christ's Victory and the measure we receive of it depends on how well we have prepared our hearts. I know I have not prepared my heart as well as I should have or possibly could have and I am not worthy to celebrate the joyous fullness of Pascha. Christ has descended to the depths; can I descend with Him a little? Is there still time?

Now is the time of salvation.

Can I empty a little bit more of myself in some small way? When can I confidently proclaim:

My heart is ready, O God, my heart is ready ... ?

Transform my heart, I pray, O King of Glory, and make it ready for Thyself!

Then ...

I will sing, I will sing Your praise.

Awake, my soul, awake lyre and harp. I will awake the dawn.

O God, arise above the heavens; may Your glory shine on earth (Psalm 57). 

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