The Scent of Lent

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By Connie Clark

I came home the other day to the aroma of chocolate. It wasn’t a momentary whiff. I’m talking freshly baked, lovingly prepared, catch-your-breath, all-is-right-with-the-world, chocolatey goodness. Right there in my living room. I felt like I’d wandered into the Keebler elves’ test bakery. Or possibly heaven.

Where this enchanting odor came from was a mystery. I haven’t baked from scratch since I was a Girl Scout. I recently threw away all my dessert candles because their tempting aromas are just teases—“take a long whiff of that tiramisu pillar, baby, because you’re not eating any of it.”

But this was no candle. The scent of chocolate wafting through the house was so real, so unmistakably fudge-filled, I felt faint. I should mention that it was Shrove, or Fat Tuesday. The day had popped up like Pez candy, right out of nowhere, catching me completely off guard. Between work deadlines, frantic schedules, the beginning of one kid’s sport and the end of another, I’d had little time to think about what I’d do for Lent.

Of course, I’d sure made sure everyone else had thought about it plenty--my kids, my husband, my catechism students. I’m pretty sure I even told my cats about it.

Everyone knew what they were doing for Lent. Except me. “I’m so busy I don’t know how I can get away to Mass tomorrow,” I had complained to a friend earlier.

“But Ash Wednesday isn’t a Holy day of Obligation,” she had reminded me sensibly. “And don’t you already do enough for the church? I’m sure God understands.”

“That’s right,” I told myself. “And it would be hypocritical to get ashes just so everyone knew I’d gone to Mass.”

I’d felt a little better. After all, I was doing God’s work, wasn’t I? Writing a Catholic book, volunteering at church, working at my kids’ schools…God would understand, of course he would. He’s a gentle God, not a nagging God.

And now as I stood there, drinking in this rich, heavenly scent, I couldn’t help thinking it was a sign of some kind. But what did it mean?

Chocolate. I remembered all those years I’d given it up for Lent. I had a hard time believing God would send this heady aroma just because he wanted me to give it up. There had to be something more.

Maybe it was a temptation. But it wasn’t yet Lent. If the old guy downstairs was trying to seduce me into breaking a Lenten promise, his timing was way off and he needed to get with his scheduling people. I hadn’t made any Lenten promises. Yet.

So I ruled out Uncle Screwtape. I thought about other things I could do for Lent. I could read the Bible more, set aside more time for prayer with my family. Why hadn’t I thought about this lately?

“Could you not watch one hour with me?”

I wouldn’t say the words actually came into my head, but suddenly I felt horribly embarrassed. It didn’t matter whether I gave up chocolate for Lent or not. Lent isn’t about tallying up all we’ve done, or feeling guilty about what we haven’t done. Lent is about remembering and living out our priority: loving and serving God.

My priorities had been meetings, deadlines, and activities. My priorities were a big Fat Tuesday mess.

I wasn’t really doing God’s work, because I wasn’t allowing him to do his work inside me. I had filled up my schedule, but let my spirit go empty. I’d put me first, under the guise of doing it all for him. If I couldn’t even watch with Jesus for one hour at Mass, what did anything else matter?

Sometimes what I think is God’s work is nothing more than a scented dessert candle—it smells great and looks pretty, but it’s far from real thing. It’s easy to get caught up in the externals of doing God’s work, and ignore God himself. And that’s exactly what I was doing. I was “a resounding gong…a clashing cymbal.”

God had sent that heavenly aroma as a gentle, beautiful reminder about priorities. He was helping me remember that once we surrender everything to him, life can be gorgeously delicious. Once we make him our priority, praying to him always, we can be strong in the face of temptation. We can truly love our neighbor. We can find our reward in his kingdom. All we have to do is stop and smell the chocolate.

Connie Clark

Connie Clark often forgets everything she learns as a parent, author, and catechist in Southern California. Her book, 12 Fun and Easy Plays for Middle Schoolers is available now from Twenty-Third Publications. Her website is www.connieclark.org.

Comments

Beautiful!! How often God sends us those little reminders, if only we take the time to listen. Thanks for a wonderful image!

Posted on Feb 26th, 2010 at 9:15 PM by Mary
Your writing is so beautiful and the message is so important. What a great message to be reminded of help us refocus especially during Lent.

Posted on Feb 27th, 2010 at 10:53 AM by unknown
Absolutely beautiful and inspiring! Thank you so very much!

Posted on Feb 27th, 2010 at 11:33 AM by Virginia Redman
I could almost smell the choclate. Like you it did me a lot to think about. It was great. You are a good writer.

Posted on Feb 27th, 2010 at 1:40 PM by Marty
But did you eat the cookies? And where did they come from? You can't leave us hanging like this!

Posted on Feb 27th, 2010 at 1:49 PM by unknown
Great reminder within an entertaining story. Love your writing!

Posted on Mar 12th, 2010 at 2:21 PM by Barbara Shallue
Ha! That's too funny! Don't mean to trumpet my own willpower, but I baked those cookies--from a mix, mind you, never from scratch. Then at 11 PM realized I had no photo to submit. I spent an hour stacking them up...touching them...smelling them...photographing them...ahh. I really do believe that in heaven you can have all the chocolate you can eat.

Posted on Mar 1st, 2010 at 1:25 PM by Connie
I also believe that there are lakes and streams made entirely of chocolate pudding in heaven. (Sigh.)

Posted on Mar 1st, 2010 at 1:33 PM by Connie