Tasting the Cross

I know, I did this last year wrote two blog posts within a couple of days near the beginning of Lent. I promised I would not write everyday and I will still uphold this. Though I would at least like to try and make it weekly during this season (sorry).
The day of Ash Wednesday has come round again to commence our season of Lent, my daughter gave me cause to ponder this as we were packing up lunches for school this morning.
Sitting on our kitchen worktop was my son's Confirmation cake, on it is is a simple cross. My daughter came to me begging "Mummy, Mummy can I have some of the cross? I have never tasted the cross."
Such a simple question but I thought one that had a deeper meaning. No she has not tasted the slightly tantalising sugary treat upon the cake, but neither has she tasted the real suffering in the world that lead to that cross being on my cake.
At the tender age of five she is still living in a world that is full of candy floss and fairies, so to speak. Her eyes innocent to the pain around her. She is full of life, smiles, happiness and the joys of Spring. For her elder brothers the reality of suffering and sin around them is beginning to dawn. You can see how this begins to effect how they view Lent and how they see the sacrifice that Christ made so that our sins maybe forgiven. I too, remember at sometime around their age going through a similar revelation. I remember thinking up until this point that the whole world was kind of cosy and safe and though bad things happened they affected a few but not the masses. When I was around the age when I was leaving Primary school, there was still a problem with bombs in Ireland and London. It was when my Mother refused to go into London for my birthday that it hit home. Evil could touch me, pain could reach me and suffering touched those around me. I remember remaining defiant that my birthday should happen in London as always, that the bad people should not succeed. However, when we reached London, I was nervous and I was afraid. This event changed how I saw the world and how I lived in it. It is the first time I truly appreciated the gift that was given to us at Easter.
Then when I became a Mother the meaning of what my own requirement to sacrifice meant hit me like a train. Suddenly after one cuddle with this tiny fragile human being, I would sacrifice anything because my love was overpowering. There was in this small bundle in my arms, mine and my husband's love, our blood, our genes, our hopes and our future. Who would not protect such a fragile thing with all they had. This overwhelming feeling altered how I saw me, my faith, the world, the suffering of the BVM and indeed the suffering of Christ. Up until this point sin and suffering seemed very one sided, very negative, just something to avoid. The revelation in the birth of my child is in that sin can be renounced and without it you have love. When you have found love, you have hope and through this hope you find the joys of the resurrection. I found that suffering can not be avoided, but it is made bearable within this gift of love. For if we did not feel love, we would not know the meaning of sacrifice, for without love there would be nothing to lose to cause us pain.
40 days and 40 nights to look at our sins, to confess our sins to God, to renounce evil, to look temptation in the face and walk away into the light and joys of the resurrection.
40 days (or indeed the rest of our lives) to see the joy in sacrifice. For though it may be painful to us to sacrifice that which we hold dear, it will give us and others hope. It will light the world with the joy of the resurrection.