30: The Trunk of Things
“Be careful not to practice your righteousness in front of others to be seen by them.
So when you give to the needy, do not announce it with trumpets, as the hypocrites do to be honored by others. They have received their reward in full. When you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your giving may be in secret. What is done in secret, will reward you.”
Matthew 6:5
No question about it — Lent is an inside job.
It’s almost March Madness — it’s all about the score at the final buzzer.
Lent can tempt me to keep score: how have done on the fasting, what’s the day count until I see the rewards of feast, what’s the status report…
But, Lent — is an inside job.
Where the invisible is what counts and the inventory on the interior followed by action towards change is what really matters. I am not a big fan of repetitive actions that never get done. I’ve never understood why it is so important to fold laundry when the items in question will never been seen by another. If it’s not about wrinkles, what is the point?
And yet, Lent brings me to the invisible — to go to those corners that are not evident but are the root of things. To clean out, throw out the attitudes and habits that clutter my ability to have my actions and intentions merge — to clean out the corners and crumbs of the past and leave some empty space.
Today: Vacuum out the trunk
The trunk of the car doesn’t win awards in the “organize your life” manual. It falls in the last chapter and is not usually a measure of the quality of self-management.
In my case, it often holds my unrealized good intentions — the bags intended for Salvation Army, the recycling, the box of paper that needs to be shredded, the old gym shoes and blanket covering the possibility of being caught unprepared by winter, and of course…the tool kit that my Dad gave to me when I made final vows — (while others got beautiful candles and touching notes, I got jumper cables…)-as he was concerned that I might be the only nun who could change a tire (definitely not the case).
In the sea of papers that constitutes my life and the coordination of digital files that dare me to consider an organizational arrangement, the trunk seems minor. But, it’s the Lent of things.
To vacuum the trunk is to clear out what has been rolling along with me over the miles of recent life and to make it possible for there to be room — for what has not yet arrived. To vacuum the trunk is to create a space between what has been and what will be and to give ritual to feeling those remnants of the past forced into the vortex of letting go. To vacuum the trunk is to be willing to both let go and expect. It is — to do the inside job that the outside might match it.
