Have I already forgotten my Lenten obligations? At the Angelus of the First Sunday of Lent, Pope Francis’ addressed the audience with the striking admonishment to, “never engage in dialogue with the devil.” Prompted by the gospel of the day, in which Jesus is tempted by the devil, the Holy Father noted that Jesus does not really engage in dialogue, but answers the tempter always with the Word of God. And the first reading of that day, from the book of Genesis, reminds us of just how well it went when Eve engages in a discussion with the serpent. This has given me reason to pause, and to feel duly chastised. We know the question the serpent immediately poses to Eve: “Did He really say…?” I have noted a remarkably similar phenomenon consistently affecting my Lenten resolutions. By week one, if not even by Ash Wednesday itself, I find myself asking: “So, what exactly were my resolutions?” Did I really say not any day, or just weekdays? Was that only for Fridays? And exempted on Sundays, right?  So I compose a list, a very short list, for myself. And still, when I actually check my actions against it, not always so good. Do I really say I would do that? Oops. And, of course, Eve got the answer a bit wrong: “He said don’t even touch it.” Nope, He didn’t. So what about me? Do I set the bar falsely high for myself? Do I allow insidious questions to undermine what I truly know to be true? Do I allow rationalizing to water down the claims of my conscience? Even from Week One, even from day one of Lent, it seems we enter not only a season of penance, but a season where we are reminded of the need for grace. I, for one, don’t seem to handle things all that well one my own. Maybe I allow a silent dialogue to happen within me that, as the Holy Father points out, I had best shut down immediately.
 
Pax,
Blake Billings
March 7, 2020

I had written some comments on our pandemic, but my mood and thoughts on the situation seem to change about as quickly as the situation itself. Having cut short my own travel plans and now living a self-imposed quasi-quarantine, there is a Lenten aspect to this crisis, for sure. The bishop of Providence has dispensed us from Sunday Mass, the School has extended our break - but this feels in no way like a Headmaster’s Holiday. There is an underlying buzz of stress accompanying all of this. I would say this, and just this: I have found moments of peace, hope, and encouragement in prayer. Quiet prayer, prayer that tries to return to the roots of my faith. And intercessory prayer, remembering that God is loving, merciful, and all-powerful. Perhaps you already have thought of Julian of Norwich: “All shall be well, and all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well.” 
 

Pax,
Blake Billings
March 14, 2020

One of the aspects of my life that has been radically challenged by the current crisis has been my spiritual life. The abrupt cessation of liturgies, the reduction of community contact, the “social distancing.” I keep thinking of the desert. For this situation is surely a kind of desert experience. This in itself draws us to Lent. A friend of mine pointed out to me how the word “quarantine” began in the 17^th century, referring to a period of forty days isolation for ships suspected of carrying disease. Forty days and forty nights… I am somewhat comforted to think that even if my initial Lenten expectations and plans have changed, what now is happening carries with it a radically Lenten character. We are all living Lent now, like it or not. And with that desert come both temptation – away from God, to self-reliance or worldly interests – and grace: God working in our lives. This week, as Laetare Sunday arrives, my new plan is to carry the stresses and struggles of this time to God, lift up in prayer all who now struggle, and remember my hope in the Easter grace that awaits, and is even now upon us.
 

Pax,
Blake Billings
March 20, 2020

Our Lenten lives have been dominated by adaptations to our current crisis, concern for our loved ones, our world, and ourselves, and the news, the news, the news. I have found some moments of serenity: going into the church; walking the grounds; the rosary. Though I must admit, my prayer, like everything else in my life, suffers from the constant companion of distraction. We on campus, with the rest of the planet, have moved to more virtual communications. Despite my reluctance and doubt, I was surprised and grateful to find the viewing of a Santa Marta Mass deeply edifying, producing a sense of truly universal communion in this shared struggle. The adoration and benediction at the end of that Mass provided a profound sense of “spiritual communion,” and great consolation. And I am more grateful than ever for the prayers of the monastery, more keenly aware of the need for them, and of the sustaining hope they inspire.
 

Pax,
Blake Billings
March 27, 2020