The nights can be cold in Iwakuni, Japan. I know this well because I often walk home long past sunset. Over the months I have spent out here, I have enjoyed on these occasions only the company of remote and wintry stars, sleet or snow, freezing rain, or occasionally the roar of jets overhead, invisible in the clouds. This nightly walk has become so much of a habit for me that I have come to expect the feel of my leather jacket heavy on my shoulders and close around my waist, the fur collar either cold and wet or warm and comfortable, and the familiar solitary shortcuts through parking lots. Such has been the substance of my nightly relaxation before I reach my room, my bed, and the challenges of tomorrow.
Tonight was different. Though cool, it lacked its wonted bitterness. It seemed young and pleasant, with the full moon rising large and golden in the hazy air and the northern sky perceptibly lighter than I could ever remember. As I passed a drainage ditch, usually silent but for the sound of cold running water, I heard a cheerful cacophany of birds amongst the bushes. Abruptly I realized that springtime had arrived.
There had been other harbingers. Certain days were inexplicably sunny after weeks of freezing rain, only to then disappear behind the frigid clouds. Today, at work, I noticed unconsciously the warmish sunlight and aching clarity of the air. And recently we switched from the green uniforms we wear in wintertime to the tan ones we wear from spring through fall. So I knew it was coming. But I am tonight nevertheless surprised and suddenly excited at the palpable approach of springtime.
It has been a long winter in many respects. The constant movement of the first months of the deployment made for busy days and changing scenery, which partially distracted from homesickness and stress. However, once we moved back to Iwakuni the days became indistinguishable. They all had the same long hours, the same bad weather, the same (now irritating) sights, and a heavy, growing desire to go home. So deep was the winter, in fact, that Ash Wednesday arrived with no warning and I found myself, bewildered and flailing, on the road to Cavalry when seemingly just weeks ago I was rejoicing at Christ's birth.
Plain wisdom tells us that God waits for no man. The cycle and myriad responsibilities of work are absolutely engaging, whether they involve flying, studying, or administrative tasks. But so invested had I become in their accomplishment that I'd nearly forgotten the dues owed to my God and to my soul. Somewhere between the weekly Masses and the occasional Confession I had let the winter and my imposed obligations dominate my life. The first step towards achieving temperance is the weary acquiescence to the demands of Lent, and the second this exciting arrival of springtime.
Lent requires discipline and sacrifice, for both are necessary to break bad habits. It forces me out of my spiritual complacence and pulls my mind away from the trivial things that make up my physical life. The arrival of springtime is, in the context of Christianity, the anticipation and foreshadowing of God's promise; in the context of Lent it is a metaphor promising that our purpose is not to fast and suffer, but eventually to be joyful (in the presence of God). The fasting enables that by weaning us from those false gods that tempt us from happiness: ambition, excess guilt, excess affection, depression, and lust. The fruit borne by our Lenten discipline is mimicked in nature by the process of spring.
It has happened before and it will happen again. Suddenly tonight I am light of heart and optimistic; I have transitioned gratefully from darkness into a brighter world. I have, no doubt, experienced many such transitions and no doubt will experience many more, but nothing can dilute the immediacy of the visceral and sensuous reaction I have to the signs of spring tonight. There is joy ahead. Winter will end. But in order to find that end, I must, like everyone else, purge from their dark thrones the vices and distractions that have grown upon me. The path to summer always lies through Calvary.
