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 Today's Take:  NCR's daily Web column
Each weekday over the course of a week, a member of the NCR staff offers a commentary on one or more topics in the news.  It's our way of introducing you to some of the people carrying out the NCR mission of faith and justice based journalism.

February 25, 2004
Vol. 1, No. 206




Pat Morrison Lenten lessons on the down escalator

Pat Morrison, NCR managing editor

Last weekend I was in a local department store, taking the escalator down to the ground floor. Ahead of me were a mom with a toddler in arms, and two little girls, about 6 and 8. The 6-year-old had gotten on and was riding ahead of us, but her older sister stood at the top of the escalator, frozen with fear.

"I can't, Mommy!" she yelled down to Mom.

The mom was already almost at the bottom. Juggling packages as well as hefty bundle of baby, she attempted to climb back up the downward-moving escalator for the oldest child, but couldn't.

"Just step on and hold on," advised the mother.

"I can't," said the little girl, now close to tears.

Since Mom was fully in view, I asked the reluctant passenger, "Would you like to hold my hand? We can get on together." She nodded yes through big wet tears.

"OK, put your other hand on the rail. Here's a step coming. Let's get on the next one."

Other Today's Takes by Pat Morrison
Feb. 24, 04 When faith takes over the friendly skies
Feb. 23, 04 Applause for Mel's passion
Dec. 19, 03 Altering the face of Christ
Dec. 17, 03 Go ahead, get Uncle Edgar's goat!
Dec. 15, 03 Finding Saddam, losing Mazen
Oct. 3, 03 (Un)happy anniversary, intifada
Oct. 1, 03 An ordinary life sparks an unlikely revolution
Aug. 14, 03 Women's realities, Mary's feast
Every muscle quivering, she held my hand for dear life, and stepped on.

She was safely on the escalator, but it was clear she wasn't liking the experience one bit.

"I know how you feel. These are kind of scary," I said reassuringly.

Then with the wisdom of a pint-sized Dr. Phil, my hand-holding adventurer announced, "I don't like these things. I need to be in control."

"I understand completely," I said.

I got some good insights into Lent from that little girl on the down escalator.

Lent is -- or perhaps should be? -- a rather scary time for Christians who truly enter into it. Not because we have to "give up stuff," or because it lasts 40 days, but because Lent means going downward. And losing control.

Nobody likes the sense of spiraling downward. Everything in our society is about going up. Even contemporary jargon emphasizes it: upward mobility, getting "raises," climbing to the top, moving up in the world.

The opposite? Going down. Getting as low as one can go. Hitting bottom. As a hermit called it (NCR, Feb. 27), "the 'ker-plunk' experience." And most of us recognize that the word that usually follows "ker-plunk"… is "splat!" Definitely not an experience to be sought after.

Combine heading in a decidedly downward trajectory with the loss of sense of control and you're pretty close to what John of the Cross describes as the "Dark Night" of soul and sense, a terrifying but necessary time of purification.

As I reflected on the insight my young fellow escalator traveler had shared, I began thinking of the many people I know this Lent who are coping with stepping onto frightening downward paths and feeling totally out of control: Friends whose hopes for salvaging their marriage have flickered out, now divorcing. Other friends and family members who have lost jobs or have learned they're being downsized -- a euphemism attempting political correctness that nevertheless embodies the experience of descent if ever there were one. People battling substance abuse, or watching with feelings of hopelessness as it destroys their spouse or children. Loved ones seeing dreams of a lifetime dashed. Good friends struggling with serious health problems or who have just received word they have a life-threatening illness.

Lents like these are not the time to worry about giving up Chivas Regal or Oreos, losing a few pounds or saying a few extra prayers. Lents like these are the heavy-duty kairos times -- God's time -- weighing down on us, when all we can do is simply exist, attempting to find meaning in this moment of supposed grace.

"Unless the grain of wheat dies…." "Unless you take up your cross and follow Me." We love Christ, but we're petrified by what those words of his mean when we're forced to take them literally.

For some of us, this terrifying movement downward and out of control is a new or short-term experience. But in the much wider world it is the day-to-day experience of millions of people. Homeless and starving populations, refugees, victims of violent repression and unjust regimes, victims of earthquake and famine and AIDS -- for these millions, Lent with its spiraling descent and no control over life and its events is not just 40 days, it's a lifetime, 24/7.

The Gospels tell us Jesus was "driven by the Spirit into the desert," where he spent 40 days tempted by the devil and surrounded by wild beasts. Scripture scholars tell us the verb "driven" connotes an inner coercion; Jesus could not do otherwise, couldn't avoid it. But like my fellow escalator-rider, he probably didn't relish the experience, any more than he took pleasure in that sequel to the desert a few years later, his passion and death.

The desert was a preparation for more apparent failure. Jesus did "go down" into death, that ultimate powerlessness. But our faith tells us he came out of the terrible Dark Night of desert, descent, and utter loss of control -- into new and unending life, for himself and all of us.

Deserts. Down escalators. Good places to find Lenten lessons for life.

Pat Morrison is NCR managing editor. Her e-mail address is

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