Some days are harder than others when it comes to getting out of bed in the morning.

Today was one of the harder ones.

Outside it was 14 degrees, with billowing winds blowing the snow across the yard, while I snuggled in warmth beneath my fluffy new down-like comforter.

One hour later, I was battling my driveway’s snowy tundra, scraping and chipping ice from my windshield.

By human standards, none of this set the stage as ideal circumstances for going to 8 AM mass.

But yet–paradoxically–it was!

We had a visiting priest presiding at mass today, and his homily was nothing short of astounding to me. My initial reaction when he announced he was there to talk about vocations was picturing a dry and lengthy request for donations.

Thankfully, time and time again I’ve been reminded (truly a grace) of how I need not jump to conclusions, but instead, remain open to possibilities.

And I was amazed at what followed.

This pastor started his talk in a totally unexpected way: referencing the story of Aaron (Leviticus 16:21) and likening it to Jesus’ baptism.

Some of you reading this may have already contemplated these things, so bear with me because I had not until today heard of these two stories linked in such a way. I will try and recap this as best I can, as there is no way I could begin to quote how beautifully he presented it, but envisioning the stories as he spoke, here is my takeaway:

In the Old Testament, Aaron was called to gather up the Israelites’ collective sin and place them on a goat’s head. Then, to send the goat carrying all that sin off and into the desert, away from all habitation.

In the New Testament, Jesus is submerged in the Jordan River, representing our multitude of sin, and when he comes up from the water, that sin has clung to Him, and the water is sanctimoniously purified.

Jesus, like the goat, then goes dutifully out into the desert for 40 days. He humbled himself to a creature status, suffering from that sin he took upon himself, while the waters of Baptism are now ours to use for removing original sin.

If that’s not amazing enough, Jesus then returns to share a dinner with the apostles. And even though they had no clue at that time what he was talking about, he references how we cannot survive on bread alone, but need Him (our spiritual connection to God) to get us through this world. And tells them how we are to do this (through the Eucharist).

Then He (as our collective sin) allows himself to be crucified for us.

Likewise, we are asked to take up our own crosses daily–and especially at Lent–and be like Jesus (humbly following His example of self-giving) for one another.

Okay, so the second part was not part of the priest’s homily, and honestly, I probably actually butchered the original sermon.

However, I *did* ask the pastor if I could paraphrase what he shared today. He clarified, “You said paraphrase, right?” (probably wondering who on earth this person is, asking to quote him on the internet).

I felt badly about that later, hoping he didn’t feel cornered, and prayed that he would come to trust my intentions. I think he did, though, since I responded with: “Oh yeah; paraphrase! I would never be able to get it all right (in order to effectively quote).” And he laughed and gave my shoulder a light tap, as if to say, “I get it.”

Picturing those two scenes juxtaposed today really helped me to see the bigger picture of why we go through Lent, and a little more of who and what we are called to be in this world.

Also, and this is where my quirky side shows: I couldn’t help but feel a little bad for the poor, unassuming goat in the first story…but maybe that’s actually part of it: we’re supposed to be moved to action when we hear of someone who unjustly has become someone’s “scapegoat”…

More than anything, though, maybe my windblown, snow-covered hair and numb fingers and toes at 7 AM when I’d rather be comfortable is a little metaphoric in a way, seeing how it led to something so meaningful.

Further, when I stop and consider some of the most horrific situations we experience and witness in life, and how sometimes it seems next to impossible to wrap our heads around the reason behind why these things happen, that must be when we’re called to trust in God’s ever-present love.

After all, love is what this is all about, right? His love for us, and ours for one another. As Mother Therese says:

Care to share?? Is there a time in your own life which you questioned the purpose for, only to later recognize that God’s Hand was in the situation?