A red spot throbbed on my hand. After an hour at 350° the gooey mozzarella bubbled atop my tomato pie as I pulled it from the oven. Although I protected my fingers with hot pads, my hand accidentally bumped the oven wall. The burn hurt temporarily, but I could stand it. I thought of my friend and colleague Jill at home with a shattered ankle and her leg in a cast. If she could endure her injury with a smile on her face, I could cope with a blister.I shrouded the pie in towels to keep it warm and packed it in the basket with the salad and wine. In an hour I could share the tasty meal with a good friend—a joyful sacrifice to fulfill a Lenten vow.
Five years ago, I decided to observe Lent with a new attitude. In the past I'd never made it through the six-week period without forgetting my resolution. Usually I’d remember halfway through a cheeseburger that I’d given up red meat the month before, or my abstinence from eating chocolate would come to mind after inhaling a Hershey bar.
So for the 2005 Lenten season, I pledged to sacrifice time, money or material goods by helping others. No longer would I have to remember not to eat something or do something or wear something. What’s more, because of my kindnesses someone else would benefit.
Several opportunities soon occurred. Jill, an art historian at our university, had worried aloud about her student Vanessa, a woman who attended class with black eyes and finger marks around her neck, evidence of spousal abuse. Soon after Ash Wednesday, Vanessa moved into a women’s shelter, leaving behind all belongings to escape her husband’s violence. Jill gave her a new set of textbooks; I collected vouchers to cover the cost of utilities. Worried that Vanessa might feel awkward accepting assistance from a stranger, I offered the vouchers anonymously through Jill, who also updated me on Vanessa’s well being.
Other friends needed help too. For instance, when a car crash paralyzed my neighbors’ son, they struggled to maintain business in their coffee shop when they needed to be at the hospital. I lent my support by breakfasting several times a week on bagels and lattes. What a tasty way to help others! When my mother needed a heart catheterization, I accompanied her to the hospital. I taught myself to knit in the waiting room. I spent all day in the cardiac unit, but knitting made the time relaxing instead of tedious.
Then when Jill fell through her attic floor into her laundry room and shattered her ankle, I joined a pool of friends in cooking and delivering dinners to her home. While she ate, I dangled fancy shoes at the toe of her cast and made her laugh. Though observing my Lenten vow, I mostly had fun.
By Holy Thursday as I baked a tomato pie for Jill—my final sacrifice of the season—I had resolved always to observe Lent with acts of kindness. I found helping others much more rewarding than foregoing chocolate for six weeks.
But minutes after I took the pie from the oven, the phone rang. It was Jill’s mother. “I’m at the emergency room with Jill,” she said. “Can you come?”
I put the pie in the freezer and drove straight to the hospital. A pulmonary embolism had developed from Jill's fractured ankle. I sat with Jill’s mother all night while her doctors worked for hours to save her. They couldn’t.
Jill died on Good Friday.
What happened? How had Easter become such a nightmare? After six weeks of enjoying Lenten obligation, after finally progressing through the entire season without forgetting my vow, just when I was ready to celebrate, I mourned.
I was not alone. Jill’s students mourned their most beloved professor, who didn’t simply lecture about art history but took students to
In a stupor, I spent Good Friday afternoon in Jill’s office, handing tissues to students and muttering condolences with each one, all the while wondering why this catastrophe happened to her of all people.
At church on Easter Sunday I went through the motions of celebrating resurrection but resented the bitter irony of having to help plan Jill’s memorial service.
Shortly after the memorial, Jill’s mother gave me a set of goblets and placemats she’d bought Jill from the dollar store. “Jill never had a matching set of anything,” she laughed. She then told me Jill had set her table with them the afternoon I was to bring her the tomato pie. Though Jill never used her placemats and goblets, her mother wanted me to enjoy them at my own table.
The next day my phone rang. “Professor Remler,” a soft voice said, “this is Vanessa.” I was perplexed. How did she know who I was? “I thought Jill had given me the utility vouchers,” she said. “But Jill’s mother told me it was you. I’ve been meaning for weeks to go by Jill’s office and thank her for all the support she gave me, but I never went. I was too busy working, going to school and raising my boys. Now it’s too late to thank her, and I don’t want to miss the opportunity to thank you.” Vanessa also told me she’d found her own apartment and planned to move in a few days. “I’d like you to come see it,” she said.
Lent was over, but I was happy to help Vanessa collect used furniture. Meanwhile Jill’s mother cleared the house of Jill’s belongings. She kept many items of sentimental value, but she told me she had several pieces of furniture, kitchen appliances, and cleaning products she couldn’t use. I called Vanessa, and we moved Jill’s things to the new apartment. I gave her Jill’s placemats. They made a nice housewarming gift; besides, Jill would have wanted Vanessa to use them.
No longer bruised or homeless, Vanessa seemed confident and ready to face her new life. She was thrilled to fill her empty home, but she especially loved the items that came from Jill. After moving and arranging the new belongings, we shared a meal: tomato pie. After I left, I felt so elated that I wanted to share my joy with someone. For a second, picked up my cell phone to call Jill. Just for a second.
On the calendar Lent lasts forty days. But Jill’s death and Vanessa’s new life helped me understand the importance of Lent year round. In spite of its sadness the Easter season did bring renewal. I’d lost a friend but gained another.
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