This article first appeared in Our Sunday Visitor magazine. Subscribe to receive the monthly magazine here.
Spring, with the equinox on March 20, will be upon us. It’s a word that has always fascinated me: “spring.” It’s a relatively modern replacement of the Old English word lencten, “Lent,” which formerly named the vernal season. At some point the Old English springan, “to leap up, or burst forth,” merged with sprengan, “to cause to operate suddenly.” Modern English uses the sense of springan when we think of “plants springing from the ground” and uses the sense of sprengan when we think of “springing a trap.”
In this sonnet by Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey, both senses are at play. We find that “every spray,” or twig, springs, that is, flourishes and blossoms. And yet the poet’s “sorrow springs,” suggesting a trap grimly snapping shut.
For us, too, each spring may be a flourishing or a trap. If we observe Lent, fast and pray, we may flourish and leap heavenward, bringing forth good fruits; if we focus solely on physical rejuvenation, we fall prey to a trap. As the prophet Isaiah warns, “All flesh is grass, and all its beauty is like the flower of the field. The grass withers, the flower fades, when the breath of the Lord blows upon it; surely the people is grass. The grass withers, the flower fades; but the word of our God will stand for ever” (40:6-8, RSVCE).
Out of sync
Howard — whose family estate provided the set for both the 1981 television adaptation and the 2008 film adaptation of “Brideshead Revisited” as well as for the 2020 Netflix series “Bridgerton” — gives us a glimpse of the English countryside beautifully renewing itself. All things are being made new. But the poem’s speaker isn’t. Amid great flourishing, he falters. Why?
“The time is fulfilled” are the first words Christ speaks in the Gospel of Mark (1:15). The Greek word kairos can mean “time” or “timeliness.” The speaker of our poem is akairos, “untimely.” The world inside him is in a different time zone than the world outside him. He’s in a world of his own making, trapped inside himself and, so, is alone.
The fullness of time
It’s a relatable dilemma, unfortunately. When we’re hurt, we’re tempted to create a retreat in our own minds, an illusory haven that we think can protect us from the danger outside. It does just the opposite. And that’s why we have this liturgical season.
Lent is a time for us to remember that Our Lord loved us so greatly that he came down from the real heaven into the world of time to sacrifice himself for us. It’s also a time to imitate him and come down from the illusory havens of our own minds to be present in every moment, sacrificing ourselves in time for him. That’s what “passion” means: to sacrifice oneself for what one loves, to die for love.
Each spring, each Lent, we are asked, “What love would you live for and die for?” and are reminded that now is the time.
The Soote Season
By Henry Howard
The soote (1) season, that bud and bloom forth brings, sweet
With green hath clad the hill and eke the vale.
The nightingale with feathers new she sings;
The turtle to her make (2) hath told her tale. mate
Summer is come, for every spray now springs.
The hart hath hung his old head on the pale;
The buck in brake (3) his winter coat he flings; a thicket
The fishes flete with new repairèd scale;
The adder all her slough away she slings;
The swift swallow pursueth the flies small;
The busy bee her honey now she mings (4); mixes
Winter is worn that was the flowers’ bale.
And thus I see among these pleasant things
Each care decays, and yet my sorrow springs.
1. sweet, 2. mate, 3. a thicket, 4. mixes
