Lenten analogies from the Iditarod

These early March days find us, along with many Alaskans, daily checking standings for the mushers running the 1,100-mile Iditarod Sled Dog Race — the “Last Great Tace.” My teenage daughter, a serious fan, has her usual favorites and chooses one wild card each year to follow. She checks multiple times a day and moves colored pins representing her mushers along a map posted on our cork board. Since it is also Lent, I see Lent everywhere around me and the Iditarod is no exception.

Initially called the Great Race of Mercy (Hello, Lent), the race commemorates the 1925 diphtheria serum run to Nome via the Iditarod Trail, a mining transport route through the now-ghost-town of the same name. Those mushers were smart and strong, risking their lives and the lives of their working dogs to get the remedy to stricken Nome.

The Iditarod is still a dangerous run. “Challenging conditions are true every year. It’s the Iditarod Trail. The race must go on,” said Iditarod Trail Committee Executive Director Stan Hooley last year.

As is Lent. Each year has its own spiritual dangers and challenges. We have our Hell’s Gates and Dalzell Gorges in difficult temptations and weakened wills. We also have our rest stops available in Friday evening soup and stations. Extra reconciliation services are our health checks. And the Lenten race will go on as well, ending with the Easter celebration year after year until the Great Banquet in the Father’s House.

We may need to drop out, or “scratch,” in order to get our dogs or ourselves, or both, tended back to health for next year’s run. This is OK. If we desire betterment and do not allow bitterness to creep in, we will learn what we should and become closer to Jesus His way. “Let it be unto me according to what you have said,” said our Blessed Mother.

Three years ago, my baby was diagnosed with cystic fibrosis in the beginning of Lent. That year, sacrificial fasting for me took the form of mentally wrangling fear and anger to the ground and lifting my eyes to my Lord to embrace love and redemptive suffering. It was exhausting. I scratched my planned sacrifice, fired the computer back up and made needed connections.

A friend told me that sometimes Lent decides for us. With the Iditarod, many times the mushers have their decisions made for them. Regarding the Yukon River deciding things for racers, said musher Martin Buser, “The Yukon always is a decider if it’s punchy or slow.” Likewise, sometimes Lent is decided for us, whether punchy or slow.

Physically running the Iditarod and spiritually running Lent begins with preparation: we must take stock, figure goals, decide risks, and gather materials. While there is a general pattern in Lent (pray, fast, give) and a general pattern in mushing (food, gear, map), everyone’s plan is their own; for example, musher Jeff King is known for his inventions like boxed sled seating and heated handlebars.

Then it’s here and we have to jump in and participate. Just do it and see what happens! Different music at Mass, extra prayers, little sacrifices — “for the sake of His body, the church (Colossians 1:24)” — these things, if accomplished with attention, draw us closer to Jesus and others. And there are certainly suffering people in the world who could use our extra prayers, money, and sacrifices. Iditarod teams have physicians, public servants, and fans at checkpoints on the way and we have priests, saints, and angels available for our health and encouragement. Those watching on the periphery for culture and entertainment may be inspired to get in the race themselves. God be praised.

The Catholic Church follows a liturgical calendar that relays salvation history year after year. At every Mass we hear a passage from the Old Testament, sing a Psalm, hear a reading from an epistle, and then hear a passage from one of the four gospels, so reverenced that the entire congregation rises. For most of the liturgical year, we are in what is referred to as “ordinary time”, a time of growth as we listen and learn and are fed by our Lord. We get smarter and stronger. Mushers spend most of the year learning, preparing, and getting smarter and stronger with their dogs, in preparation for the race. While Lent means we are currently connecting with Jesus’ time of testing in the wilderness, next comes the Easter solemnity of joy and feasting.

The last great race before Easter truly is a great race of mercy. May we find opportunities every day to enrich Lent with mercy accepted and given. May we actively look for glimmers of God, even in Iditarod stories. May we, in the words of St. Paul the Apostle, “fight the good fight, finish the race, and keep the faith (2 Timothy 4:7).” May we push the limits of ourselves and the dogs.

Go mushers! Go us!

Allison Howell and her family are longtime residents of the Valley. They are Catholic converts and keep a hobby farm full of animals and children.

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