The Subject is Lenten Roses

It's Academy Awards time. People are wondering who will win the Oscars and what picture will be picked as the best. Sometimes, I think the election of the winners nominated by the members of the Academy reflect the time in which we live.

This Lenten season I am remembering something that happened at the Academy at the end of the sixties. Patricia Neal was nominated as Best Actress that particular year. Many have said that her performance in The Subject Was Roses was one of the great moments in Broadway theatre.

Most people have forgotten her personal story. In 1960 she was wheeling her infant son across Madison Avenue in New York when a car hit the baby carriage, smashed it into the back of a bus. The baby was seriously injured and lived but spent months in the hospital and had several operations. Two years later Patricia’s oldest daughter, Olivia got the measles and died suddenly. In 1965 Patricia had three massive brain hemorrhages, five heart attacks. Her speech and vision were impaired and her mind was blunted. It looked like the end. But Patricia Neal fought back. And it was after all these terrible traumas that nearly destroyed her life that she returned to the Broadway stage. Later came the movie. And on Oscar night that year she walked up the steps, onto the stage and was honored as that year’s Best Actress. Those gathered gave her a standing ovation.

After that night one reporter asked her the secret of her survival. After thinking a long time she said it was not courage or anything she was born with. If she had a secret, she said, a large copper plaque over her mantle might hold the key to her endurance. She pointed to the words:
                                             
                                               Fear knocked at the door.
                                               Faith answered.
                                               No one was there.

I remembered this story as looked out my window days ago. I saw some flowers blooming back in the woods. The colors just stood out. And I went to look closer. I should have known it: my Lenten roses were blooming. They, along with quince and crocuses are the first signs of spring.

I cannot find out much about the origin of the Lenten rose except the plants have a long history. They are a native of much of Europe. The greatest concentration of the plant can be found in the Balkans. Even in China and parts of Turkey and Syria you can see the Lenten rose.

Why the name? I am not sure except during this holy season when we ponder our lives and our finitude—the Lenten rose reminds me that hope is sure to come. These tiny flowers are a promise that though we are beset by wars and earthquakes and people we love are suffering terribly—this stubborn flower blooms in mid-winter. Maybe Patricia Neal can teach us a lesson for our own lives and our time. Fear does not have the last word. I remember that promise as I look at my Lenten roses.