By Rev. Peter M.J. Stravinskas.

The original purpose of Lent was to provide proximate preparation of candidates for Holy Baptism. With the passage of time, its purpose expanded to provide all the members of the Church the opportunity to return to Baptismal innocence. So, the Sacred Liturgy begins a serious turn toward reflection on the meaning and effects of Baptism in the days ahead. Interestingly, in the early Church, the Sacrament of Baptism was often referred to as either "Illumination" or "Enlightenment."

Which makes it worthwhile asking: "Have you ever lost your sight - even temporarily? Have you ever been plunged into darkness unexpectedly?" It's a frightening, fearsome thing. Darkness/light, night/day, and blindness/sight are themes frequently repeated in John's Gospel in order to teach some important truths about Jesus and the nature of Christianity. It's no accident that we'll shortly be hearing almost exclusively readings from John for the rest of this holy season.

Two passages are examples of what I mean. In John 3, we eavesdrop on the dialogue between Our Lord and Nicodemus, a leading Pharisee who - at the same time - is a disciple of Jesus, but one who approaches Him only under the cover of darkness. Christ reminds Nicodemus that there's an intimate connection between walking in darkness and doing evil deeds - and between walking in the light and performing righteous deeds.

Six chapters later, this theological lesson is dramatized for us in the cure of the man born blind through no fault of his own; he is eager to see, both spiritually and physically - he's open to the workings of God. Then we encounter the Pharisees, who have physical sight, but they have become spiritually blind because they have lost the proper perspective; instead of rejoicing at the healing of the blind man, they react to the fact that Christ has healed on the Sabbath. They're proof of the adage, "There are none so blind as those who will not see." John presents us with two types of people we always have with us: Those willing and those unwilling to accept Jesus as the Light of the World.

I recently watched a video of Francis Poulenc's opera Dialogues of the Carmelites. It lacks the excitement or lyricism of Puccini, but contains a powerful message. The action occurs in France during the French Revolution and zeroes in on one Carmelite convent, which becomes a symbol or microcosm for other religious houses at that time. That period was also known as the Enlightenment, which prided itself on replacing the God of Revelation with the "goddess of reason," blasphemously and sacrilegiously enthroned in 1793 in Notre Dame Cathedral. That "cult of reason" was, of course, characterized by hostility toward Christianity.

As the plot unfolds, revolutionary forces offer the Carmelites a choice: Give up your convents and habits, or give up your heads. As a result, thousands of clergy and Religious were martyred - the first fruits of "enlightenment."

When man exceeds his bounds; when he's blind to his human limitations; when he tries to be God; the enlightenment that follows is, in reality, darkness. The Enlightenment continues to have a pernicious influence on our culture, encouraging every kind of disaster from abortion-on-demand, to family breakdown, to sexual promiscuity, to materialism, to teenage suicide. Man has attempted enlightenment without Christ, with the result that the darkness has never been deeper, the blindness more devastating.

Returning to our opera, as the guillotine hits each nun's neck, the blindness of their persecutors in their hatred for Christ's truth becomes eminently clear. Then true enlightenment dawns on the crowd, which gradually stops barbaric cheering at the violence and is brought to see the witness of these rather unexceptional but holy women - bearers of light in one of history's darkest hours.

They succeeded in bringing people from blindness, to sight, to genuine insight. (An interesting historical note: So impressi...