A Mosaic

Six years ago today, my father passed away at the age of 71 following injuries sustained in an accident 10 days previously. In the blurry days that followed, my family and I were comforted by the extraordinarily good support of family, friends and colleagues, and bolstered by the memories of and lessons learned from an extraordinary man that we were blessed to share our lives with. That the loss was so great was a measure of the man – he left a big space in our lives.

A month or so later when I was back in San Francisco where I was living at the time, I had a routine check-up appointment with a doctor I hadn’t met previously. I spoke to her about my dad, and it turns out her mother had also died from a car accident, a number of years before. We spoke of the great comfort in that our parents had had the opportunity to meet and know our respective partners – I love the fact that my dad knew and loved my now husband. And she said to me that in the aftermath of her mother’s passing, it was like her life was a tile that had been thrown up in the air and smashed to pieces; she said it took about three years to put things back together and that now it was not the same as before but rather a mosaic. I really appreciated talking to someone who had experienced such a similar loss, but also thought no way, my life is not going to be broken for three years, I have things to do, I’m on a path.

Six years later, I now understand – the path is there, but it has been broken and crooked, with many a dead-end and turnaround, and at times, I have felt so mired in inertia that I could say nothing has really happened in a long time. This is, of course, not true – some of the greatest joys of my life have happened since my father’s death – my wedding and the birth of my son most especially. And the tremendous gift of those days was the not missing him because he was so clearly present to me, in such a real and easy way, that there was nothing to miss. But other times have been harder – my dad was one of those rare individuals who seemed to know so much and do so much good, but in a very easy, real way – not having him to lean on meant I have had to learn an awful lot about myself, and see myself not reflected in his eyes, a reflection that always removed the rough edges, but as I am. I also realise what a very blessed and privileged life I have led that the greatest tragedy I have experienced was the loss of someone who had truly lived a full life.

I supposed what I have learnt most of all is that sometimes we just stay still for a long time, and that’s ok. I can’t pretend to be comfortable with this – as someone who has marked life by a competitive drive to the next achievement, time not spent getting ahead feels like time lost. But what we are reminded of during this Advent season, a time of waiting and anticipation but also quiet and inward reflection, is that God measures things differently. My dad’s life was a lesson in this – what made him great was not that he was perfect, but rather that he consistently and relentlessly chose to do good, do for others, do more, often in difficult circumstances. And it wasn’t that he rose to the top of a profession, though in fact he was at a time at the top of his second career, one dedicated to helping those with special needs – it was that he led with thought for other, and everything followed from there. I don’t always see where I’m going clearly, but I do know I have a great advocate for me always, and also that God is endlessly patient, waiting with us, wanting the best for us, and understanding.

The prayer we chose for my father’s memorial card by John Henry Cardinal Newman sums up so much of what my dad taught us in life; I pray it today, and am very grateful for all my dad’s life taught us.

God has created me to do Him some definite service. He has committed some work to me which He has not committed to another. I have my mission. I may never know it in this life, but I shall be told it in the next. I am a link in a chain, a bond of connection between persons. He has not created me for naught. I shall do good; I shall do His work. I shall be an angel of peace, a preacher of truth in my own place, while not intending it if I do but keep His commandments. Therefore, I will trust Him, whatever I am, I can never be thrown away. If I am in sickness, my sickness may serve Him, in perplexity, my perplexity may serve Him. If I am in sorrow, my sorrow may serve Him. He does nothing in vain. He knows what He is about. He may take away my friends. He may throw me among strangers. He may make me feel desolate, make my spirits sink, hide my future from me. Still, He knows what He is about.

Ears to Hear and Faith to Submit

Today’s Old Testament reading comes from the book of Samuel. In this reading, we gain insight not only into God’s relationship with King David, but also into God’s plan for what He calls David’s “family.” Through the prophet, Nathan, David learns that God will raise up his offspring and establish his kingdom which will have no end. We know that God was referring to Jesus, but David did not. After hearing all that God revealed to him, David prayed, “Who am I, O Sovereign Lord, and what is my family that you have brought me so far?” My favorite part of David’s prayer is when he thanks God for revealing his plan to him. Even though David has no idea what lays in store for his “offspring,” he trusts in the word of God that “the house of God’s servant will be blessed forever.” God’s word gives David courage and peace. David has a close relationship with God. He prays often and is humble before God. He listens to His word, and even though David does not fully understand what God is revealing to him, he is comforted by God’s presence in his life.

I often pray that I can recognize God’s word in my life. Sometimes, it is hard to focus on what God is telling me. Sometimes I let my busy life be an excuse for why I can’t hear Him. However, if I would just slow down and listen, my busy life would not seem so overwhelming. Like David, I too would find peace and courage in the fact that God is here to look out for me and my family. It is so important to put our relationship with God first in our lives.

In Luke’s gospel, Mary is surprised by Gabriel the Archangel’s greeting. He says, “Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with you.” Mary was greatly troubled by the angel’s greeting. “Do not be afraid,” he says, “you have found favor with God.” Mary was a woman of great faith, but even she must have been shaken by these words. Upon hearing God’s plan for her, that she would bear a child who would be “the Son of the Most High,” she too was humbled like King David. But, despite her fear and uncertainty, Mary agreed to become the mother of Jesus. “I am the handmaiden of the Lord,” she said. “Let it be done to me as you have said.”

The faith and trust that Mary had in God was immense. In order to agree to such a thing, she had to put her life in God’s hands. Yet we are only asked to have faith the size of a mustard seed, and if we do, we can move mountains. Dear Lord, let us have ears to hear your plan and faith to submit to your plan for us all.

- AAB

Rewards

As a kid, I always loved when the pink candle joined in on the Advent wreath. Gaudete Sunday – rejoicing in joyful anticipation of the Savior’s birth, and a rosy glow added to the waiting purple. We had a beautiful wreath that my dad made, and it lived in our kitchen on an endtable. Most evenings before dinner, we would light the candles and do the day’s reading from an Advent book, and then my mom would give us straw to add to the middle of the wreath. The straw was for the manger and would provide a soft resting place for the baby Jesus – IF we were good enough! The portioning out of straw was a sort of reward system for good deeds – I can remember many a time when my pile was particularly pitiful, and worrying that maybe I’d better get my act together for there to be enough straw to add to the Nativity. Amazingly, by the end of Advent, the pile of straw was always full, every year – either we got a bit better as Advent went along, or the giver of the straw gave us a bit of a break! As Advent and Christmas preparations move forward with just over a week to go, I pray that my motivation to ‘add more straw’ increases, and I trust that God who gives all rewards is most generous always.

Advent Balance

The world does not usually remember number 2. Unless you are the parent of a preschool-aged child, rarely do we applaud and extol anything other than being the top dog. A television commercial for some unmemorable phone gives a great one minute montage on the perils of being second best. They are unsuccessfully chasing the glitterific iPhone, and I can’t even remember the name of their product which I am mentioning here. The world does not remember number 2s. It is with that in mind that I came to this week’s readings.

John’s Gospel begins by telling us that John the Baptist “was not the light, / but came to testify to the light.” The world might think this less than remarkable. We might like to be the light — not just the guy who goes around talking about the light. But John seems very content with his station. He openly recognizes that there is “one who will come after me, whose sandal strap I am not worthy to untie.” He does not seem jealous or ambitious to be that one. He is content to be who he is - content with his role in the larger plan. Good for you, John.

My mother was born on June 24th, the feast day of John the Baptist. She has a connection with JtB because of this. John the Baptist has always struck me as an interesting cat. Admittedly, my knowledge of him draws from Elementary and High School Religion classes. I envision him as the son of a very old (probably at least 20) and likely unfertile mother. I remember that he leapt in his mother’s womb upon meeting the newly pregnant Mary. I know that he lives in the dessert, eats locust and honey, wears hairshirts, and is ultimately beheaded. Without knowing much, I always knew that John and Jesus had a special relationship. Loosely translated and debatable is the fact that they were cousins. Growing up, I was envious of friends who were close with their cousins. They seemed to share a special bond that I did not have. As I watch my girls develop that special cousin relationship, I am convinced that I was right to yearn for it. A cousin is basically a sibling who does not share your home, answer to your mother, or compete with you. It really has its perks. In my imagination, John and Jesus were close cousins. I bet Biblical scholars would debate this fact, but it always helped me to understand their unique relationship.

Just as I was settling into the notion that we don’t have to follow the world’s foolish calls to be remembered, the second reading from Thessalonians comes screaming in with standards of greatness. “In all circumstances give thanks”, “rejoice always” and “pray without ceasing”. Not only should we do these things, but we are told how to do them – always and without ceasing. There does not seem to be much margin for slacking. This reading tells us that to do these things at this level “is the will of God for you in Christ Jesus.” I like that God has high standards for us. I like that we are called to offer our best game.

As I prepare my heart this week for the miracle of love that arrives in Jesus’ birth, I will try to balance John’s humility with Thessalonians call to excellence. It will be a familiar struggle for me, but this week it will feel more meaningful because I will remember that is my Advent preparation.
–KLG

Time

A year after my father passed away, I had just moved to England and went to Mass (actually a Communion Service as it was celebrated by the parish’s permanent deacon) on his anniversary. After the service, I introduced myself to the deacon and said how meaningful it had been to me. He said, ‘Well then, I’ve offered that Mass for your father. I am absolutely convinced there is no time with God.’ His words have always stuck with me – the idea that when we come to God, God is always ready and waiting for us and that our human construct of time doesn’t worry God in the slightest. Oftentimes when I have remembered something important that already happened that I had meant to pray about, I go ahead and do so anyway, thinking about this idea that any time you come to God, it ‘counts’ for the intention for which you pray.

Today as we celebrate the Second Sunday of Advent and hear again the story of John the Baptist preparing the way for Jesus, we also are told in the Second Reading (2 Pt 3:8-14) that “with the Lord one day is like a thousand years and a thousand years like one day. The Lord does not delay his promise, as some regard ‘delay,’ but he is patient with you, not wishing that any should perish but that all should come to repentance.” Peter goes on to say that as we await “new heavens and a new earth” to “be eager to be found without spot or blemish before him, at peace.” It is a helpful concept in this season of waiting and preparation to think of God as waiting for us, too. Not as a sort of ‘get out of jail free’ card in that we can do what we like and come to God in the end; on the contrary, the message of this Sunday is very much about preparing ourselves for the coming of the Lord. But rather the idea that as we travel through our lives with ups and downs and detours in the journey, God is constantly calling for us and waiting with patience – wanting the best both from and for us, but not counting time and rushing and getting to the destination the way we so often do. With God the waiting is gentle and constant, always prepared to be there for us and with us. I pray in this season of anticipation that I, too, prepare myself to receive the Lord in the celebration of His birth.

The House Upon the Rock

In a playgroup that my son and I used to attend, they did a song version of today’s Gospel, ‘The Wise Man Built His House.’ It was a lot of fun, with signs for all the phrases, but not knowing either the parable or the song well, I kept getting my signs mixed up and late. For me it’s a bit like the message of the Gospel itself – it should be very simple – you need to know where your strong ground is and build your life up around that, and then you will be safe and secure when tests arise. But, like not knowing the words or the signs, it’s much harder in practice to build a life up around that which is good and strong. So many things seem to compete for our attention – during this season of Advent, I would most like to be focusing on the calm and quiet time as the winter draws in, a chance to reflect on the immense and peaceful gift that the Lord’s birth brings to the world, drawing each of us closer to personal relationship with God. But in front of me is a mountain of work that needs clearing before the year is up, presents to be bought and wrapped, parties to be attended – all fine and good things in themselves, but also a distraction from the more important, more substantial things in life. Spending real time with my family, just being there and bring present is a real value that I feel I miss so often in the more ephemeral distractions that present themselves on a daily basis. Tonight, my son was in great spirits and though I’d had a tiring day, we had an excellent few hours, just chasing each other around the house, having dinner and rocking out to the music he chose to put on – he completely drew me out of my worries and stress and reminded me that life is in the here and now. I know other things will pull my attention over the coming days, but I’m trying to remind myself that the real joy I experience in life is when I concentrate on that which is the core of my life, and then the rest really just falls into place.

Make Love, Not War

In days to come,
The mountain of the LORD's house
shall be established as the highest mountain
and raised above the hills.
All nations shall stream toward it;
many peoples shall come and say:
"Come, let us climb the LORD's mountain,
to the house of the God of Jacob,
That he may instruct us in his ways,
and we may walk in his paths." ...
They shall beat their swords into plowshares
and their spears into pruning hooks;
One nation shall not raise the sword against another,
nor shall they train for war again.

Advent has begun. Like the Jews of so many years ago, we wait for the coming of the Lord. This reading from Isaiah indicates what we're waiting for: a Lord who draws people of all nations toward him, who will teach us to live in peace together, to plant and bear fruit rather than make war. What a beautiful world those Jewish believers looked toward!

Thousands of years later, what's our excuse? Those of us who celebrate Christmas don't have to wait in vain: we know that the Messiah is on his way—in less than a month! So why aren't we really walking in his path and living by his word? Everywhere we look, world leaders and religious leaders fail to live out the promise of peace; they do everything they can to divide and conquer. And it's not just the big guys—when I look in my own heart and examine my own actions, I know I'm not helping to create the perfect world promised by Isaiah.

This Advent, as I wait for Christmas, I wait with confidence, but I also wait with purpose, that I might make my part of the world a more peaceful, more inclusive place.

Rise If You're Sleeping. Stay Awake!

I’ve always loved Advent. The ideas of spiritual renewal in the waning of the year, lighting candles in the darkness, and remembering the promise of Christ’s birth are rich ones for me. Growing up, we always had an Advent wreath on our kitchen table during the season, and lighting the candles and praying together before dinner was one of the constants in our sometimes chaotic family life.

The readings for this first Sunday in Advent are a nice transition for me from Thanksgiving to the Advent season. Paul gives thanks for all the spiritual gifts and graces we have received from God, and assures us: “[Y]ou are not lacking in any spiritual gift as you wait for the revelation of our Lord Jesus Christ.”

To me, Advent has often seemed like the spiritual version of what we’re doing in the physical world to get ready for Christmas – cleaning house, decorating, buying gifts; hopefully, not going overboard, and remaining mindful of the reason for the season. The reading from Isaiah is a reminder of God’s power and promise to us, but also of our responsibility to live with meaning and purpose so that “our good deeds” will not be “like polluted rags.”

In Mark’s Gospel, Jesus tells his disciples: “Be watchful! Be alert! You do not know when the time will come.” This has a different meaning now than it did for Mark’s original audience, who were expecting Christ’s imminent return, but it is a good reminder for me this season that I need to be self-aware and make sure that I am putting God’s word into action this Advent and always. -- AOH

Get Ready

Thanksgiving is now behind us, and everywhere you look it seems like Christmas in full swing. Many of us recoil at the premature decoration of homes, streets and stores for "The Holidays." And to be clear, seeing Christmas cards and wrapping paper while shopping for Halloween candy turned me off completely.

But I secretly appreciate the extra warning for Christmas. This season is so busy that if I'm not careful, I miss some of the special moments and celebrations that I cherish most at this time of year.

So a wreath is hung on my door, and my new nativity set is assembled. I want to be ready with gifts for my son and husband and our loved ones. I'm thinking about what we will serve on Christmas Eve, and how to make time to celebrate with friends.

But I know that it's not just my home that needs to be prepared. It's my heart too.

This blog began on Ash Wednesday. As Lent began, I felt called to renew my commitment to prayer and reflection. After Easter, I continued the effort, joined by another writer who has shared the journey with me. Now, at the start of Advent, we begin again, joined by four additional writers who will offer reflections on this season of preparation and waiting.

This Advent, I'm grateful that these four new co-bloggers will help me prepare.

An Attitude of Gratitude

When I was in school, we were taught about having an ‘attitude of gratitude’ – a cute saying, and today, a very important reminder to me that when we lead with thankfulness, awareness of all the blessings we have, it completely changes how we approach life. I am so grateful for all the enormous blessings I have in life – I never have to worry about any of my basic or even not so basic needs being met, something I take completely for granted but that so many in our world do not have. Beyond that, I have an extraordinary, loving and supportive family, both close and extended, and an awesome circle of friends and colleagues, who enrich my life every day. With so much to be grateful for, I pray that I learn to better approach each day with the knowledge that I am loved and cared for, and from that mindfulness, greet each day with thanks and try to pass that on to those I encounter. A very happy, blessed and peaceful Thanksgiving to everyone.

The Widow's Mite, In Action!

Yesterday, I posted about a widow who gave everything she had for the poor. Today, I'm able to share a story from a modern-day widow who endeavors to live that message. The letter that follows is an appeal from my mother, who turned 75 in August. In January, she will travel to Haiti with a team of volunteers offering humanitarian assistance to people devastated by the 2010 earthquake there. Will you consider offering your support? If so, place a comment on the bottom and I'll let you know where you can send a contribution. Any amount will make a difference!

Dear Friends,

Happy Thanksgiving to you and to your loved ones. While I am sending you my warmest wishes for a day of joy and blessing, I am also asking for your help. On January 12, I am heading for Haiti for a week with a team of approximately 25 volunteer medical people and construction workers. The group is called “Friars Suppliers,” and they have been assisting the people of Haiti for several years now. Last year the medical team of 12 was able to see and treat almost 1000 people in an area about an hour from Port-au-Prince, offering examinations and necessary medications. The building crew worked with men of the village in building roofs for 80 families still without adequate shelter after the disastrous earthquake two years ago. This year they have been asked to build 200 bathrooms, in an effort to stem the cholera in the area.

The “Friars Suppliers” provided their own medicines, antibiotics, syringes, vitamins, ointments, food supplements, etc. and building materials and equipment. They also were able to supply a month of food for 500. I am told that malnutrition is an ever increasing problem. One out of 10 children dies from malnutrition before the age of 5. Poverty is extreme, and the day to day life is so difficult for so many.

I feel privileged to be able to join the team this year. They assure me that there will be much I can help with, even though I do not have medical credentials or sufficient muscle for the building effort. And my part in trying to raise money this year hopefully will be of great assistance. Will you consider making a donation? Any gift will certainly be well used and is greatly appreciated.

Checks can be made payable to Friars Suppliers.

The Widow's Mite

Gospel Lk 21:1-4
When Jesus looked up he saw some wealthy people
putting their offerings into the treasury
and he noticed a poor widow putting in two small coins.
He said, "I tell you truly,
this poor widow put in more than all the rest;
for those others have all made offerings from their surplus wealth,
but she, from her poverty, has offered her whole livelihood."

I often hear this story used to illustrate the virtues of giving what you can in charity—like the widow, giving fully and completely as you're able. But tonight, having neglected my prayer and reflection habit for over a week, the message took on a somewhat different meaning.

Through this blog, I've had the opportunity to share a bit of my spiritual journey with others who are walking a similar road. I've gained strength from their companionship, and I hope I've offered some as well. So it's been a gift to me and, I'm told, to others.

Lately, I've been pretty stingy with this gift—for many reasons, I'm sure. One sure explanation is that at the end of the day, when it's time to put distractions aside and spend time reading, reflecting and writing, I don't feel I have a lot to give.

But the story of the poor widow reminds me that I always have something to give. Even when it feels like a hardship (like, when I know I should have gone to sleep an hour ago), I can remind myself that my reward will come, as it always does. It may not be immediate, but it will come.

Wisdom

When I was younger, I couldn’t wait to get to the age where you knew everything. At the time, I probably thought it was about 25, but I distinctly remember having the sense that getting older was a good thing because suddenly you would have all the answers, as though they would be delivered to you in one fell swoop. Most of this idea came from the fact that my parents seemed to know everything – there was no question I could pose that they didn’t consider and discuss with me. In hindsight, I don’t think they ever purported to know everything, but such was my trust in their wisdom and knowledge that I pretty much believed that what they told me was fact, and thinking that was safe and secure, and it made life less terrifying and open and unknown. Even into adulthood, I always had the sense that the answers to life’s big questions were out there, just beyond the reach of my age, but imminently attainable, not through thinking and figuring things out, but just through racking up the years.

Now that I am well past the age of knowing, I no longer think the answers are out there but rather in here – carved into my soul, and yes, coming about as I get older, but because I know myself better, and hopefully at times, though it is a winding road with many ups and downs, begin to get a hint of God more as well. I lose sight of what I think I know constantly; I forget it and relearn it; I rethink and re-examine, I change and worry, and fear and doubt, but I also trust more, too, that this is all part of the journey. Today’s first reading from the Book of Wisdom elegantly hints at what Wisdom brings us:

In Wisdom is a spirit

intelligent, holy, unique,

Manifold, subtle, agile,

clear, unstained, certain,

Not baneful, loving the good, keen,

unhampered, beneficent, kindly,

Firm, secure, tranquil,

all-powerful, all-seeing …

I pray that I gain some of these attributes of Wisdom as I get older, not through the passage of time but through seeking and asking and praying.

A Little Help from My Friends

The role that friends play in lifting us up is what strikes me most when I read today's first reading, from Paul to the Romans.

Paul (through his scribe, Tertius) composes a litany of the friends and companions who have helped him to fulfill his mission. He names Prisca and Aquila, his "co-workers in Christ Jesus, who risked their necks for my life," Epaenetus, "who was the firstfruits in Asia for Christ," Mary, "who has worked hard for you," Andronicus and Junia, his "relatives and fellow prisoners," Ampliatus, Urbanus, and Stachys, Gaius, Erastus, and Quartus.

These are people who have helped him spread the word, who have risked their lives for his, and who have kept him company in prison. These are names that have faded into relative obscurity. Paul enjoys significant name recognition even among non-believers, but who among us is familiar with Aquila or Ampliatus?

The feminist in me wants to highlight Prisca, Mary, and Junia, these women of the early Church who clearly played important roles in planting the seeds of Christianity. But that's not what this particular post is about.

Like Paul, my life depends on a network of trusted friends, family, and colleagues. I don't take them for granted. There's nothing like the feeling of being picked up, on a practical level or emotionally speaking, by a friend who you know has your back. Between my husband, my girlfriends, my coworkers, and my family, I feel like I have an army of champions ready to step in when I feel pulled in too many directions.

I often think, Who would I be without these people? I can't possibly imagine. But, like Paul, it's worth taking (figurative) pen to paper in thanksgiving.

Hope Does Not Disappoint

Today is "All Souls' Day," the commemoration of the dead. As a kid, this day didn't mean much to me—it followed All Saints' Day, which was a holy day of obligation (more to the point, a day off from school!), which followed Halloween—'nuff said.

But remembering loved ones and friends who have gone before us means more to me now. And selections from today's readings give those of us in the land of the living reason to hope and celebrate.

The souls of the just are in the hand of God,
and no torment shall touch them.
They seemed, in the view of the foolish, to be dead;
and their passing away was thought an affliction
and their going forth from us, utter destruction.
But they are in peace.

This certainly is comforting, when one considers what happens after this life. The passage goes on to say that these faithful departed have been tried and found to be worthy; if they suffered before men, they proved themselves before God "as gold in the furnace."

Life is full of trials, big and small. Most feel unjust and unnecessary, leaving us to ask, "What for?" Even when we know that things could be much worse, we also insist that they should be much better.

But "hope does not disappoint," Paul's letter to the Romans reminds us. Believing that things can be better, that WE can be better, that there is something to live for beyond the immediate strains that we find ourselves in—those hopes are the fuel for change in our hearts, in our actions and, perhaps, fuel to help us prove ourselves worthy, as those who went before us have done.

Weakness

Brothers and sisters: The Spirit comes to the aid of our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes with inexpressible groanings. And the one who searches hearts knows what is the intention of the Spirit, because he intercedes for the holy ones according to God's will.

The second half of this reading from the letter of Paul to the Romans is perhaps the more often quoted, as it contains one of the references that people use when discussing the concept of justification by faith alone. But it is this first part that speaks loudly to me today. I’ve been having one of those times we all go through where everything seems too much – work is too busy; I haven’t being feeling great, and there’s no time for a break; and I certainly haven’t been taking care of my family as well as I want to. It’s the perfect emotional storm for a meltdown and melting down I have done, more often than not in the past month or so. And I definitely haven’t known how to ask God for help – I honestly can’t even figure out what help it is I might need, other than another pair or two of hands and perhaps another 24 hours per day.

But I did know how to reach out to my friends, near and far. I got to that point of exhaustion where you lose your defenses and just can’t help but be yourself, exactly as you are in that moment, no ‘public’ face. And in that space, I feel I’ve been met right where I am by those who care about me, and it has helped immeasurably. Just an encouraging word here or there, a reminder that I am valuable even when it feels everything I am doing is wrong, a hug – it reminded me that of course people aren’t actually against me, it’s just easy to experience that part of life when you can’t quite climb out of the darkness. I don’t think I’m fully there yet, but I take great comfort in the fact that the Spirit does come to the aid of our weakness and answers our unsaid prayers, often in the form of love from other – and I thank my God for that.

The Secret of My Success

Brothers and sisters:
I know how to live in humble circumstances;
I know also how to live with abundance.
In every circumstance and in all things
I have learned the secret of being well fed and of going hungry,
of living in abundance and of being in need.
I can do all things in him who strengthens me.
Still, it was kind of you to share in my distress.

My God will fully supply whatever you need,
in accord with his glorious riches in Christ Jesus.
To our God and Father, glory forever and ever. Amen.

Writing from prison, Paul shared the secret that sustained him through his trials. "I can do all things in him who strengthens me." What confidence, trust and faith he showed under terrible circumstances!

I'm struck by the contradictions inherent in his message: to be free as a captive, to be well fed while in need—through Christ, he says. This is the heart of Christianity. It's at the core of our profession of faith, which I can recite by rote and do endeavor to understand. But when it comes down to it, do I really believe it? Do I trust my faith enough that it could sustain me?

I look back on times in my life when I felt lost and in the dark; indeed, the knowledge that I was being carried, a la the Footprints story, seemed to be the only thing guiding me forward. Ironically, it seems to be the times when I have the most tangible support that I feel the least spiritually sustained. Maybe, like Paul, I need to be truly hungry to feel full. Unlike Paul, I don't seem to know how to live with abundance.

I'm not anxious to fall apart in order to renew my faith. I know that I need to work harder so that my faith is my backbone rather than a crutch I use periodically.

Lord, help me learn to live with abundance.

Change

I suppose I am a reverse reactionary when it comes to institutional Church changes in protocols, prayers and procedures. Anything that feels pre-Vatican II immediately gets my sneer and rejection, pretty much out of hand. Two recent changes really made me anxious. The first was the introduction of the new English translation of the Roman Missal – new words for Mass, that were to be more faithful to the original Latin text – yikes! Next we’ll be back to celebrating the Mass in Latin. My parish began using the new text a few weeks ago, and it was sensitively introduced by our terrific priest – he was aware people would be uncomfortable with the new words, if for no other reason than that most of us can pray the Mass by rote. And that was my first thought that maybe it wasn’t all bad – having to think about prayer rather than just reflexively go through the motions could really add meaning to the liturgy. We went through the translation before Mass (and were given no homily, just to keep us all on side). Upon reflection and a few weeks of getting used to it, there’s still a lot that troubles me – the penitential rite goes back to the old mea culpa of “my fault, my fault, my most grievous fault” – ah yes, the drumbeat of Catholic guilt. But some parts are truly beautiful – the reply of “And with your spirit” rather than “And also with you” for one. I think switching to “I” rather than “we” in the Creed is good – definitely makes me think about what I do believe rather than hiding behind shared declaration. In all, thinking about the words we pray and learning about the why rather than just arriving at an opinion reminds me why participating in this blog is so important for me, too – I am woefully under-informed when it comes to Scripture and tend to duck around the passages that make me uncomfortable – having to confront the text of the faith I purport to believe in is essential if I am ever to move anywhere in my faith journey.

The second change is social rather than doctrinal, and still leaves me unsure. Starting in mid-September, the practice of abstaining from eating meat on Fridays was reinstated for the Catholic Church in England and Wales. I find it uncomfortable even writing this, largely because one of the reasons behind this was to solidify a more Catholic identity – for example, if you were with friends on a Friday, you’d have to mention you couldn’t eat meat. Even during Lent, not eating meat and getting ashes often feels like a showy substitute for real action – it’s not much of a sacrifice, and I’m not sure it has meaning in modern society. But perhaps it does – certainly a large part of the reason I find this uncomfortable is the public identification of Catholicism. But there are aspects of making a more regular sacrifice that feel very important – I live such a privileged and easy life while so many suffer. I’m not sure what the answer for me is, but I am incredibly impressed by the movements in some segments of the Church to live sustainably and in solidarity with the poor (for example, http://www.cafod.org.uk/livesimply). Maybe I need to think about my Friday penance more in that direction, and maybe for a change, try to turn that thinking into doing …

This Old House

Now thus says the LORD of hosts:
Consider your ways!
You have sown much, but have brought in little;
you have eaten, but have not been satisfied;
You have drunk, but have not been exhilarated;
have clothed yourselves, but not been warmed;
And whoever earned wages
earned them for a bag with holes in it.

Thus says the LORD of hosts:
Consider your ways!
Go up into the hill country;
bring timber, and build the house
That I may take pleasure in it
and receive my glory, says the LORD.

What an apt passage for me tonight. Lately I've been consumed by consumption. No, not the old-school name for tuberculosis. Consumption—consuming too much. Food, drink, TV, social media. Taking in more than I put out. Not living the way that makes me feel most alive and content.

What's the answer? Another blog post? Hmm ... more social media, introspection and sitting on my butt. That doesn't seem like much of a solution.

The passage instructs as follows: Consider your ways, and go build a house that glorifies God.

I need to move past the consideration phase and into the building phase.

Whose Vengeance?

Jesus Christ, whose way of life I try to follow, refused to meet hate with hate and violence with violence. I pray for the strength to be like him.

I cannot believe in a God who metes out hurt for hurt, pain for pain, torture for torture. Nor do I believe that God invests human representatives with such power to torture and kill. The paths of history are stained with the blood of those who have fallen victim to "God's Avengers." Kings, popes, military generals, and heads of state have killed, claiming God's authority and God's blessing. I do not believe in such a God.
– Sister Helen Prejean

About 15 years ago, when I was living in Chicago as a volunteer teacher, I was befriended by another teacher who was active in prison ministry. She encouraged me to join her for a death penalty protest that would take place at an execution. I'm not sure why I went—I had never been much of an activist, and though I opposed the death penalty it was not an issue that I'd been particularly passionate about. I'm ashamed to say that I don't even remember the name of the person who was executed, nor do I remember the nature of the crime. To me, the latter doesn't really matter, but the former certainly does.

The protest began at a church, with solemn prayers, recitation of the Rosary, and singing. "Jesus, remember me, when you come into your kingdom." The voices joined in spontaneous, four-part harmony were both beautiful and haunting.

More chilling than haunting was the song I heard later at the site of the protest (the prison where the execution was to be held), from a rowdy group assembled there: "Na na na na, na na na na, hey hey hey, goodbye." One man wore a rainbow clown wig. Signs and chants didn't just support the execution; they celebrated it. The accused's conviction justified their enthusiasm. An eye for an eye, one life for another. A similar spirit was in the air at a recent Republican Presidential debate, when the crowd cheered a question directed at Texas Gov. Rick Perry, concerning his state's status as the nation's leader in state-sponsored execution.

I will never understand this bloodlust. Lives are not interchangeable. The loss of one doesn't rectify the loss of another. This enthusiasm for state-sponsored execution sheds light on an ugly side of humanity. I would hope that even those who support capital punishment would find an execution to be the culmination of a series of tragedies, not an event to be celebrated. To me, that attitude is an insult to the victim's memory.

Tonight, Troy Davis, a man convicted of murdering off-duty police officer Mark MacPhail more than two decades ago, was executed in Georgia. Many factors came to light, including recanted testimony, that suggested Troy Davis's conviction could be overturned. It was not. He was executed at 11:08 p.m.

Killing is wrong. Killing a cop jeopardizes public safety in an especially frightening way. But I believe that violence begets violence. When the state becomes the killer, I believe it loses moral authority and reinforces a climate where vengeance is the law of the land. That won't prevent further loss of life.

"Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord." If that's true, then taking a life is not for any of us to enact—not cop killers and not the state. And when there is the chance that an innocent person might be executed, and the state has not done all it can to prevent such an injustice, it diminishes justice; it does not heighten it.

Come Together

Beloved:
I ask that supplications, prayers,
petitions, and thanksgivings be offered for everyone,
for kings and for all in authority,
that we may lead a quiet and tranquil life ... .
It is my wish, then, that in every place the men should pray,
lifting up holy hands, without anger or argument.

I've long held a belief (it's probably heretical or—at least—highly flawed, theologically speaking) that prayer is God's version of a popularity contest. Think of it as American Idol for the suffering: those who get the most votes (prayers) get the reward of God's healing touch. So if God finds that a particularly large volume of prayers is being directed toward a sick person, he will direct his healing presence toward that person.

It's a ridiculous notion, but at various times in my life when I joined others in prayer toward a common cause, I couldn't help but feel we were actually getting God's attention. One moment comes to mind—when I was a senior in college, a terrible crime was inflicted on a friend and classmate. A day or two later, the university held a special Mass in honor of this person. I've never seen a church so packed. I saw people at that Mass I never expected to see, people of other faiths and no faith, even an avowed atheist who'd made no secret of his distaste for the church.

I was blown away. It was powerful and moving to be part of this tremendous demonstration of support and community. Personally, I felt a sense of healing in the moment. More significantly, after the Mass concluded, we learned that the perpetrator of the crime had been arrested. If I'm not mistaken, I believe he turned himself in. It was a long road of healing for my classmate, but I've always had this sense that the prayers of that community had something to do with the crime being solved and, later, the survival and recovery of our friend.

This is hardly proof that my prayer-popularity contest theory is a sound one. But disregarding its theological merits (or lack thereof), I find it a comforting thought. When prayer brings people together, whether or not it provides an actual solution to the problem, it usually provides an emotional healing or a psychological boost. Though it may not bring "a quiet and tranquil life," as the reading says, it brings the strength that comes from solidarity. Something tells me God looks pretty favorably on that.

I'm thinking now of some friends who are struggling with personal challenges that are really bringing them down. I've been offering up prayers on their behalf, because I believe that helps. I have told them so, because I think that helps too.

Working Through It

“Be diligent in these matters, be absorbed in them, so that your progress may be evident to everyone. Attend to yourself and to your teaching; persevere in both tasks …”

This exhortation from 1 Timothy in today’s reading was of course Paul’s message to the missionary, encouraging him to use his gift in preaching with focus and zeal. But it strikes me in terms of whatever work one is engaged in. Sometimes when there’s so much going on in daily life, my attention being pulled in what seems like a thousand different directions and not really feeling like I’m accomplishing anything, it’s very hard to see the validity or opportunity to do good in a job which doesn’t immediately benefit anyone. However, it’s in the daily act of living, so much of which occurs in our work world, that we exist in community and have the chance to look after one another. I’m very fortunate to work in a collaborative environment with people who really care for each other – that is a rare commodity, I think, and one to remember when things are tough. I’m in the process of finishing my current job over the next few months, and it’s easy to get lost in the minutiae of what needs to be accomplished, and also to get down about that which is never going to get done. I’m preoccupied by checking off a never-ending to do list, and not really thinking about what will benefit the group at large. However, I have been given so much encouragement from my colleagues, and the benefit of their time and expertise. It reminds me that when I occasionally have to work a little longer than I might like, or spend a little more time figuring out someone else’s project, doing so graciously and with enthusiasm helps to perpetuate a good environment, one that ultimately helps each person and one that I have already benefitted from massively. And that giving actual attention to the work I’m doing in the moment – rather than thinking ahead to the next thing or where I’d rather be – is part of a mindful approach to life, one that fosters the best in what I have to give.

Let It Be Me

Today, 10 years since the September 11th attacks on the United States, I went to Mass as my way of marking this solemn anniversary. I was looking for something special today—solidarity, community, comfort, and maybe even some closure.

I regret to say that as Mass progressed, I was disappointed. It didn't feel any different. Though the readings did resonate, they felt inadequate. From Sirach:

Wrath and anger are hateful things,
yet the sinner hugs them tight.
The vengeful will suffer the LORD's vengeance,
for he remembers their sins in detail.
Forgive your neighbor's injustice;
then when you pray, your own sins will be forgiven.
Could anyone nourish anger against another
and expect healing from the LORD?

Intellectually, I agree with these words. But the sins that were perpetrated 10 years ago, and the crimes done to the many victims and their families, feel unique. I can imagine the anger that might blow back from a parent (or a child, or a spouse, or a dear friend) who lost a loved one in the attacks. Should they be expected to forgive?

The priest's homily was comprehensive lesson on forgiveness. His manner offered no particular passion or power. I came to Mass wanting to feel something, but nothing special was stirring my heart or mind, except to feel a little lost. I knew that I had friends who were mourning this day in a very deep way, and I think I wanted to share their grief—as if that might somehow ease it.

I am lucky to not have been more deeply touched by the attack or by this anniversary. Like many New Yorkers, I was acquainted with a few of the victims, and I have friends and family who ran for safety that morning in Lower Manhattan. I will never feel what they feel, but I wanted to try.

Finally, I stood on line for Communion, singing along with the congregation: "We remember, we celebrate, we believe ... Here, a million wounded souls are yearning just to touch you and be healed. Gather all your people, and hold them to your heart." These are the words of my faith: remembrance and communion bring healing. I believe that. But on this anniversary, it didn't feel like enough. Are some wounds too deep, I wondered?

I don't know. I don't want that to be true. But as trite as it may sound, the answer I got on a morning I was seeking some kind of answer is that I wasn't getting an answer today. We may not ever get an answer for the painful questions that were born 10 years ago.

Mass concluded with an old hymn that was a staple of my childhood. The tears came, and I could barely get the words out. "Let there be peace on Earth and let it begin with me."

That's all I can do. I can't heal the wounds of those who are mourning today. What I can do is to bring peace and healing to my little corner of the world. It is a much taller order than those few words might imply. But today is a day that I'm resolved to try.

Like a Prayer

My father, who loved to create in the kitchen, used to quote an Italian colleague of his to convey his thoughts on cooking: "A pot of sauce," he'd say, "can be a prayer." And when you think of little old Italian lady hovered over the stove, stirring and tasting and spicing, it's easy to see the truth in it.

A former colleague of my own shared a somewhat related thought. Referring to old friends and family she doesn't see often, she said, "I like to think that any time they cross my mind, it's a kind of prayer."

I don't take as much time in prayer as I should. I often promise to pray for friends and family, and though I do, I often feel I'm not doing all that I can, not spending enough time or using the right words.

Today I spent a good part of the day in the kitchen, and it brought back happy thoughts of my dad and his sister, who truly was the chef in the family. I made chicken salad, which reminded me of my aunt, as she was the first person to serve me a chicken salad that I liked. I added grapes to the recipe, as she did, and I thought of meals my family shared with hers, and summer days spent with her and my Nana and cousins. I imagined that she and my dad, now both gone, were sharing a meal together at that moment, discussing recipes and politics and books.

I don't often feel as close to my deceased loved ones as I want to. Even my dad, who was and is such an important, cherished person my life, usually feels incredibly distant. But today in my kitchen, I got to feel him right up close, and it did indeed feel like an answered prayer.

How to Get to Heaven, in 100 Words or Less

From Psalm 27:

I believe that I shall see the good things of the Lord
in the land of the living.
Wait for the LORD with courage;
be stouthearted, and wait for the LORD.

With all due respect to, um, The Bible, waiting for the Lord is only one part of the equation. We don't need to wait. Each of us has the power, and the duty, to bring the good things of the Lord to work in the present.

Acts of kindness bring goodness to bear. Holding back our urges to be mean, or to cut people down, bring good things into the world.

I realize that eternal life is the life that is supposed to concern us as Christians, but we won't get there without doing good here and now.

Whatsoever You Do

Full disclosure: I have been utterly without inspiration or discipline for the last few weeks. I've been resisting the inclination to pray, reflect, write, or practice any of the other habits that keep me feeling happy and healthy.

I'm not feeling much more disciplined or inspired, but I've always believed in this advice: "Fake it till you make it." With that in mind, I'll share an amazing moment I observed today, one that was a living example of Jesus' words in Matthew:

"‘For I was hungry, and you gave Me something to eat; I was thirsty, and you gave Me something to drink; I was a stranger, and you invited Me in; naked, and you clothed Me; I was sick, and you visited Me; I was in prison, and you came to Me.’
Then the righteous will answer Him, ‘Lord, when did we see You hungry, and feed You, or thirsty, and give You something to drink? ‘And when did we see You a stranger, and invite You in, or naked, and clothe You? ‘When did we see You sick, or in prison, and come to You?’ “The King will answer and say to them, ‘Truly I say to you, to the extent that you did it to one of these brothers of Mine, even the least of them, you did it to Me.’"

Today, on my way home from picking my son up from daycare, I stopped at a grocery store to pick up a few things for dinner. I got on the elevator with two women—one was well-dressed and attractive, and the other wore shabby clothes and looked tired and worn down. They seemed to be a somewhat odd couple, but as I moved around the store I noticed them together in different areas of the store; they were definitely shopping together.

When I went to check out, they were on line together, and I heard the tired-looking woman thank the other. "People have done for me," the younger looking woman responded. "That's why I try to do for others when I can." I wasn't paying that much attention, so her words didn't really sink in. But when I left the store, I noticed the two women waiting to cross the street, each with groceries in hand. They were on opposite sides of the street, going in different directions.

I realized that they were strangers. It seems as if the one had seen the other, recognized a need, took her into the store, and helped her get some food.
Seeing that kind of kindness, generosity, humility, and courage in action made quite an impression. It's certainly not something you see every day; in fact, I don't think I've seen anything quite like that in my life. It was a wonderful moment that showed me that goodness like this exists, for real, even if it seems like anger and injustice are much more commonplace.

Tonight I'm hoping that being witness to this moment will remind me to be grateful for all that I have, and inspire me to taken similar action when I can, wherever I can.

The Greatest Commandment

Today’s Gospel tells the story of the Pharisees trying to trick Jesus by asking Him which commandment in law is the greatest. Jesus answers first by giving the greatest commandment, which is very simply to love the Lord God, “with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind.” Simple but immense – Jesus is summing up with this commandment (and the second which follows) much of Judaic law as written in the Old Testament and the demand is intense – to love God totally in a transformative way such that this love directs our thoughts and actions.

Jesus then goes one step beyond the question, to twin with the greatest commandment the second, which “is like it,” suggesting that it flows from the first naturally and carries similar requirements – “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” I’m always struck in this passage that when you think about the words, the demand is greater than you might first anticipate. To love neighbor as self suggests to live completely and unselfishly for other – to care for, respond to and act for another in the same way you’d look after yourself. It’s a pretty countercultural message in a world obsessed with ‘me’ – what I need, what I want, how to take care of me. But of course, that’s part of the package, too – to love neighbor “as yourself.” This means that Jesus wants us to love ourselves, the person God made us in all our brokenness and goodness, and then to step outside ourselves and apply that same exact love to others. While it doesn’t carry the commercial message of caring for yourself with all your material needs, it does mean that we can’t love another truly until we’re willing to love and accept ourselves, a very tall order I think. In his Summa Theologica, when addressing whether love as an act of charity is the same as benevolence in Aristotle’s Ethics, St. Thomas Aquinas discusses love in response to Aristotle as “an act of the will which intends good. But it includes a union of affection with the loved one, which is not implied in benevolence … as the philosopher [Aristotle] says in the same passage, these are characteristic of friendship because they spring from the love with which a man loves himself. That is to say, a man does all these things for his friend as if for himself, by reason of the union of affection of which we have spoken.” To give the best love completely to other, it has to stem from a love of self, and then equating other to self in how we live.

God Loves a Cheerful Giver

I first became familiar with this phrase from a plaque that one of my good friends from college (now my co-blogger) had hanging on her dorm room wall. It fit her to a tee: she was (and is) almost unfailingly generous, unselfish, kind, and positive—even in the face of significant challenges. She was (and is) forever doing for others, offering her many talents in service to her friends, family, and community.

Personally, I wasn’t crazy about that notion. Really? God’s only going to love me if I sacrifice my own needs in favor of others’?

It was around that time that I was, in my own way, rebelling against my own cheerful persona. Early on in college, people described me as “perky” and sometimes called me “Sunshine.” I felt like I was always on, always projecting a cheerful demeanor even when my real mood might be anything but. I once had my palm read, and I’ll never forget the words of the reader: You wear a happy face, but inside you are not so happy. While I don’t think I needed a clairvoyant to make that observation, something about the comment bothered me. Was I putting on such a show that even a West Village “psychic” in a basement storefront could read how false I was?

It was around then that I resolved to be more honest and authentic. My newfound bluntness was liberating, but it could also be hurtful, and it often led to conflict. I realize now that as I embraced my darker side, I left behind a lot of lightness that was good for my soul.

Fast forward nearly 20 years, and I find that “God loves a cheerful giver” is actually a line from scripture, not simply a Hallmark confection. And in its full context, I get it.

Whoever sows sparingly will also reap sparingly,
and whoever sows bountifully will also reap bountifully.
Each must do as already determined, without sadness or compulsion,
for God loves a cheerful giver.
Moreover, God is able to make every grace abundant for you,
so that in all things, always having all you need,
you may have an abundance for every good work.

The message boils down to this: you get what you give. If you offer love generously, it will be returned to you. If you sacrifice time, energy, and effort for others, it will come back to you, either from those whom you’ve served or via some other channel. Most importantly, you won’t run out of love, you won’t run out of time, you won’t run out of energy; every grace will be abundant, and you will have all you need.

Hmm …. It doesn’t always feel like that, does it? I’m not certain it’s that simple. There are times when we need to say no, times when we need to pause and regroup. But there’s no doubt in my mind that being miserly with the gifts we’ve been blessed with—love, intelligence, compassion, and whatever other personal graces we have to offer—won’t serve us, nor will it serve anyone else.

Age to Age

Today's readings feature 120-year-old Moses, passing on the mantle of his leadership to Joshua, and Jesus declaring:

Unless you turn and become like children,
you will not enter the Kingdom of heaven.
Whoever becomes humble like this child
is the greatest in the Kingdom of heaven.

Having celebrated my son's 2nd birthday this weekend, Jesus' words resonate. It's not hard to love little children. We are drawn to them. They're cute, round, cuddly, and (usually) sweet. Everything is new to them, and the wonder with which they approach the world is moving to those of us who get to observe and assist them. Indeed, it is an awesome responsibility we are charged with: to help a child grow, thrive, and begin to conceive of and then—hopefully—to realize his or her hopes and dreams. Like many parents, I'm sure, I worry about how I will influence my son. I don't want my shortcomings and hang-ups to hamper him as he grows from infant to toddler and beyond.

Perhaps it's better, then, to try to learn from him instead. What can my son teach me?

1. One thing at a time. Anyone who has watched a child tackle a new project or interest knows that their focus tends to be unyielding. Whether it's mastering the bubble wand, pouring Cheerios from one bowl to another, or slipping on his own shoes, kids at this age don't tend to multi-task; they grapple with the challenge before them until it is complete. Maybe this singular focus is the reason they enjoy their activities so wholeheartedly.

2. Get a little closer. More than ever, Will loves to cuddle. "Sit down, Mommy. Up! Up!" he instructs, reaching out to be held. Whether we're sharing a book or watching one of his shows, he reaches out to me, his dad or one of his adoring grandparents, aunts or uncles. Being physically close to us seems to provide him not just with comfort, but with strength and security as well. I'm the same way.

3. Please don't let me be misunderstood. When Will is less than sweet, it's usually because he can't express himself effectively. Either because I'm distracted, because of the Mommy-Baby language barrier, or because what he wants is not good for one or the other of us, sometimes he doesn't get his way. A few nights ago, at bedtime, he had some scheme in mind concerning some new books that he'd been given as a present. Unfortunately, I didn't quite get it. When I took one of the books from the ottoman where he had placed them carefully, planning to read to him, he clenched his fists, bent his arms at the elbows, screwed up his face and shouted, "NO! MY BOOK!" with such force that the apartment seemed to shake. I guess he wanted to hold this new book while I read a different one. While I don't love being shouted at or seeing him so angry, it has become apparent that being misunderstood or simply not heard is for him the most frustrating thing in the world. As an adult, I understand the feeling. It reminds me of the importance of listening, and really trying to hear and understand what another person is communicating.

4. Eat right and sleep well. Will is at his best when he has eaten and napped. Rarely do we encounter a meltdown when he's gotten a good nap and eaten his share of protein, carbs, fruits and vegetables—not to mention milk. Maybe if I followed his example I'd spare myself (and others) my own meltdown moments!

So just as I follow Will's example, I also heed Moses's words as he reminds Joshua and his followers:

It is the LORD who marches before you;
he will be with you and will never fail you or forsake you.
So do not fear or be dismayed.

It's good to know we're not alone as we guide our little ones through the uncharted territory that is their childhood.

Powerful Faith

Today’s Gospel is one that I find particularly challenging – it’s the story of the Canaanite woman who begs Jesus to cure her daughter, who is tormented by a demon. And Jesus initially tells her to go away, that His mission is to the house of Israel, that He cannot ‘take the food of the children and throw it to the dogs.’ There are so many things about this Gospel that I find difficult and distasteful that my first instinct is to reject it – this cannot be the compassionate Jesus I think I know, and frankly, I find all the casting out of demons that one finds in the Bible more than a bit bizarre.

But a little bit of investigation into some Biblical commentary reveals something far more interesting – the woman was from a wealthy area of Gentiles, to whom the Jews that Jesus came to save were the ‘poor relations,’ and at this stage in His ministry, Jesus only viewed himself as serving the Jewish community. And He was also exhausted, being followed by a large crowd as He tried to get away for some respite (http://www.weatherly.org/clientimages/1820/sermon061409.pdf), and it seems like He just didn’t have the energy right then to deal with another request. But what many note is the incredible resilience of this woman on behalf of her child – she just wouldn’t take no for an answer because she trusted that this man could help her (http://www.orthodoxytoday.org/articles6/MorelliCanaaniteWoman.php). This is such an identifiable story – both on the part of Jesus, who was overworked and stressed and being asked for something tremendous outside of the scope of His work, and the woman, who loved her child so much she couldn’t be put off, she would get the help she needed. And she did – because her faith moved Jesus completely – ‘O woman, great is your faith!
Let it be done for you as you wish.’ And as such, she also moved along Jesus’ mission – beginning the branching out to the Gentiles and not just the Jewish community (http:catholicexchange.com/2008/08/18/113488/).

This story really reveals both the very human element of Jesus as His divine mission unfolded, but also His willingness to adapt the plan – to meet need where it was found. I find it really easy to go with the flow sometimes and so hard to break out and do what is the ‘right’ or better thing – it’s comforting to know Jesus struggled with this, too, but ultimately chose to give where He was needed. And the resilient, persistent, buoyant faith of the Canaanite woman, is even more staggering – a revelation that God listens completely when we call out with faith and trust.

Earthen Vessels

From today's readings, 2 Corinthians 4:5-7

We hold this treasure in earthen vessels,
that the surpassing power may be of God and not from us.
We are afflicted in every way, but not constrained;
perplexed, but not driven to despair;
persecuted, but not abandoned;
struck down, but not destroyed.

I've always loved the image of us mere mortals—the "earthen vessels"—carrying the greatest wealth possible. This passage also strikes me, though, because it speaks of the contradictions that are inherent in life, and in faith. Being human means that we are fragile and mortal, and that we struggle. But we are not alone, and we carry on. The letter goes on to describe the way the living carry out Jesus' promise of eternal life. Paul expresses the contradiction as such:

We who live are constantly being given up to death for the sake of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may be manifested in our mortal flesh.

Forgive me, but that's depressing. I get it, but I rather prefer this idea:

Since, then, we have the same spirit of faith, according to what is written, "I believed, therefore I spoke," we too believe and therefore speak .... Everything indeed is for you, so that the grace bestowed in abundance on more and more people may cause the thanksgiving to overflow for the glory of God.

It's inspiring to envision the members of the early Church spreading this message far and wide, to provide hope and comfort to those in need, causing "thanksgiving to overflow."

Readings like this one might seem to support an unwelcome notion—that happiness in mortal life is irrelevant, because we are meant to look only toward the life beyond this one. But I realize it's not an either/or scenario. Sharing faith, hope and love with our friends and family is sharing the promise of eternal life, yes; but it is also making the life we live now less lonely, more hopeful and more joyful.

Light My Fire

One of the reasons this blog was helpful to me during Lent was that I committed to posting every day. The posts were almost always reflections on the readings of the day, so that meant I was reading scripture every day. I forced myself to think about these words, what the message behind them might be, and what they meant to me and my spiritual journey. The discipline of daily reflection gave me a sense of momentum in my prayer life.

Since Easter, I relaxed the effort. I decided only to post a few days a week, and I got a friend involved to share the load. (And also because she is a brilliant and thoughtful, with a rich spiritual life.) That didn't mean I wouldn't read and reflect everyday, I told myself. I just wouldn't need to spend the time to put my thoughts on a page (sometimes sacrificing sleep or time with my husband in the evening). I'd have a little more freedom.

Well, it turns out that without the daily discipline of writing, I haven't kept up with the reading, or the prayer. And not surprisingly, something is missing. I find myself impatient, frustrated, and even a little bored. I don't think it's an accident that this rut coincides with my lack of prayer and spiritual exploration.

So I go back on the wagon. No, I still won't post every day, but I will take time each day to read and reflect. Tonight I turned to the readings and found in Exodus the story of Moses and the burning bush. These lines, in particular, jumped out:

As he looked on, he was surprised to see that the bush,
though on fire, was not consumed.

A couple of thoughts occur to me. One is that even during times of crisis throughout my life, I haven't been destroyed, and my faith has been a big part of that survival. But looking at it another way, I think about the "fire" I have felt at various times as I searched for meaning and for guidance in living the best life I can. Sometimes, like when I was blogging every day, I have felt somewhat consumed—deeply committed and singularly focused. Being consumed didn't seem so bad in that case. How can I get a piece of that back?

Most of us don't get signs and wonders like Moses did—God speaking to him through a fiery shrub. Sometimes we have to be our own burning bush, and steer ourselves toward the course that brings us the most life.

Moses was called to lead his people to freedom. I have to remember that, sometimes, freedom is born out of discipline, and hard work and sacrifice often inspire the greatest happiness.

Come to Me and Rest

All week I’ve been thinking about the beautiful homily I heard this past Sunday, focused on the Gospel message: “Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened,
 and I will give you rest.” After a lovely but tiring weekend, I was at my town’s cathedral on my own for evening Mass. I generally attend my local parish’s morning family celebration, which I love – it’s a vibrant, caring community which still operates on that old school vibe of a parish being the hub of a neighborhood. The cathedral is the exact opposite kind of place – vast, cool, hollow and not necessarily that connected as a community. Which sometimes is exactly what I need – quiet time, where you can feel empty and alone, perhaps even sad, and allow God to fill up that space.

The priest (whom I love, he makes going to the cathedral worthwhile) started by asking what people’s reasons were for being at that exact Mass on that Sunday. I knew I was going to get this one wrong – I was there more out of a sense of familial obligation of weekly attendance than personal desire, in the evening because I was exhausted and just needed some time alone. “Are any of you here for quiet time alone with the Lord?” Um, yes. Maybe not in the perfect sense of coming to God, but that is mostly what I was seeking. He talked about how one of the main things Jesus asks us to do is to come rest with him – and that while attending weekly Mass is perhaps not a key value amongst many modern Catholics, that this was the reason and the benefit – time at rest with the Lord. This is seriously easy! For all the parts of Catholicism that I often find enormously difficult – questions about faith, about Church teachings and practices, about the seriously hard road full of sacrifices that the Lord asks of us – this is definitely something I can not only manage, but need – that time when you can turn off the incessant background chatter of your own mind, and just be. I can’t pretend that I always find deep revelation, or even as much connection with the Lord as I may desire, at Mass – sometimes it really is just going through the motions. But I love this thought of God asking us to carve out time just to be looked after by Him – to give over our burdens, whatever they may be, and be at rest.

Let the Dead Bury their Dead

This is one of those often-quoted passages that tends to puzzle me. To borrow from The Princess Bride, I do not think it means what I think it means.

Jesus has a crowd around him, and among them people are pledging to follow him. Jesus tells them, cryptically, “Foxes have dens and birds of the sky have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to rest his head.”

Then a disciple pleads: “Lord, let me go first and bury my father.” Even more mysteriously, Jesus answers: “Follow me, and let the dead bury their dead.”

Compassionate Jesus, telling a man to abandon his dead father? It doesn't seem to fit!

What I get from this is that Jesus is indicating that there is much work to do; that his mission is one that will require his constant action, perhaps never really allowing him to find a home. He warns those who would follow him that they can expect the same.

And to his disciple, Jesus is offering an invitation to pursue the life only he can provide. It still seems sad—as if the disciple must abandon not only his dead father but those family and friends who won't take part in Jesus' new vision. Is Jesus advising us to leave behind those who lack spiritual life—and who chip away at our own?

It makes me think about who and what "the dead" might be in my own life. I know it's important to pursue the people and situations that bring life, and that foster goodness. More importantly, am I among the dead? When I fail to live the way I know I should—when I fail to really love others, when I lack compassion or breed negativity—that feels like the kind of death Jesus might be talking about.

There really is no rest. Living right takes practice and continuous effort. But Jesus offers himself as a guide that can sustain us and bring us life. We just have to keep choosing to follow.

Our Father

In today’s Gospel, in teaching the disciples how to pray, Jesus offers the ‘Our Father.’ A religion teacher once said that the Our Father is a ‘dangerous prayer,’ referring to the fact that we ask the Lord to forgive us our transgressions “as we forgive those who trespass against us.” What he meant was that God, who is fully prepared to offer us forgiveness whenever we ask, also demands that we give that to others – freely, spontaneously, without reproof or conditions. We can’t just ask for forgiveness and hope to move on without having to do anything – the prayer invites us to work more deeply on our human relationships, giving to others what we want for ourselves from God.

At the time, however, of learning about the ‘dangerous’ nature of this prayer, it made me parse the lines quite carefully and think twice before praying it. If, for example, I was upset with someone and not really feeling like letting it go, I might opt for a Hail Mary instead, just to be on the safe side. Or if I thought that perhaps whatever God’s will might be, it might not exactly dovetail with mine, I’d definitely stay away from that whole “Thy will be done” thing.

Reading the prayer in context, I see that Jesus directly addresses this type of negotiating prayer, saying: “In praying, do not babble like the pagans, who think that they will be heard because of their many words.
Do not be like them.
Your Father knows what you need before you ask him.” Yeah, I’m definitely a babbler. My younger – and if I’m honest, often current – method of prayer was to spell things out very clearly in terms of what I wanted, lest God get confused. I suppose the ‘Our Father’ is dangerous because in the words, Jesus is moving God away from this genie in a bottle granter of our every prayer’s wish to something much deeper. We don’t have to say what we need – the God who ‘knew us before we were formed in our mother’s wombs’ already knows everything we need. The ‘Our Father’ is instead an invitation into the quiet, still relationship where God takes care of all that we need and asks us instead to listen to what he wants for us, who he is calling us to be in this moment in our lives.