New Link: The Jesuit Post

Just wanted to share a new website that friend just shared. The Jesuit Post was launched in January. Since some of my favorite Catholics (and people) are Jesuits, I was eager to explore the site. Its editor in chief, Paddy Gilger, S.J., began with a post called "Introducing The Jesuit Post (feat. Kevin Garnett, Jesus, Bob Dylan and Descartes)." From that piece:

Looking back I think it’s fair to say that I became a Jesuit so I could get closer to God. And I think it’s fair to say that I was able to get close to God because somebody somewhere could talk about God in my own language, the language of Saturday Night Live and the Milwaukee Brewers and Springsteen. And those somebodies were Jesuits. For me, slow learner that I am, it took Jesuits talking to me in my own language about Jesus before I could even imagine getting to know Him myself.

Faith and pop culture? Right up my alley. I added it to the sidebar here for easy reference. I hope you enjoy it too.

Have Mercy

From Isaiah:

Your fast ends in quarreling and fighting,
striking with wicked claw. ...
This, rather, is the fasting that I wish:
releasing those bound unjustly,
untying the thongs of the yoke;
Setting free the oppressed,
breaking every yoke;
Sharing your bread with the hungry,
sheltering the oppressed and the homeless;
Clothing the naked when you see them,
and not turning your back on your own.

If you're looking for answers about what God wants from his people, this passage about says it all. Isaiah proclaims that those looking for access to God in exchange for their fasts and penances would be better off following these simple rules. In essence, they command us to care for those who need it most.

A few things strike me about this passage. From the Old Testament, these words are the seeds of the Christian concept of the "corporal works of mercy," spoken generations before Jesus' Sermon on the Mount. It's a helpful reminder that Christians haven't cornered the market on mercy.

It's also telling that Isaiah is reacting to the same kind of false piety that we see so often today, particularly on the political scene. So many people who call themselves Christians make war in their efforts to follow what they see as God's law.

I guess it's a bit of a relief to know that this discord isn't a uniquely modern problem. And it would be lazy and disingenuous for me to point my finger at others. Instead, I'll be grateful for this reminder of what God is truly asking of me in my daily life.

What's Wicked?

Psalm (40:5a) Blessed are they who hope in the Lord.
Not so the wicked, not so;
they are like chaff which the wind drives away.
For the LORD watches over the way of the just,
but the way of the wicked vanishes.

Hope is so much better than the alternative. Today's psalm tells us that hope in God is the sure thing; it can't steer you wrong. With the wicked, you're doomed.

"Wicked" is such a powerful word. I'd like to think that I'd recognize the wicked at first glance—a fairy tale stepmother or a dastardly villain. But it doesn't really work that way. Wickedness, I think, can be laziness or apathy or maybe even the business that keeps us from caring about and working for what truly matters—love, justice, mercy, and other good works. The last couple of days have been like that for me. Not that I was wicked—at least I don't think so, but I was distracted and busy and not attentive to much beyond my immediate needs. I felt the opposite of hopeful.

Looking to the example that Jesus gave us and using it as a guide for our own lives—it's a simple plan, but a bold one too. It requires strength, patience, and hope, not just in God but ourselves, too.

It Takes a Little Time

One of the problems I often have when I decide to turn over a new leaf is that I want it all perfect as soon as I’ve thought of it. It’s a bit like going to confession and leaving determined to start again and be the new, perfect version of me – I almost always do something more wrong or irritating than usual within seconds. I want it all to come too easily, magically think the better self into existence and not put in any of the work.

Thinking about looking for a spiritual renewal, or finding if there is a new and more mature spiritual self lurking within me, is not the easy task I’d like it to be. The fact that it involves reflection and is a lifetime endeavor lacking immediate, tangible results makes it something I could drop easily – it’s just too hard. Today’s Psalm and Gospel put that into context though. In Luke’s well-known Gospel, Jesus says, “If anyone wishes to come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me. For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will save it. What profit is there for one to gain the whole world yet lose or forfeit himself?” We’re not promised an easy ride, and really, that’s not what life’s about – it’s how we choose to live in good and bad times. The Psalm’s refrain of “Blessed are they who hope in the Lord” reminds us that we’re not alone in this journey though, however it may sometimes feel. God is there, beckoning, holding, talking, listening, helping – as I begin this Lenten journey in a tired and unsure place, I ask God just to help me remember this, and that very few good things in life come without any work.

What Becomes of the Brokenhearted?

A clean heart create for me, O God,
and a steadfast spirit renew within me.
Cast me not out from your presence,
and your Holy Spirit take not from me.

I begin this Lent with a bit of a broken heart. Last Lent, I felt called to return to my faith with my whole heart. I did find that my spirit was renewed by answering this call. It made a difference for me; it made a difference for my heart and my mind.

The last few months have really challenged me, in terms of my relationship with the Catholic Church. It's the church of my birth, and it has been the setting for the defining experiences of my life, from childhood up through the present. Through the sacraments, I buried my father, married my husband, and baptized my son. I share this faith tradition with my family and so many of my friends. It's home.

But I didn't find this home simply because I was raised in it. As a young woman, I chose it. Again and again, I returned to this faith tradition, to the ideas that to me are central to the faith: the body of Christ, broken, becoming life for the world; the least among us becoming the greatest; love being the the greatest commandment of all.

It's not new for me that my personal values don't completely align with Church doctrine. But I've always felt surrounded by a community that supported those values, and in the end, I look to my conscience to inform my beliefs. If I search my heart for the loving answer, that's what guides my values and actions.

I've always known that more conservative, traditional Catholics don't like that approach. They call people like me "cafeteria Catholics," and they say you can't just pick and choose. But I've always found enough support and commonality in my family and friends, and even online spiritual communities.

I still have that support. But the voices that reject my values have gotten louder and more forceful. Conservatives in politics and in the Church do want to cast me out. Enough of what I believe in—gay marriage, birth control, women's ordination—is front and center in the media these days, and in more than one forum I have been literally told that I don't belong in the Church. It's been enough to make me seriously consider that they might be right. And truly, that makes me feel broken.

So what do I do with that? Am I right to stay where I've always found myself most at home spiritually, hoping that change will come? Or should I look elsewhere? Where would I go? How would I even begin to look?

The place to start, I believe, is within my broken heart. I will look to the loving example of Jesus Christ, the peacemaking, community organizer who collected sinners and outcasts, healed wounds, and challenged authority.

I'm not sure what I'll find in the end; I'm afraid that this time, the answer isn't going to come as easily or feel as good as it has in the past. But the God I know hasn't cast me from his presence, and Lent is a time for return, not departure.

Good Stories

I’ve always prided myself on having a ‘good Ash Wednesday story.’ Whether or not these are actually good is of course debatable, but having worked in a very diverse and largely secular environment for a long time, I’ve always encountered various good Samaritans trying to wipe the smudge of dirt off my forehead. And while I have spoken a number of times on this blog about some of my discomfort in owning and displaying my Catholicism, Ash Wednesday has always felt like one of those days where it’s ok, and I’ve had really interesting conversations about religion and faith with people I’ve encountered from many different backgrounds and faiths themselves, just over a smudge of ash, and one time someone who had forgotten the day but wanted to go to a service said they were reminded by seeing me, which felt like an inadvertent good deed.
And yet I have always been struck by the incongruity between the obvious display of ashes and the readings of the day. The first reading from the Book of Joel reminds, “Rend your hearts, not your garments, and return to the LORD, your God.” And it seems that Jesus could not be any clearer in Matthew’s Gospel when He says, “When you fast, do not look gloomy like the hypocrites. They neglect their appearance, so that they may appear to others to be fasting. Amen, I say to you, they have received their reward. But when you fast, anoint your head and wash your face, so that you may not appear to be fasting, except to your Father who is hidden. And your Father who sees what is hidden will repay you.”
While I don’t think either way is right or wrong, this year circumstances have forced a somewhat different approach to Ash Wednesday which I think is more in keeping with my stated Lenten desire this year of wanting to reflect more internally on God in my life and work on my own trust in God’s plan. With my young son needing to get ready for daycare and then having to head to work, my own Ash Wednesday observance will be later this evening, when it’s unlikely anyone will see my ashes – yet God knows the desire in my heart, and I pray today at the start of Lent to spend more daily time in reflection with the Lord, growing more trusting of and confident in God’s plan for me.

Lenten Yes

I approach this Lent in something of a spiritual void – one I very much want to fill. It’s not that I don’t see God working in my life – on the contrary, I feel very much looked after at the moment, as many pieces of my life are falling into place. I think perhaps the overwhelming exhaustion of all the upcoming changes in my life and the many things that need to be done before they can occur has just depleted me of the strength to think beyond the task of the day. I am about to move country with my husband and son and while this is a much sought after homecoming for me, there is a lot between here and there – packing and planning; endless paperwork to sort out; a job that has had highs and lows over the last five years to complete, and leave with something that can move my career forward and also leave something behind for my colleagues; and perhaps most importantly, a world of good friends and family to say goodbye to, and in fact the place where I got married and gave birth, to bid farewell to. My emotions are almost too much to take in, and it leaves my feeling somewhat empty. I think that has been my approach to my spiritual life of late as well – my frustrations with the Church, frustrations that used to get me up in arms but at least passionate, are currently leaving me apathetic and unsure – the path to my own spiritual fulfillment, and indeed the best way to impart faith and perhaps religion to my son, remains murky at best.

In this storm of emotions and exhaustion, I’ve had two uplifting experiences at Mass recently that make me think about where my life is heading. Last week, we met my son’s best little friend from daycare at our church – her mom had decided to switch parishes, and my son and his friend greeted each other with the kind of intense joy that only toddlers can show – they were so happy to see each other, they were literally jumping for joy. It’s small and simple, but isn’t that something very important I should remember about Church, i.e. the body of Christ, that it’s easy to forget in all the politics and problems (which I don’t dismiss by the way – they are important and I expect something I will always struggle with and I don’t have a clear answer to). But it reminded me that part of the experience of sharing in Mass is the celebration of community and the comfort that brings, and certainly my son and I experienced that these last two weeks. And today at my son’s Sunday school, the volunteer teacher reminded us that today’s Gospel is about how we have to trust Jesus’ healing hands to look after us, to hold us when we ask. So much easier said than done and yet never have I trusted in the Lord and been failed – God’s plan may sometimes look different than my own, yet I can always see in the end how it has taken me down the right roads in my life. Today’s reading from Paul’s second letter to the Corinthians says, “For the Son of God, Jesus Christ, who was proclaimed to you by us, Silvanus and Timothy and me, was not "yes" and "no, " but "yes" has been in him. For however many are the promises of God, their Yes is in him.” That God is the yes in our lives is such an important thing for me to remember – to act and think in trust rather than doubt can change an entire life’s outlook.

It is this Yes that I seek to ask for and answer this Lent. That I can take the time to reflect and see my life in God’s eyes, and to trust, the kind of trust that fills my life and helps me see the more even in the every day and even when every day is long – I ask this and promise to try my best to be present and focused.

Healing the Sick

In the last few weeks I've been witness to the damage that illness can do—not just to the sick, but to those who love them. In my life I've grieved for sick friends and family and have mourned the loss of people I love, but watching friends go through it I feel as powerless as I did in my own grief. More than anything, I wish healing for them—not just healing for the sick, but for those who love them. I wish miracles for them.

Today's Gospel (Mk 6:53-56) describes the people swarming Jesus, bringing the sick to him and begging him to heal their loved ones, if only by letting them touch a tassel on his cloak. Their desperation and longing is familiar. In the Gospel, "as many as touched it were healed."

That's the kind of miracle I hope for, but these seem in short supply. Miracle workers do not seem to walk among us, at least as far as I can tell. One lesson I take is that each of us needs to act as a healer. Regrettably, most of us can't cure cancer or other diseases that afflict people we care about. But each of us can be a source of comfort and kindness to those facing terrible prognoses.

Another nugget that I take from this story is the value of faith and hope. The people who followed Jesus looking for a cure believed so strongly that something great was possible, and that he would make it happen. Belief in the unlikely, in the impossible, can be a tremendous source of strength and can bring a different kind of healing. It may not be the miracle that we were looking for, the physical end to disease and grief, but belief in our wildest hopes can be the vehicle that carries us through our darkest moments.

Tonight I offer my prayers tonight to two good friends who are struggling with ill parents, and to a family I know who is suffering the loss of a young father and husband. They are not alone in their grief, and they have "healers" praying with them and for them.

Knowing Myself

When I was having a tough time in graduate school, I spoke with a counsellor about being overwhelmed and finding difficulty with decision-making. I told her what the various people in my life advised, and she noted that I was very good at polling – finding out what everyone else thought, but not necessarily so good at figuring out, or perhaps more to the point trusting, what I thought. The same problem holds true in my life today. I am blessed to have people in my life who know me well and care about me, and therefore, help me to figure things out when I need someone to listen or give suggestions. I wouldn’t want to be without that, and am so glad I have never had to be. However, I think cultivating my own inner voice is lacking. I’ve always found in prayer and meditation that when I talk to the Lord, and try to listen, I can more easily access what I think of as my authentic self – the person I truly am, stripped of what I think others are looking for, or what I’d like to be – just myself. Today’s second reading from the Book of Hebrews reminds us that Jesus, too, was human and faced the challenges we do, and those far greater, saying “therefore, he had to become like his brothers and sisters in every way, that he might be a merciful and faithful high priest before God to expiate the sins of the people. Because he himself was tested through what he suffered he is able to help those who are being tested.” This is a strong reminder to me that to meet Jesus in person in prayer is to meet a trusted friend, one that we can share with, and also one who helps us strengthen and grow in understanding of our own self. I pray today for the discipline to pray more often and meet God in this way, and the strength to trust my own self.