Overheard in Adoro's World - Christmas Edition

I had a wonderful Christmas with my family - lots of fun, lots of laughs. As always, I was blown away by my brother's generosity and of course, friendship, especially as we re-hashed old times! (We didn't always get along....)  ;-)

However, one of the high points, I have to admit, was a simple comedic moment, one of those moments one grasps and savors, wishing it had been captured in all its context and bottled so as to be let out and enjoyed for years to come.

All weekend long, Mom was focused on cranberries and turkey - she was going to make cranberries and had forgotten to purchase them before she'd come to The Cities for Christmas.  As my brother and I had to run out on Thursday to pick up a few items, we put cranberries on the list.  Mom was insistent, for she was going to make cranberries to go with the Turkey soup my brother was going to make from (frozen) leftovers from Thanksgiving.

I was a bit confused as we were not having turkey for Christmas itself, but clearly Mom wanted cranberries, therefore she would have them!

We duly picked them up and assured Mom several times over the next few days that they were in the fridge, awaiting her ministrations in order to serve with the turkey she also apparently desired.

On Sunday evening, Mom suddenly recalled she had been going to make cranberries, and they HAD to be cooked or they would go bad. So it was that instead of getting ready for bed, she was in the kitchen, cooking.  She asked about the turkey and soup, wondering why he hadn't cooked it as originally planned. This became a very big topic as she had been going on about this leftover turkey all weekend yet, it had not emerged from the freezer.

My brother solicitously asked if he should get out the turkey for a late supper; he suggested that if she didn't want to wait for soup, he could heat it up for sandwiches to have with her cranberries.

A conversation ensued regarding the cranberries and turkey, Mom suddenly complaining about having to make the cranberries if we weren't having the turkey after all.

Brother:  "But Mom, I thought you wanted turkey and cranberries?"

Mom:  "No, I don't want turkey. I don't even like turkey!"

In the meantime, I was in the living room overhearing all of this, and at that bombshell of a revelation, nearly experienced wine shooting from my nose. Mom had no idea why my brother's girlfriend and I were laughing so hard.

My brother simply stepped out of the kitchen and approached, smiling, amused at our fits of giggles while Mom stood there, confused, proclaiming how much she hated turkey even though she was only making the cranberries to go with the turkey she so desperately hated.

Ah....family!

Merry Christmas!

Come, Lord Jesus!

The season of waiting, of anticipation, is nearly over.

I find it to be a bittersweet ending, though, because this year Advent has been a season of the anticipation and experience of death.

I wrote a few months ago about a friend who was diagnosed with terminal cancer. He is still with us but I know his family is planning his funeral and all of Advent I have known that one morning I might wake up to find he has gone on to the Lord.

This morning I woke up to just such news, but it wasn't him; another friend who has long been ill died last evening. I never met her in real life, but Lavona Rann became a friend via social networking, and prayers for her and her husband have also been present this Advent, especially in the last couple days, when we received word of her immanent death. 

Last week, as a result of the car wreck I described, I, too, have been pondering my own mortality, realizing anew that the Master can come at any hour, any time - are any of us ready to meet Him?

Of my two friends, the preparation is there, they had received the Sacraments and were looking toward eternity while in laboring at the end of their lives, the travail of all the years so proper in Advent, likely giving them a new understanding as well - only one far more real, far more concrete.

During Advent, the Church looks toward not only the celebration of the birth of Our Savior, but towards His second coming. The readings especially in early Advent are dark and violent, yet this is so proper, for death is violent by its nature. Death was not intended by God but was brought about by humanity through the violence of sin.

That original sin ruptured us and we continue to suffer that wound and the results of that wound. Christ was born and came to bleed for us to satisfy the blood that would not have been shed at all but for our own abuse of free will.

When we sin, we do violence to ourselves, to others, and to God.

So He came, softly at first, but his birth was still marked by violence of the world that did not want to receive Him and sought to kill Him such that it killed the Holy Innocents, the babies that were so representative of Him. Yet, look around: that hasn't changed.

We are called, in Advent, and yes, even in the Christmas season, to recall this violence, both that which was the Fall, and that which brings Redemption, to the degree that they day after Christmas we recognize the Feast of St. Stephen - the first Christian martyr.

Advent is about conversion. It is about recognizing who and what we are in the face of God, who created us out of love, for love, and wills only our good. It is about really opening our eyes and SEEING the mire we choose to live in in place of the holiness that will lead us to true happiness.

We are called to recognize that in order to truly follow Christ, to receive the Christ Child, we must do violence to ourselves by turning from sin, by severing SIN from our lives and casting ourselves upon the Child who came to ransom us and heal our relationship with God.

People don't like to hear about violence and death, and no doubt there are those who will criticize this post for being "fire and brimstone".

There is no better time of year, though, to hear about fire and brimstone, for sometimes we need that reminder to cause us to look towards the Light of Christ, to beg once again to see Him face to face, and fall in love to such a degree that turning from sin makes the agony of conversion into joy. When conversion is real it arises from love, not fear, and that is a gift from God to us - but He cannot give us this gift if we do not turn to him with open arms. If we refuse to look at Him, we cannot receive Him - and this is the greatest violence of all.

Today is Christmas Eve; still a day of Advent, and today, we are at the end of our travail. Our Lord comes; Jesus comes to us. The churches will be overflowing at Mass, with both those who have prepared and those who have not. There are those who will attend with great joy and enter into the Mystery of the Incarnation, and there are those who will attend as though Mass is something "to get through and over with" before the real festivities will begin.

Let us not approach the celebration of the Birth of Christ in this manner, but rather, when we approach the altar, let us lay our own lives down as a gift to Him, in thanksgiving and love for the gift of Himself to us.

There is no better way to celebrate the Nativity.

Come, Lord Jesus, and do not delay!

The Christian Scandal

Christianity is scandalous.

God, the Almighty, the Great I AM, condescended to be conceived in the womb of a simple virgin, to be carried there for nine months and then...and then....was born immediately into filth, destitution, and a state of utter humiliation.

He was born of a pure woman for He had called her into being and through a singular grace, had removed the stain of original sin in order to reveal Himself to the world, even though He knew the world would be utterly scandalized by the grace shown to Mary, the Mother of God, and the rest of us who were not preserved by such a grace. He knew we would be forever scandalized by His perfection in a world more willing to choose sin over holiness. He knew we would be scandalized by His own followers who would continually try and fail, or perhaps not try at all even though clinging to His Name.

He knew He would be utterly rejected, utterly defiled, utterly destroyed in His body...and in so being would utterly decimate sin in order to restore humanity in His own act of satisfaction for sin.

Jesus, Son of God, Incarnate at His conception within the womb of Mary, gives testimony to the Glory of God, His plan of salvation, and the beauty and perfection of the life we are called to live...for eternity.

That is scandalous. 

Utterly, completely scandalous.

As we weep here below in this vale of tears, turning our passions to pleasure, and reaping only the consequences and remorse of sin, we are scandalized by the example of Christ who was born to give dignity to our flesh, to heal what we willfully severed, and to render justice by paying the ransom we cannot pay even if we truly cared to do so.

Advent is such a time to consider the scandal that is the coming of Christ, the scandal brought to the forefront of our culture for MONTHS every year. Even as we who love the liturgical seasons scream and cry at hearing Christmas rejoicing before Halloween, perhaps we have to admit that actually, Christ still reigns because one cannot help but think of Him somehow.

Even as we Catholic pray for Holy Souls and recognize the Saints who have become like Christ, the music that celebrates His birth plays in the background in our secular world.  Is that not a sign of hope? The world desires it for merely material means, but really, is that any different than when Christ walked the earth? After all, they tried to make Him an earthly King, a political figure, an economic figure.

The Poverty of Christ

Jesus was born into nothingness, unknown to those around him outside of His Mother Mary and St. Joseph, husband of Mary, earthly father to Jesus, our Lord and Savior. They were humble people of little means and could find no room in Bethlehem, anywhere, even for the Son of God. No matter that Mary, swollen with the life about to burst forth from her in a ray of light for the world, could barely walk so close was her Hour; there was no place for her and her child.

There was no room. Bethlehem, "House of Bread", relegated the Holy Family to the crust.

Ponder that:  Jesus was born into a world that would not make room for Him.

Is it such a surprise that nothing has changed?

The Scandal of Advent

We Catholics are called away in Advent, to be quiet, to pray, to spiritually prepare our souls to receive the Christ Child.

We are called to make room for Him in our lives, if we have not already, and if we have, to make MORE room for him. The odds are most of us think of Him only on Sundays when we have to go to Mass, or take our kids to religious education, or maybe to put a creche out as a reminder that this is what Christmas is all about.

At the same time, we are in the middle of  all the insanity as life becomes more and more hectic, with the demands of social engagements, and the traditional demands of preparing for the Feast, for family, Christmas Pageants, end-of-semester final exams...the list goes on. We are called to withdraw from the world just as the world, including the Catholic world, ramps up demands upon us.

This is scandalous, and quite appropriate, for in all of this, we are better able to experience the journey Mary made as she traveled from Nazareth to Bethlehem, passing beneath the shadow of the Cross in order to truly enter into it and make it her own.

Holy Paradox

This paradox of our Christian life against the opposing forces of secular life is the scandal of the Cradle and the Cross, and the wood is exactly the same. It calls for sacrifice, for suffering, for longing for the peace that can only come through Christ, our Savior, the Light of the World.

It is no wonder that Advent is such a tumultuous time; it is meant to be so, for only through passing through and embracing this valley can we ever break into the light and fall at the feet of Our Lord.

We long, in Advent, for peace and quiet, for the end of the demands upon us, for the crowds to leave us alone. We long for the solitude of our homes and families, for simple comforts, even when we are surrounded by lavish soirees and temptations of materialism.

In the end, our souls crave the very poverty of Christ, not understanding that we are already experiencing that poverty for our world is not wealthy; it is poor.

We are poor not always for lack of money, but for lack of holiness. Those who are the most destitute are those who have no desire for holiness. And those with the greatest poverty are those who don't even know they should desire holiness!

This world, this very economically wealthy world, is actually very poor because it does not have Christ, does not want Him, does not realize it needs Him.

We, personally, are poor because we do not have Christ...and we have not yet made room for Him.

Before the celebration of His Birth, we must take time to make room, even amidst the chaos. We must find that place in our souls where He rests, and if that space is taken up by sin , we must eradicate it.

That is scandalous.

Advent calls us to change, to look towards our ends, not just our present. For what were we created? For WHOM? Why? Have you ever wondered at the violence of the Advent readings, those that fortell the end of the world? Those readings that so harshly condemn sin and state clearly those who will not enter heaven?

It is to remind us of our Final Judgment, for as Christ came once, softly, through the womb of a virgin, then He will come with violence, and that violence will bear it all away.

Jesus came with violence in His humility, and first sons were slaughtered shortly after His birth.

The slaughter that accompanies His Second Coming may include us, and if the blade of His Just Judgment hits our own necks, we will be separated from Him for Eternity.

Advent is a call to eternity, a call to holiness, a call recognize the Kingship of Christ, to make room for Him, for if we do not do so now, will we ever?

We must live each day of Advent as though He is being born through us at any moment. Have we given our own Fiat or have we turned away and told Him we have no room in our souls for His gift of eternal life?

Christianity is only scandalous because it calls us out of ourselves, out of the darkness and into the eternal light and life of Our Lord Jesus Christ.

It is scandalous to the world because we the faithful so often try but fall, again and again.

It is scandalous because God's Mercy has more depth than the deepest ocean and more light than the brightest sun. We cannot escape His Mercy, but we can reject it and in so doing, purchase eternal damnation.

And that is scandalous, that He would allow us to reject such Life in favor of eternal corruption.

And yet He does......

Choose.

Silent Night, Lonely Night - Abandoned

My Dad died on January 3rd, 1995, 15 years ago, and until this year, I couldn't find a Saint assigned to the day of his death.  I learned last spring during Lent that St. Paul of the Cross was born on January 3rd;  a patron who founded the Passionist Order came into the world on the same date my Dad left it and brought me directly into Our Lord's Passion, even though I didn't understand it at the time. He is a fitting Saint for such a terrible loss.

It's usually a hard day for me and I never know how it will hit me. Sometimes I just experience a general sense of unrest, while at other times that bitter sword of grief reminds me that time means nothing and it was only yesterday that I stood at Dad's casket, looking upon him for the very last time this side of the veil.

A few years ago I wrote of my first Christmas, nearly a year later, without him, and republish it here for you all:

**************************

My Dad passed in early January 1995, and it took me MONTHS to really grieve. I didn't know what to do, what to say, how to act, so instead, I was just angry. And sad. And desolate. All those things, and more, yet I lived my day to day life, losing my faith along with the rest of the world.

Even though my parents had been divorced for many many years, for some reason I dreaded Christmas that year with a strange sense of horror. We wouldn't talk to Dad on the phone. We couldn't buy Dad gifts. Nothing was coming from Dad - no cards with his familiar handwriting.

It was Christmas...without Dad.

I couldn't bear to be around my family, for his absence was even more absent, and because I hadn't seen him at all since my high school graduation, about 3 1/2 years prior, my guilt just ate away at me, burrowing into my soul and penetrating even more deeply than the strongest concentration of acid found on earth.

I had graduated early and was working for the college that winter, so I made sure I was on the Christmas schedule. Prior to Christmas I had gone home, celebrated "Christmas", stayed overnight and then headed back to the school. It wasn't that I really wanted to be alone...I just didn't want to be around family.

Then again, I DID want to be alone because when I was with them, I felt even more alone; Dad's loss was that much more painful, and I couldn't handle it.

It was so painful it was like a burn; it left my nerves deadened; I was numb. It was a grief so deep I could not express it to anyone, not even to myself. So I fled civilization for the haven of the school from which I had graduated and I enclosed myself into the darkness of my grief, trying to understand.

I've never felt so incredibly alone in my entire life.

On that Christmas Eve, I couldn't even stand the very room I was in. No one was at the college; no one was anywhere. The dorms were abandoned, the bluffs were silent.

And it was into the bluffs I fled, under the Christmas Eve stars, into the shadows of the trees and the confinement of the snowy creek banks.

I just walked, alone in that darkness, tramping through the snow, wishing I could cry, wanting to scream, wanting only relief from this terrible, terrible pain. I wondered if I was depressed? I considered that seriously, but no...I knew what depression was, I had all the symptoms indexed in my mind for professionally I had worked with truly depressed people. No; I was far too functional to be depressed. Dysthymia? Nope...not that either.

Intellectually, I knew that this was grief, I knew I was not handling it well, and whenever I confronted myself with that reality I shoved it aside in favor of wallowing within the pain, wanting to understand it, needing to purge myself of it, but not wanting to go to anyone else for help to do it. I was far too independent for my own good.

But I didn't care; I just wanted to be alone. Alone with God, seeking my faith again, seeking the God I had grown up knowing. And yet I didn't know Him.

So that night as I walked, I spoke to God. I berated him for this pain, I berated him for taking my Dad away from me, and I cried out to him about my own guilt.

I remember sitting in the snow at the side of the creek, suddenly realizing that I felt completely alone; completely abandoned.

Abandonment.

In the middle of the cold winter wildnerness, surrounded by the frozen forest, unable to even hear the waters gurgling under the ice and snow.

I was numb; I was abandoned. I cried out to God, but He did not answer me, nothing was revealed. Nothing was changed, nothing purged, nothing healed.

I realized that I had gone out to seek God because the futility of my own actions had so far gotten me nowhwere. And yet I was still rejecting the Church which had always been my solace before. Even as I sought God, I was running away from Him.

I remember that terrible, terrible numbness; not just from physical cold, but this strange spiritual numbness; Abandonment.

I remember a couple of tears fell...and froze on my cheeks.

Frozen just as I was inside.

Slowly, I stepped out on the ice, knowing where the little waterfall was. I knew I was being stupid for there was no one to hear my screams. I was not suicidal; far from it! Yet I almost hoped I would fall through a weak spot in the ice, to be partially submerged; water ran under that ice all winter. Even the harsh Minnesota winters would not completely freeze that rushing stream.

I didn't want to die; I only wanted to shock myself into feeling something again. Anything other than this terrible interior pain. Anything other than this hopeless feeling of complete and utter desolation;

Abandonment.

But the ice didn't crack. Even it was silent, refusing to give me the relief I so desperately craved.

I walked back to my room, to the warmth, still numb, still alone within my pain, still bereft of God.

Desperate for God, I tried to go to Christmas Mass the next day, the first time in a long time. Oddly, I couldn't find one! Even though it was a Catholic college, the chapel was closed and I had to find my way to a Catholic Church in town. I sincerely tried, but I must have gone at the wrong time.  I couldn't even find anyone to call to answer my questions as to WHEN I could go!

I knew of one church and thought maybe if I just showed up, even if it was in the middle of Mass, I would wait there for the next one, or find out when to go. That frigid, subzero day when my car would barely run, I found nothing but a Catholic Church with large, locked doors.

No one was around. It was only 10 in the morning but I couldn't get in and everyone was gone. The Church was empty, and it was locked and I had nowhere else to go.

Even when I finally went to find God, the door was closed and locked, sealing my complete and utter abandonment. Even when I sought Him out, He wasn't there. I'd lost my earthly Father, and that Christmas, I lost my Eternal Father as well.

I was in a ghost town, literally knocking on the door; and no one answered.

I can't remember how I got through that terrible phase in my life. Probably just fell into the routine of work, but I do know that the terrible sensation did finally ease. I do know that over time, the grief ebbed, leaving mostly only the anger...and finally, acceptance.

Grief is still painful and sometimes catches me by surprise with its razor-sharp edges, yet never since that Christmas Eve have I ever felt that terrible, terrible abandonment.

In looking back, now I see a blessing; a spiritual purging I did not understand. I chose the separation, and  now I look back and realize that it could be a shadow of what is to come. God was right there with me the entire time, likely crying the tears I could not, likely closer to me than He ever has been before or since.

It is in our abandonment, the Saints have learned and taught in their wisdom, that God is closer than ever, and we can't find Him or see Him because He is holding us so closely we are blinded by His love and compassion.

 Even in the snowy, frozen bluffs of a cold Minnesota Christmas, God is there, and sometimes, when it seems like He isn't answering, it is because He is speaking so softly that it takes years to understand His words.

*

Author's Note:   A year ago I published, in three parts, the story I wrote about my Dad and his death. The first chapter can be found here, and the other chapters are linked in sequence.  Otherwise click on the tag "Dad" below and you will be taken to all posts pertaining to this topic.

Merry Christmas!

Isaiah 9:1-6

The people who walked in darkness
have seen a great light;
upon those who dwelt in the land of gloom
a light has shone.
You have brought them abundant joy
and great rejoicing,
as they rejoice before you as at the harvest,
as people make merry when dividing spoils.
For the yoke that burdened them,
the pole on their shoulder,
and the rod of their taskmaster
you have smashed, as on the day of Midian.
For every boot that tramped in battle,
every cloak rolled in blood,
will be burned as fuel for flames.
For a child is born to us, a son is given us;
upon his shoulder dominion rests.
They name him Wonder-Counselor, God-Hero,
Father-Forever, Prince of Peace.
His dominion is vast
and forever peaceful,
from David’s throne, and over his kingdom,
which he confirms and sustains
by judgment and justice,
both now and forever. The zeal of the LORD of hosts will do this!

Gifted

Yeah, so...last night when I was trying to wrap Christmas gifts, I broke my toe. Good times, good times.  Can someone bring me some painkillers?  

Stop laughing.

No, I didn't go to the doctor...I don't have time and they can't do anything for a broken toe anyway. And no, I don't have time to ice 20 min on and off. IN fact, I'm preparing to head to my brother's for Christmas, a day early. This is a massive change in original plans, but so be it.  And really, I need to be heading out soon. It's already "flurry-ing" out, the winds are picking up and the atmosphere has that oppressive feeling that tells you some kind of a winter beast is coming.

Let me tell you, this is NOT how I planned Christmas. Really, a broken toe was not part of my plans.

What happened, you ask?

Well, here's the deal:  I had washed a sweater I want to wear to Mass on Christmas Eve. I had to lay it flat to dry and since the rest of my house is in chaos, the only "flat spot" was on my bed. So that's where I put it. I came up later to grab wrapping paper, and when I left the spare room with it, I saw the dog lying on my freshly-washed, still-damp sweater. I rushed in to shoo her off, and that's when it happened. There I was struggling to hold the long paper rolls, and what did I do but  manage to slam my foot right into a heavy trunk that had been in that very spot since the day I moved in to this place almost 6 years ago.

Needless to say I dropped the paper, hit the bed screaming in pain, only to realize now the dog was standing on the sweater as she came to see the cause of my agony, making me have to stop mid-scream to get her off the sweater again. The poor dog jumped to the futon by the window, then when trying to get a toy to offer me, walked all over the paper. I had to stop screaming and shoo her off the paper before she wrecked it all, and then, finally, she found a "safe spot" and offered me her most beloved toy, a coyote that has seen better days.

And so at that point not only did I feel horrible because I was in so much pain as a result of my own klutzy stupidity, I felt horrible for yelling at my very sweet German Shepherd who was only trying to 'help".

*sigh*

I hoped it was just sprained and was SURE it would be better this morning. I slept last night with my foot elevated...all night.

It didn't work. And I gotta tellya...limping the dog (it couldn't properly be called "walking the dog")  was quite an adventure today.  At one point I stepped "wrong" and actually nearly started crying. That pretty much ended my denial...it HAS to be broken.  *sigh*

I still managed to get to Mass, but there was no genuflecting for me...the very thought of even TRYING made me cringe. So I just bowed and sat down. Throughout Mass, each time we knelt, I found all sorts of interesting ways to do so without putting pressure on my toes.  Thank God for those nice kneelers!

I'm telling you, people, wrapping gifts is DANGEROUS!  Be careful out there! It's all fun and games until someone needs X-rays and a cast!

So glad Jesus gave me this little gift for this weekend. It will ensure I don't forget that His birthday wasn't exactly idyllic for Him, either.

Merry Christmas (well, almost...!)

Come, Lord, Do Not Delay

One of the things someone pointed out to me a few years ago, found prominently in both iconography and the writings of the Church Fathers, is the link between the Birth of Christ and His Resurrection.  This is a critical link that many don't understand, for much sacred art showing the Nativity is very misleading:  our Christmas cards show pristine views either in the desert with pretty palm trees on a clear night, or a snowy night much like those we might experience here in Minnesota, surrounding a cute little clean-looking cozy warm stable with angels singing overhead and animals cuddling around on the hay. Or perhaps some other warm-and-cozy scene eliciting feelings of vague pleasure that our secular culture has deemed to be "the Christmas spirit".  

This kind of art, while to the degree that Truth is allowed, can be beautiful and certainly may portray PART of the birth of Christ, unfortunately causes us to miss out on the fact that Our Lord Jesus Christ was born into the shadow of the Cross and in a place proleptic of His Resurrection.  If we are missing this part of the story, it means that our preparation for Christmas during the season of Advent is lacking some focus, which follows, therefore, that we can't fully enter into the joy and celebration of the Christmas season!

The fact is that Jesus was not born in a nice cozy modern stable in a cow's stall (as the popular song proclaims), but rather, in one of the caves the surround Bethlehem, where the shepherds corralled their flocks at night to protect them from predators and the elements.  Just imagine, then, what the FLOOR of that cave must have been like!  Imagine, if you will, what covered the ground, and how deep it must have been!  It's not as if the shepherds had time to design a manure shovel and clean it out and lay down some nice hay for the "guests"!

Jesus was, indeed, born in a cave. One of the nastiest caves on earth.  And where was our Most Precious Infant Savior, our King, laid to rest?  He was laid in a manger, something used to feed animals, which was never cleaned. It in fact, would have been the cleanest place in the entire network of caves, yet there, "clean" would be a relative term, wouldn't it?  That nasty manger would have been lined with the spit of a thousand camels, and never mind the fleas! He was thus born into the very same relativism that personifies even our own culture today, the actual filth of his own age, and this is fitting, isn't it, for He is relevant to all ages, revealing Truth of eternity in a world in which very few awaited or wanted to receive Him.

Jesus was BORN into extreme suffering, and so we see the connection to the Cross, for as the Church Fathers remind us, the wood of the manger is the very same as the wood of the Cross. In the town with a name that meant "House of Bread", the Bread of Life Himself was placed in an animal's feeding trough, and yet, He came not to feed animals, but to feed US with His own Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity...only to die upon the gibbit as a reminder of His own humble beginnings....and our own great Fall into sin.

This is why, in iconography, one can observe the cave through which Christ was born and entered the earth at his Nativity, and the same type of cave through which He left when He rose from the dead in order to overcome the grave for us, restoring our dignity by opening Heaven to so that we could reach our final end:  eternal union with the Holy Trinity.  Just as He arrived, so He left...in every way.

We must remember, in this season of Advent, and as we celebrate Christmas with great joy at the Incarnation, our God become man who came to save us from our sins calls us to follow in ALL His footsteps...all of them.

"Come, Lord, do not delay.
-Free your people from their sinfulness."
~ Liturgy of the Hours, Midafternoon, Third Sunday of Advent

Advent is a time of Preparation, so that we can prepare our hearts to receive the gift of Christ Himself, and in turn, make OURSELVES a gift to Him!

There is no greater gift we can give to Jesus but ourselves.  We must take time in silence, maybe solitude, slow down even as the world speeds up, and realize what is truly important. The readings for most of Advent call us to consider final Judgement, reminding us of our final ends, giving us hope in our eternal beatitude with God, but only if we respond to His grace and work to eliminate sin from our lives. It is a time of darkness and purification, it is a time of confronting temptations and actual sins and vices that keep us from God.  Especially when we consider the filth into which Christ was born, don't we want to be MORE certain of our own purity so that we can receive Him, offering Him the same mercy He provides to us?

If we saw a child lying in filth, wouldn't our first response be to pick him up, cuddle him and hold him close and warm, wrapping Him in pure, clean clothes? Yet, if we were filthy ourselves, wouldn't we hold back so that we would not contaminate Him further?  Would we not first change our OWN clothing so as to ensure that our efforts would not make this child's condition even WORSE?  If we had just come from a sewage pit, covered in the "fruits" of our labors, would we even CONSIDER picking up a child lying in a manger, knowing that the sewage dripping from us would make his own condition filth even WORSE?

I shudder when I recall that I was once one of those who lived in habitual and terrible mortal sin, did not go to Confession, and yet, at Christmas, for many years, I went forward to receive Him, this dear Holy Infant, into the profanity of my body and soul. I took the Christ Child into my own sewage, that of my own sinful soul, far worse than the filth into which He had been born!

Oh, how I shudder now to consider it!  And how I shudder to realize that this happens EVERY DAY, it happens in HUGE numbers every Christmas and Easter when such large numbers of people return to the Church....but go forward to receive Our Lord in such a filthy state!

We should ALL ensure, then, that we are not in denial of our own sin. We should be using Advent as a true time of preparation, and maybe this is difficult. Maybe it's hard to face ourselves and the reality of our own immorality. Maybe we are in darkness because we have a war within us, an interior battle within which we realize we are in bondage to sin...and are unwilling to let go of the chains that bind us.  Maybe we are afraid that if we go to the Sacrament of Confession, especially if it's been a long time, that we can't be forgiven. Do we inflict a "statute of limitations" on ourselves and condemn ourselves even though Jesus calls us to Him through the Sacrament of Penance in order to reconcile us to Him...so that we can receive Him in purity? Do we deny that we NEED the Sacrament of Confession in order to be ABLE to receive Him and be strengthened on this long pilgrimage to Heaven?

Or do we err on the side of sacrilege, approaching the Holy Altar of Sacrifice, having sacrificed nothing of  ourselves, but presuming a place upon our own authority, demanding to be fed at the Table but refusing to partake in the Sacrifice to which we are truly called?

During this time of Advent, maybe in our introspection we are crushed, and finally realize how we have been defeated over and over again, how we have chosen love of some worldly, fleshly pleasure over love of God, preferring what is temporary to what is eternal.  This is not cause for despair! It is a reason to rejoice, for this gift of self-knowledge, while difficult, is the very cave through which we are born again!  It is the very tomb through which we must pass in order to live again!

We MUST see the parallel between the Nativity and the Resurrection, between the Manger and the Cross. We MUST see how, if we are to be conformed to Christ and live out our Baptismal call to Holiness, we have to live out, over and over again in our spiritual lives the cycle of crushing defeat and the darkness in which we are rebuilt, if only we are willing to cooperate with God's grace. We must be crushed, we must die to ourselves in order to learn to turn our wills more perfectly to God.

Christmas isn't just a random celebration, a day off from work, a day to open gifts. It is a day that requires great preparation, for when we celebrate it, we should be offering the gift of ourselves, in purity, in joy, knowing that God has brought us through darkness and into redemption!  Today, on Guaudete Sunday, in the Liturgy of the Hours we pray in recognition of the Redemption! Now, during Advent, we are directed not towards the Nativity, but towards our eternal Salvation!

Rejoice! Persevere through the remainder of this "mini-Lent" and know that your redemption is at hand!

"Let us cleanse our hearts for the coming of our great King, that we may be ready to welcome him; he is coming and will not delay."

Virtues and Defects

"I wish also that thou shouldest know that every virtue is obtained by means of thy neighbour, and likewise, every defect..."

"I have told thee how all sins are accomplished by means of thy neighbour...Self-love, which destroys charity and affection towards the neighbour, is the principle and foundation of every evil. All scandals, hatred, cruelty, and every sort of trouble proceed from this perverse root of self-love, which has poisoned the entire world..."

~ St. Catherine of Siena, Dialogue, revelations received from the Eternal Father.

Spending time with my family is something that, above all makes me realize how far away I am from God. When we come together for holidays or special occasions, we also are joined in our shared history, in all the pain, with all the memories that go with that, and thankfully, even with the joy. I know that my family has seen me at my very worst, and I've seen them at their worst.

It's so odd, though, how sometimes that history is made present when we gather. It's harder to be patient with my family that it is with others, and I constantly discover that old resentments are still present and taint my reactions to the most innocent of things.

In our fallen humanity, even as we seek holiness, we can't seem to get ourselves out of these pits. We are forced to look at ourselves as we have been, and as we remain, and see how far we really have to go.

As God the Father revealed to St. Catherine, our virtues are obtained in this very painful manner. In Dialogue, there is lengthy discussion on how the sins of others make us grow in virtue. Perhaps Christmas is one of those times, for we can't "fake" ourselves. The veneer comes down, our defects are brought forth, and therin, charity is put to the test.

So often, I fail. This very week I sat and chastized myself for my attitude, my impatience, and my obstinance in persisting in defects I recognized, and yet didn't quash by an act of the will. I could have; I just didn't. And I didn't apologize. Yes, there is still time, and perhaps my own slights are already forgotten by my family. Certainly, as of right now, I can't remembr any of theirs.

Yet I often see more charity out of my family members than I do of myself. Perhaps it is that, in them I see the uncondemning gaze of Christ, as they refuse to react to my selfishness or petty misbehaviors. And in that lack of response, I find I can condemn myself perfectly, and that is what brings me to contrition.

Yet it is painful to look upon that gaze and see my failures. Knowing that they see my failures, too, and just choose to do nothing in reaction to them.

Our sins, as St. Catherine tells us, come about through our neighbors, and therein is the key; it is how we react to their sins. Perhaps we have been "victimized" by someone we love. That gives us an option to respond in charity, or to bite back in battle. If we choose the latter, we sin as well, especially if we are aware of what we are doing. If we choose to take the path of love, we grow in virtue.

So perhaps I should be grateful that this week maybe I was the unwitting catalyst for my family's growth in virtue. Perhaps I reacted to things they did with more charity than I realize for myself.

One of the sneaky things about growing in virtue is that we really don't realize we're doing it. God's grace aids us, but He doesn't give anything away.

I am grateful to recognize my failings, and even with those, recognize that in the past, maybe they were even greater. Were it not for those who love me, and whom I love, it would not be so. The greatest acts of charity are most often provided wordlessly so that neither party can recognize that the moment has passed. Yet therein, paradoxically, we can see the hidden hand of God and the depths of His love.


"Now I wish to tell thee further, that a man proves his patience on his neighbor, when he receives injuries from him. Similarly, he proves his humility on a proud man, his faith on an infidel, his true hope on one who despairs, his justice on the unjust, his kidness on the cruel, his gentleness and benignity on the irascible."
~ St. Catherine, Dialogue

O Little Town of Bethlehem

Today, finally, our preparations come to fruition, and we celebrate the birth of Christ; the union of human and Divine in a tiny infant.

For months now, some radio stations have been playing Christmas carols, perhaps we've only had them on in the last week to "help us get into the spirit", or perhaps we finally sing those old hymn at Christmas Eve Mass. The stories these songs tell paint beautiful pictures of serenity, trying to capture the miraculous, to instill a sense of joy, and increase our wonder at God become Man.

On that day, God actually entered our history, and since then, everything has been different. The Messiah has come, just as the prophets told, to save us from our sins.

And now, 2,000 years later, at this time of year we scramble around to buy gifts, make cookies, find just the right dress or shoes or hat and scarf to wear to church or to our various gatherings. We hear all about the "Christmas Spirit" and while trying to find it, we spend a lot of time cursing at other drivers in the overcrowded mall parking lots. Or maybe at our families, who are driving us crazy in their own Christmas frenzy.

Advent is SUPPOSED to remove us from all that silliness to help us focus on what Christmas is REALLY about. But has it worked for you this year?

Finally, Christmas has arrived, and I have to wonder how many people are now pulling their hair out because the day isn't perfect. Maybe the dog got sick on the carpet at 5 am. Maybe the lights on the tree stopped working. Maybe the two-year old got into the gifts and had a heyday.

Maybe the turkey or ham or what-have-you is still frozen and you won't eat exactly on time.

Maybe the cantor at Mass at dawn wasn't very good. Maybe you have a cold.

A thousand things could go "wrong" to disrupt our idea of what Christmas Day should be like. We are told to get caught up in the joy, and yes, we should, but we should NEVER lose sight of the fact that the day of the birth of Christ was not one of luxury, but of hardship none of us can really imagine.

First, although it was a time of political stability, it was also a time of oppression and fear. Joseph and Mary took the 8 or 9-day trek to Bethlehem not to find a good place for a family portrait, but because they HAD to go...and because the reason for that census was to find and kill the King Mary carried in her womb.

When after this terrible journey, which must have been incredibly uncomfortable especially or the very-pregnant Mary, they finally arrive and can't find a place to stay. We know the story; there was no room at the Inn. They could not get out of the cold. Mary, ready to give birth, had nowhere to go.

We commonly see images of a stable, which brings to mind romantic and rustic images of sweet-smelling hay, and a sweet looking ox, maybe a donkey. (From Isaiah: "even the ox and the ass know their master.")

But that's not the real story; Christ wasn't born in a wooden stable. He was born in a cave on the outskirts of Bethlehem. For you see, even before He was born, He was rejected, and had no place to lay His head. The caves of Bethlehem can be observed to this day, and are still used now as they were then; as shelter for the flocks at night. They are filled with animal dung and all sorts of unimaginable filth. They weren't cleaned regularly as would be the stables we know today; thus Our Lord was born into one of the nastiest places on earth.

Consider THAT symbolism and what that means with regard to His Divine mission.

Further, we are told that Christ was placed in a manger; indeed. He was placed where the animals ate. It was filled with camel and sheep spit. But at least it was off the dung-ridden floor.

It seems that although the birth of Jesus is a cause for joy, it is also a cause for reflection, for we must see that the wood of the manger is also the wood of the cross. Christ came into this world to suffer, and did so even from the moment of His birth.

We worry so much about having a perfect Christmas day; but if that is our concern, then we have missed the entire point. Today, as we celebrate with our families, with our parishes, with our friends, we should take some time to reflect upon the historical reality of this day, and be willing to enter into the Mystery of the Incarnation through our own trials and sufferings.

In remembering His great gift, let us also give Him the gift of ourselves, and pray that our own conversions bring us ever closer to to Him, even as we kneel in the dung in a cave of Bethlehem, knowing the sorrow and triumph of the cross still looms.

Let us be joyful in knowing what He endured for our sake, and be willing to carry that Divine Infant in our own purified hearts throughout the Christmas season and beyond.

Glory to God in the highest, and peace to His people on earth!

I Believe

It's been a very difficult Advent for me as I've battled my own sin, my own failings, and have been often brought to the throne of Mercy in the Sacrament of Confession. I can't even call it a purification of any sort; to do so would be pretentious. There has been no victory on my part, only great recognition of my own need, and in that is abundant and undeniable Grace.

As we approach Christmas, I find myself finally entering into the joy and anticipation of the season; it's been completely absent this year.


I've often thought of the Incarnation this Advent; considering how God became man, uniting both the human and the Divine. When I look around the world, when I see the filth around us, the sin, the reality of our lives, the reality of our social decisions, and the reality of our physical and spiritual weakness, I can't help but ask, "Why would HE want to become like US?"

I would NEVER have chosen this. Ever.

Let us all be thankful that God does not think as I do. For He created us to be in union with Him; when Adam and Eve fell from grace, they started the ball in motion that has brought us to where we are today.

God did not wash His hands of us and leave us to ourselves, but loved us so much that He remained involved. God has NEVER left humanity; it is always humanity that has chosen to leave God. He looked down upon us in pity, knowing what we chose and what we didn't choose. Knowing our hearts even better than we knew our own. He punished in order to convert; and never did He spurn a repentant heart. Ever.

Finally, He fulfilled His plan, and sent His only Son. We who believe in the Trinity know that Jesus is God Himself, the second Person of the Sacred Trinity, and even though our minds cannot grasp this Truth, we accept it. Christ Himself told us, "He who sees me has seen the Father" (paraphrased).


And constantly, through my devotion to the Infant of Prague, I've constantly tried to meditate, if imperfectly, upon the Incarnation. God become man, through the most unimportant of peoples, through the downtrodden, born in a dirty cave and laid in a manger encrusted with camel spit.

Most of us were born in hospitals, or homes. Maybe even cars.

Not the Messiah. And that was only the beginning of His suffering on our behalf; for we MUST see that the wood of the manger is the same wood of the Cross, and the same wood of the tree from which Adam and Eve ate, and when we consume the Body and Blood of Christ, we partake in the New and Everlasting Covenant that has redeemed us.

Twice this week, an infant boy has been placed in my arms, and I couldn't help but consider how this tiny human being was himself a reflection of the Divine Infant. So innocent. So sweet. So perfect...and so human.

So God entered the world, to save us from our sins and bring us to eternal life. So a child has led us, even unto the Cross.


The ONLY way to Heaven is through the Cross, and if we ignore that fact, we cannot call ourselves Christian.


I recently revealed my own struggle with belief this week, and in a form of reparation, I want to share with you some thoughts that have come to me over the course of my Old Testament classes in the last two years. Maybe my own denial of God was private (not everything was in the blog post), but because I am a baptized, Confirmed Catholic, I know that it is my place to "prophesy to the nations". And so I do, in the name of Christ Himself:



What I believe


I believe that Adam and Eve fell from Grace through Pride, and that the Garden of Eden was a true physical place which is now guarded by a fierce Cherubim.


I believe that Abraham is our father, and that the promise of the Lord to him has been and is being fulfilled even as we speak.


I believe that Joseph was sold into slavery, was given the keys to the kingdom, placed in position to redeem his family, and humbled in the experience.


I believe that young David killed Goliath armed with only a sling and a stone.


I believe that the 9-foot-thick walls of Jericho fell to the sounds of trumpets.


I believe that Ezekiel prophesied as directed to the valley of dry bones, and those bones rose, took on flesh and were resurrected into a great army; and that this army fortells both the Resurrection of all the dead and the reality of the Church Militant and Church Triumphant.

I believe that the Prophets were privy to the Divine counsels and prophesied not only to their own generations, but foretold the coming of the Messiah.

I believe that the Law is written on the hearts of men (as stated by Isaiah), and that those who fail to heed it are lost by choice, but are not without hope of conversion and subsequent redemption.

I believe in the Immaculate Conception, that Mary was conceived without sin.


I believe in the Virgin birth and the Incarnation of Christ.

I believe that God became man, a complete union of human and Divine, and that He had the beatific vision from His very conception and suffered all that man suffers...but without sin.


I believe that the Jesus of history and the Jesus of faith are one and the same and cannot be destroyed by bad scholarship.


I believe. In spite of myself and my own doubts, I believe.


And if I could be present at His very birth, I would prostrate myself even in the sheep dung that defines my very life, and worship Him who died that I might have eternal life.


Amen.

*

Mini-Lent

Advent is coming up much more quickly than I realized, and I'm grateful.

There's such a juxtaposition about what this liturgical season is about in comparison to the craziness of the world raging around us. Christmas songs are already playing, have been for weeks now. Some people already have their Christmas decorations out and lit up in all their glory.

There are already celebrations planned, festivities underway....and our culture hasn't even taken time to take stock of what this is really about.

Advent, for we Catholics, is a chance to retreat from the world, to slow down, and take a look at our lives. To consider the messianic prophecies, the people holding their breath, waiting for their Savior. And to, like Mary, ponder those things in our hearts, and see what we need to change in order to be more accessable to Christ.

That's right; Christ is already accessable. We're the ones who cut Him off and refuse to see Him.

I'm looking forward to Advent. Even though my own life will continue to be crazy, there's a certain disposition I've found can be cultivated. There's something in the spirituality of the season that aids me in "withdrawing".

So much of my life is so out of control that when Advent and Lent come around, as others are groaning, I'm rejoicing. For some reason, I can engage in penitential practices that I can't seem to do at other times of the year. There's something about the penitential seasons that literally gives me the strength to become more disciplined and to focus more purely on the source of all strength: Jesus.

It's as if for a moment in time, it's just He and I. He is standing at the end of a long corridor, and there's no one there but us. I just have to keep moving towards him. Outside there could be raging storms, raging shoppers, crazy carnival Christmas music at war with a raging ACLU...and it's unimportant.

It makes me think that if I could be a hermit during Advent, it would be easier, but the again, maybe it's important to see the contrast. To withdraw while still in the world, trying not to be of it. And from that perspective, it's a lot easier to see where the important priorities lie.

Advent, as a penitential season, isn't as strict as Lent, but for a few years now I've tried to copy the things I do during Lent anyway. Because I need to. My prayers are different, and my focus is different, but the same types of practices work to provide the same kinds of benefits.

If you haven't considered that option before, try it. We're already supposed to be fasting from something on Fridays, anyway (that was not changed by Vatican II), but can we maybe fast from something more than usual? Every lent, we give up some legitimate good; why NOT do the same thing during Advent? During Advent we regularly give alms; it is a season for giving, but if we give up something else we love, can we give more TO those Christ has told us we must love?

The possibilities are endless...and the season is short. Take advantage of the respite. Look at the insanity of the world...and realize the peace only found in Christ.

Christmas Eve 2007

The sky is blue, the sun is shining brightly upon the newly-fallen snow, and the icy streets gleam wickedly under the coating of salt and sand. The bitter temperature is rising as the winds shift from north to south, and the friendly neighborhood squirrels are alternately chattering and running along the old wooden fence that borders the property.

My German Shepherd is curled up on the couch as I write these words, her long nose tucked softly under her bushy tail. My Christmas lights shine brightly and especially highlight the picture of Our Mother of Perpetual Help that graces the wall in the corner next to the tree.

The gifts are wrapped and await only bows and ribbons. My food contributions are in the refrigerator, and the wine for tonight and tomorrow is cooling in the garage. I have yet to wrap the two special bottles of red wine for my brother and his girlfriend, who will be joining my family for tomorrow's feast.

I had to run out this morning to complete just a couple simple errands, and let me tell you, the roads are still just awful. However, with the warming temperatures today, by the time I must journey down to the home of my dear brother, the main highways should be fine. Just the same, I will be taking extra care.

Mass this afternoon begins at 4 pm; I plan to arrive a little early so as to spend extra time in prayer and preparation to receive my Savior. Last year, unfortunately, this Mass was a Life Teen Mass, and it was so disruptive to any attempt at contemplation that I left completely rattled; yet grateful to be able to celebrate the birth of Christ.

This year, while I pray the Mass doesn't involve drums and other inappropriate non-liturgical instruments, nothing will disrupt my joy. For just a few weeks ago, I thought I was going to lose my Mom, and this very night I will see her and rejoice not only at the birth of Christ, but her own continuing presence in our lives. And people, this world is a better place because my Mom is in it. This docile yet fiery matriarch of our tiny family is teaching me more about living sacrificially than I'll ever be able to read in the lives of the Saints. It will take me the rest of my life to unpack what she has taught me and continues to teach. And so the greatest gift this Christmas is my mother.

Thank you, God, for another Christmas with Mom. I couldn't ask for anything more.

And so today's Mass will be offered in thanksgiving for her life and her sacrifices. After Mass I'll head home, pack up the car, feed the dog, and we'll journey south, mouth watering for the old family tradition of oyster stew and various treats, and the newer tradition of wine and cheese, great conversation and relaxation in front of a good movie.

Mom has already told me she got gifts for my dog...three squeaky toys to drive us all crazy, likely accompanied by treats that I won't give her at any other time of the year. But we've discovered that her presence in the home, curled up on the rug in front of the fireplace, completes the scene of family contentment making us rather resemble a painting from the Saturday Evening Post. Especially considering that my brother's and my own antics juxtaposed against the peacefulness of the dog and the Christmas tree and the serene mother is reflective of Christmases past, and hopefully, future.

It has been a difficult Advent, a true period of waiting. I did not succeed in my Advent promises, but at the same time, the sacrifices that were made were some I could not have planned and did not understand until it was complete. So as we began Advent with a certain hope, travelled through that dark valley and came out the other side, always our companion has been hope. Even admist the darkest trials, because the Savior of the World has come, we are not alone. We come to realize that even when we feel most abandoned, that is when we must behold the face of Christ, for it is only in our suffering and patience that we are able to most resemble Him. And even when we can't understand it, we learn that just as the Blessed Mother cradled her Son in that cave so long ago, so she now cradles us and directs our own gaze to the Star of Bethlehem.


Merry Christmas!

Abandonment

Every so often I pick up St. John of the Cross and read "Dark Night of the Soul", just a few paragraphs at a time. I have not yet tackled the entire book. I have Father Dubay's "The Fire Within", but haven't finished it, and here and there I come across St. Therese of Avila and references to her work. Throughout many of the writings of the saints are descriptions of "abandonment", and it gives me pause; I have to wonder what it means. The thought terrifies me. It's not that I recieve so many consolations from God, but the very thought of spiritual abandonment simply makes me quake. In reading the Saints, I realize that whether I recognize them or not, the fact that I experience consolations really means I'm just an infant in the spiritual life; and I have to admit that the thought of holiness to the degree experienced by these Saints doesn't sound like something I want to pursue.

It's not that I don't want to be holy; rather, I'm terrified of the sacrifice required in order to be like Jesus, in order to walk in the shadow of His cross, and of the rigorous training course established by God to purify our souls to such a degree.

More often than not, I read about consolations, affirmations, the comforting presence of God, knowing that He is there, recognizing His will in so many things. I read about ecstacies experienced by the Saints, their experience of God, and certainly it would be awesome indeed to attain this level of sanctity, but it does not come without a price.

And even then, after they come...there is ABANDONMENT. The sensation of abandonment; God withdraws all consolations. Such utter spiritual dryness and seeming desolation that the one affected must carry on simply as an act of the will; it is a desert, a purification. And yet, in spite of this seeming desolation, God is even closer to that particular soul; it is a special sort of suffering, beyond true description.

And it terrifies me.

This morning as I walked my dogs in the utter darkness of the early morning, shivering in the cold, dreading my workday, I considered the concept of abandonment and thanked God that I am not anywhere near that point in my spiritual life.

And then it came to me; while I have not experienced what the Saints describe, I have experienced something that gave me at least a little perspective.

My Dad passed in early January 1995, and it took me MONTHS to really grieve. I didn't know what to do, what to say, how to act, so instead, I was just angry. And sad. And desolate. All those things, and more, and yet I lived my day to day life, losing my faith along with the rest of the world.

Even though my parents had been divorced for many many years, for some reason I dreaded Christmas with a strange sense of horror. We wouldn't talk to Dad. We couldn't buy Dad gifts. Nothing was coming from Dad. It was Christmas...without Dad.

I couldn't bear to be around my family, for his absence was even more absent, and because I hadn't seen him at all since my high school graduation, about 3 1/2 years prior, my guilt just ate away at me.

I had graduated early and was working for the college that winter, so I made sure I was on the Christmas schedule. Prior to Christmas I had gone home, celebrated "Christmas", stayed overnight and then headed back to the school. It wasn't that I really wanted to be alone...I just didn't want to be around family. It was odd.

But I DID want to be alone because when I was with them, I felt even more alone; Dad's loss was that much more painful, and I couldn't handle it.

It was so painful it was like a burn; it left my nerves deadened; I was numb. It was a grief so deep I could not express it to anyone, not even to myself. So I fled civilization for the haven of the school from which I had graduated and I enclosed myself into the darkness of my grief, trying to understand.

And I've never felt so incredibly alone in my entire life.

On that Christmas Eve, I couldn't even stand the very room I was in. No one was at the college; no one was anywhere. The dorms were abandoned, the bluffs were silent.

And it was into the bluffs I fled, under the Christmas Eve stars, into the shadows of the trees and the confinement of the snowy creek banks.

I just walked, alone in that darkness, tramping through the snow, wishing I could cry, wanting to scream, wanting only relief from this terrible, terrible pain. I wondered if I was depressed? I considered that seriously, but no...I knew what depression was, I had all the symptoms indexed in my mind for professionally I had worked with truly depressed people. No; I was far too functional to be depressed. Dysthymia? Nope...not that either.

Intellectually, I knew that this was grief, I knew I was not handling it well, and whenever I confronted myself with that reality I shoved it aside in favor of wallowing within the pain, wanting to understand it, needing to purge myself of it, but not wanting to go to anyone else for help to do it. I was far too independent for my own good.

But I didn't care; I just wanted to be alone. Alone with God, seeking my faith again, seeking the God I had grown up knowing. And yet I didn't know him.

So that night as I walked, I spoke to God. I berated him for this pain, I berated him for taking my Dad away from me, and I cried out to him about my own guilt.

I remember sitting at the side of the creek, suddenly realizing that I felt completely alone; completely abandoned.

Abandonment.

In the middle of the cold winter wildnerness, surrounded by the frozen forest, unable to even hear the waters gurgling under the ice and snow.

I was numb; I was abandoned. I cried out to God, but He did not answer me, nothing was revealed. Nothing was changed, nothing purged, nothing healed.

I realized that I had gone out to seek God because the futility of my own actions had so far gotten me nowhwere. And yet I was still rejecting the Church which had always been my solace before. Even as I sought God, I was running away from him.

I remember that terrible, terrible numbness; not just from physical cold, but this strange spiritual numbness; Abandonment.

I remember a couple of tears fell...and froze on my cheeks. Frozen just as I was inside.

Slowly, I stepped out on the ice, knowing where the little waterfall was. I knew I was being stupid for there was no one to hear my screams. I was not suicidal; far from it! Yet I almost hoped I would fall through a weak spot in the ice, to be partially submerged; water ran under that ice all winter. Even the harsh Minnesota winters would not completely freeze that rushing stream.

I didn't want to die; I only wanted to shock myself into feeling something again. Anything other than this terrible interior pain. Anything other than this hopeless feeling of complete and utter desolation;

Abandonment.

But the ice didn't crack; even it was silent, refusing to give me the relief I so desperately craved.

I walked back to my room, to the warmth, still numb, still alone within my pain, still bereft of God.

A small miracle...I tried to go to Mass the next day, and oddly, couldn't find one! I must have gone at the wrong time, and there was no one to call to answer my questions as to WHEN!

So even when I finally went to find God, the door was closed and locked, sealing my abandonment.

I was in a ghost town, literally knocking on the door; and no one answered.

I can't remember how I got through that terrible phase in my life. Probably just fell into the routine of work, but I do know that the terrible sensation did finally ease. I do know that over time, the grief ebbed, leaving mostly only the anger...and finally, acceptance.

Grief is still painful and sometimes catches me by surprise with its razor-sharp edges, yet never since that Christmas Eve have I ever felt that terrible abandonment.

In looking back, now I see a blessing; a spiritual purging I did not understand. I chose the separation, and now now I look back and realize that it could be a shadow of what is to come. God was right there with me the entire time, likely crying the tears I could not, likely closer to me than He ever has been before or since.

For it is in our abandonment, the Saints have learned in their wisdom, that God is closer than ever, and we can't find Him or see Him because he is holding us so closely we are blinded by his love and compassion. Even in snowy, frozen bluffs of a cold Minnesota Christmas, God is there, and sometimes, when it seems like He isn't answering, it is because he is speaking so softly that it takes years to understand his words.