Forgetting About God's Love

I've been going through a long period of spiritual dryness, struggling in prayer and still trying to wade through my days at work. Certainly I have continued to pray, especially the rosary (some days that's all I could really manage), and work in the Lord's vineyard.

Perhaps a side-effect of working within the Church is "being there" for others, preaching about how God loves them, struggling to love others even in their worst moments, and, well, this kind of thing takes a toll.

Today at Mass I received the answer to what has been ailing me. The homily was about Eucharistic Adoration, and because of work, of late I've missed mine a great deal. But this priest, this blessed priest of God gave me a huge reminder as to why we go to Adoration:  because God loves us.

I sat back in my pew, astonished that I'd forgotten such a simple, basic thing. I've been, in my spiritual life, focusing on how I have to love God, and I do love him, and want to love him more. As I listened and pondered and took the priest's words to heart, I realized that in all that loving, all that work, I wasn't at all praying about how God loves me.

This is something I've often struggled with; I've written of it before. But somehow, in the last several stressful months, I forgot that I'm not the one who's supposed to be doing all the "acting". That's God's job. For me to be effective in my work, for my prayer life to bear fruit, to even have a "life", it starts with God's love...for me.

All of us learn to love because we have first experienced love.  John Paul II, in Redemptor hominis, as well as in many other writings, pointed out time and time again, "Man cannot live without love."  Indeed. Everything we are, everything we have, comes from God's love, His very Goodness. If we are to love, we first must know His love. If we do not realize we are loved by God, how can we possibly carry love to others?

We can't. It's as simple as that.

So my advice to you, if you are struggling in prayer as I have been, take some time away from your regular meditations and just BE in God's presence, rest there, and ask Him to reveal to you how much He loves you.  Let him love you for awhile, so that you can learn to love Him more perfectly.

Mere Politics?

Recently I had a conversation with a friend who lamented her father leaving the Church because the Pastor in question had gotten too involved in "politics", and he didn't intend on going back until the Pastor in question left.

Interestingly enough, he went to the Lutheran Community down the road, who didn't avoid "politics" but who, it just so happens, had a platform with which my friend's father happened to agree.

Methinks that if one is following a Faith based on politics, one's relationship with God is inherently disordered.

What, you may ask, were the political issues in question?  

 Abortion and Gay "Marriage" of course!

So many people accuse Catholics of bringing Faith into the public square, and condemn us for it. They try to shut us up and send around Facebook Memes designed to shame us into silence. Shame us with profanity into keeping "our beliefs to ourselves."

To those I respond blatantly that since they who are trying to shame us are clearly living their lack of faith so publicly, it gives equal license to we who believe to do the same. We will not be silenced simply because a few people want us to shut up. In fact, we will be more vibrant still, for we CANNOT be silent in the face of injustice.

On the issue of "Abortion", it belongs to the deposit of the Catholic Faith that life is sacred. It belongs to God alone and always has, from the beginning of time. The fact that this issue has for several years now come into the political sphere does not render it political property. We as Catholics believed and advocated the sanctity of life from the very beginning and this is present in the writings of even pagans in observance of the early  Christians (who were only Catholic as there were no other Christian denominations until 1500).

The Other "Political" Issue?

Thanks for asking!

The other "political" issue at hand, at least here in MN, is the push to re-define "Marriage" to include same-sex  couples.

Once again, people of Faith are not being allowed to comment without being shouted down by all sorts of vile accusations.

Why? Because we have logic on our side. The arguments from those who oppose the MN Marriage Amendment argue from emotion, not logic. They argue from mere "feeling" and a fundamental misunderstanding about the nature of marriage and the nature of love.

You see, their argument goes something like this (and I used to fall within this belief myself, until I woke up and began questioning the status quo):

* "People should be allowed to love whom they want. No one has the right to tell them they cannot love someone."
*  "How dare someone tell me I cannot be happy?"
* "Telling me I can't marry my same-sex partner is relegating me to second-class citizenship."
*  "You hate me! You're a hater! You're a homophobe!" 

You get the idea. It gets tiresome.

The reality is this: "love" according to cultural definition has NOTHING to do with the nature of marriage. What our culture calls "love" is, in reality, mere lust, mere superficial desire and attraction. It does not desire the eternal good of the other. It does not look beyond this world.

So, to address the first point, people can "love" whom they want. This amendment does not limit freedom of consortium or association. It simply states that such association or consortium does not match the definition of "marriage", which is a union of one man and one woman who are bonded for the ultimate reason of the foundation of society and the upbringing of children in a stable relationship and for the common good.

On the second point, regarding "Happiness", well, don't get me going on that definition. How do you define "happiness"?  I seriously doubt that redefining Marriage to match the definition of "Anything Goes" would really give "happiness" to anyone. No one is being denied "happiness" but for their own personal definition that happens to be temporal and quite transitional. Given the state of "gay marriage" in other states, and the rate of divorce and infidelity, I seriously doubt the MN amendment would do anything other than render more people miserable by definition and give divorce attorneys more of your money.

The charge of relegating same-sex partners to "second-class citizenship" is just plain silly. You see, when compared to slavery and REAL Civil Rights issues, the question was not about the DEFINITION OF MARRIAGE. It was about WHOM was allowed to Marry, and yes, it WAS, back then, a civil rights issue as people were actually not allowed to marry even though under Biblical and natural law it was clearly permitted. Same sex "marriage" on the other hand, simply doesn't exist as it does not meet the basic nature of what marriage has always been and what it intends. A man and a man and a woman and a woman cannot between themselves be fruitful without unnatural intervention. And that unnatural intervention actually opens a whole other Pandora's box as it necessitates the death of many children in vitro. In natural marriage, the miscarriage of a child is a tragedy. In Same-Sex "Marriage" the death of many children is part and parcel to create from a dish, only one child.

On the final inflammatory point, no, I don't hate anyone. I do hate temper tantrums though, and find them to be far less dignified when put on by full grown adults who know better, and I'll treat them in the same way as I treat a child: by ignoring him or maybe, in severe cases, by throwing a glass of ice water on him when he gets to be too loud and tiresome.

I am quite tired of being "hated", however, because I'm Catholic. I'm tired of people accusing me of "not respecting" them. I'm tired of people doing to me what they accuse me of doing to them when I've done no such thing.

I'm tired of the heterophobics and the Catholophobics and am tired of being treated as a second class citizen because I am Catholic. But then again, that's our lot, isn't it? Because we have a LOT to live up to and here is an examination of conscience for all of us who claim to be Christian, no matter what our Faith or Denomination:

FROM A LETTER TO DIOGNETUS

From a letter to Diognetus (Nn. 5-6; Funk, 397-401)

"Christians are indistinguishable from other men either by nationality, language or customs. They do not inhabit separate cities of their own, or speak a strange dialect, or follow some outlandish way of life. Their teaching is not based upon reveries inspired by the curiosity of men. Unlike some other people, they champion no purely human doctrine. With regard to dress, food and manner of life in general, they follow the customs of whatever city they happen to be living in, whether it is Greek or foreign.

And yet there is something extraordinary about their lives. They live in their own countries as though they were only passing through. They play their full role as citizens, but labor under all the disabilities of aliens. Any country can be their homeland, but for them their homeland, wherever it may be, is a foreign country. Like others, they marry and have children, but they do not expose them. They share their meals, but not their wives.

They live in the flesh, but they are not governed by the desires of the flesh. They pass their days upon earth, but they are citizens of heaven. Obedient to the laws, they yet live on a level that transcends the law. Christians love all men, but all men persecute them. Condemned because they are not understood, they are put to death, but raised to life again. They live in poverty, but enrich many; they are totally destitute, but possess an abundance of everything. They suffer dishonor, but that is their glory. They are defamed, but vindicated. A blessing is their answer to abuse, deference their response to insult. For the good they do they receive the punishment of malefactors, but even then they, rejoice, as though receiving the gift of life. They are attacked by the Jews as aliens, they are persecuted by the Greeks, yet no one can explain the reason for this hatred.

To speak in general terms, we may say that the Christian is to the world what the soul is to the body. As the soul is present in every part of the body, while remaining distinct from it, so Christians are found in all the cities of the world, but cannot be identified with the world. As the visible body contains the invisible soul, so Christians are seen living in the world, but their religious life remains unseen. The body hates the soul and wars against it, not because of any injury the soul has done it, but because of the restriction the soul places on its pleasures. Similarly, the world hates the Christians, not because they have done it any wrong, but because they are opposed to its enjoyments.

Christians love those who hate them just as the soul loves the body and all its members despite the body's hatred. It is by the soul, enclosed within the body, that the body is held together, and similarly, it is by the Christians, detained in the world as in a prison, that the world is held together. The soul, though immortal, has a mortal dwelling place; and Christians also live for a time amidst perishable things, while awaiting the freedom from change and decay that will be theirs in heaven. As the soul benefits from the deprivation of food and drink, so Christians flourish under persecution. Such is the Christian’s lofty and divinely appointed function, from which he is not permitted to excuse himself."

The Truth About God's Love

Earlier this week, I had a wonderful conversation with a friend who shared with me some of her own profound experiences in her relationship with Christ. It was because of these that she was able to recognize His reality, even physical reality, in her life. She expressed how she had come to recognize His gentleness, His respect for us and where we are in our relationship with Him, no matter how limited or open, and, most importantly..his incredible love.

It's hard to really understand and internalize that love, for in our human frailty, we most often fail to love either ourselves or others - and all love is a participation in God's divine charity.

This morning I went to the Adoration chapel at my parish to pray the Divine Office and Morning Prayer before completing my errands, still pondering what she had said.

While I don't normally read or pray the "Psalm-Prayer" after every Psalm, today one portion of it from the Office caught my attention:

"We, your children, are weighed down with sin; give us the fullness of your mercy."

That line spoke volumes to me; we are, in fact, weighed down with sin, and only God's great mercy can relieve the crushing burden. Note in the prayer that we don't ask only for a little mercy, but boldly, we ask for what Our Lord has provided through the Cross: the FULLNESS of His mercy.

In prayer, even though we are "weighed down with sin", we still go to Him, prodigal children, humbly demanding  our birthright.

It was then that it struck me more profoundly than it ever has before; we have nothing.

I thought of my financial burdens, my burden of sin, my worries, my physical possessions...all of it. In prayer I said to Jesus, "I have nothing to offer because all I possess is my sin; that originates with me."

But no; even sin, even my greatest sins, are taken away through God's mercy in the Sacrament of Confession.

The only thing any of us truly possess, the only thing that makes us fully human, the only real treasure to be sought has been given freely; God's incredible, merciful, fiery Divine Love.

We are all poor in our mere possessions and money; no matter how much we have, it is nothing.

The ONLY thing we really need is not tangible, but is far more real than the biggest gem right down to the smallest penny: God's merciful love.

With that, we have far more than we will ever need; we have only to accept it so that we, too, can bring it to others.

Thank you, Jesus

A Time to Live - a Time to Die

It is a season of death and today, the message and reminder came to roost.

We are watching the world around us wither away and die, and although this death is characterized by brilliant colors, even as those colors peak the sounds and sights and smells of life are changing, drying, withering, and disappearing, life ebbing away.

Tuesday morning I had to be to work earlier than usual so took my dog out to walk in the pitch-darkness of October's pre-dawn.  A huge storm was encroaching upon us, massive hurricane-like winds predicted, sustained over the next 36 hours or so. It was raining a little, and the wind was nearly still.

As we walked among the scattered wet leaves, as the rain fell upon us, as we made our way in the darkness, I took note of the stillness. I reflected upon the fact that I could not hear the birds chirping anymore; they had all fled. Weeks ago. Each day seemed to be more silent than the last.

The only sound other than the wind in the trees, was our footsteps, but even those were muffled in the wet darkness that encompassed us. I stopped to let my dog sniff at a particularly interesting tree (to her, anyway), sensing the approach of the monster storm, feeling the pressure, my hands aching, sometimes sending piercing pain up my arms, like nails at the base of my wrists.

A piercing pain suddenly shot through my ankle and I had to limp the block back home, through our silent and apparently-sleeping townhome complex.

I was reminded that every day, we are dying, too.

In the summer, even the mourning doves sing when a storm approaches, but even they are silent now, having fled the oncoming Minnesota winter.

The geese, usually so vocal during those early morning hours, remained mute, not daring to take to the skies. It was too dark to see them in the nearby field where they normally gathered, but I knew they were there, hunkering down, staying together.

Even the crows, those carrion eaters so ubiquitous especially in late summer through fall and winter, often aggressive in their presence had nary a caw to offer.

Ah, yes, the season of death makes its true advent. Ahead of the violence of the storm, all are silent, as if awaiting the judgment to come, taking the opportunity of the rapidly decreasing barometric pressure to be a sign to lay low and wait; which, for we humans, tends to call us to reflection and repentance.

We can learn a lot from the behavior of animals; from their presence and from their absence.

It's been very dark and dreary these last several days, and between yesterday and today, the midwest has been terribly battered by a massive storm doing massively bad things to people and property.

And in the midst of this terrible storm, a friend and volunteer of mine received his own earthly judgment.

Is it a time to live? Or a time to die? 

He came in to talk to me tonight, his demeanor grim, but...mundane. He's not an alarmist, but even in crisis has the patient air of someone who has been through everything. Something about his expression tonight, about the tone in his voice told me that his request to talk to me was of priority and could not wait. It didn't matter that five other people were waiting to speak with me regarding their also very important questions or comments or business. Or that several others came to wait in the crowd needing attention.

Last year he was diagnosed with cancer and although had given a commitment for his volunteer work, he wasn't sure if and when he could show up as scheduled. He wanted to be present as much as he could. We needed him and of course, he wanted to continue his life as much as his cancer treatments would allow. Everyone was praying for him, and when his cancer went into remission, we all rejoiced with him.

Recently, he revealed they thought his cancer had come back and they were, of course, "doing some tests". They weren't sure yet.

But tonight...tonight, he gave me the update, and he got the news only today:  9 weeks to 11 months left.

Not "left until the last chemo treatment" or "left until he gets to go on vacation", but...left.  As in the end of earthly life.

The cancer has spread to his brain, and now he's having seizures. They are minor ones limited to appendages, but they could manifest in any way. He had to talk about "A Plan", at the behest of his doctor, because he intended to continue in his service. I considered asking if he'd rather not, but of course, I know this man; he'd rather die in the traces for he was happy in his life of service and prayer. I did ask him what his plan was (in case he wanted an easy way to say he wanted to step down), but no, he is going to push through, and was going to talk to his class so that they would know what to do if he "went down".

The entire conversation was surreal, and although I knew other people were gathering, needing things, asking questions, it didn't matter. It was as if we were in a pocket of silence, and oddly, people didn't insist on intruding as they normally do. It's as if they somehow knew that this conversation was, quite literally, life and death.

I knew he would not have wanted tears, and by God's grace, they were kept at bay as I focused on the tasks at hand for his behalf.  As soon as he left the office, I fielded all the others who were there, and ran up and down the hallway, making decisions, taking care of business; all those things required of my job.

As if I hadn't just heard the most devastating news, knowing the friend we were losing, wondering how we would handle this, help him and respond to the grief of all those who will be touched by this. Wondering who to tell, who not to tell.

Having to remain silent about this news, even with other volunteers, until my co-workers knew, and my superior was busy in another part of the building.

I had to be silent about this terrible, devastating news of terminal cancer of a man who only recently lost his brother to the same disease.

After I had handled all the "fires", I went into my office and sent out prayer requests, blinking back tears. There was no time for tears; there was work to be done. It didn't matter that people would sympathize and want to pray for the man; it wasn't the time. Among the living, work must be done on behalf of the living, and right now, my friend is still living. He's tough; he would not want to see sorrow, but hope.

He doesn't want pity, but prayers for God's will for him.

If nothing else, he needs time to truly come to terms with the news of his terminal status, and even with that, find a place for hope that maybe it is not yet so; he is not ready to leave for eternity.

But yes, it's hard, and this evening was a hard evening. I was thankful for the "busy-ness" of it for it kept me from being able to reflect upon my own sorrow by redirecting me to the needs of others in that moment. It allowed me to retain a professional demeanor so that I could respond to some other very serious needs without being emotional about any of them.  I could smile and joke and pretend to be normal, having received a blow that was anything BUT normal.

I don't know what's going to happen. It's possible that his cancer will again go into remission. That IS possible and his doctor is doing all he can and my friend is holding on to this hope even in the face of the honesty he may not be with us in this earthly pilgrimage for much longer.

As devastating as this news is, I so love that he is determined to not let anything change. He is continuing to live his life as he is able and I am humbled at the humility he is exhibiting as he passes through this dark valley. I am humbled by his family, through their prayer for him in Eucharistic Adoration.  I am humbled by his own faithful witness in the face of this news and, truth be told, it was his own strength and no-nonsense attitude that  kept my own emotions at bay tonight.

Before he left, I gave him a hug and promised prayers, not just from me, but from all those I know.

Please pray for him. I can't tell you his name or where he is or anything that identifies him, but know he is a faithful Catholic, a dedicated father and grandfather, a retired teacher, a volunteer, friend to more souls than one can count, a mourner, a cheerleader (if more along the lines of a drill sergeant), a man of deep prayer, a man of deep faith who knows that death doesn't erase dignity, but only carries it to a higher place; one that is eternal.

Right now, he is embracing his time to live, if only to prepare for his time to die.

God's will be done.

Consummation

Yesterday, Pentecost, I attended a Low Mass in the Extraordinary Form.


Sacred Heart had a beautiful high altar, but no communion rail and so prie-dieux were set up in rows at the foot of the sanctuary, leaving a space in the center as one would find had a communion rail been present.  The attendance was very low, just a few families and individuals scattered throughout; the kind of crowd certain media bastions love to photograph.But oh, was the Spirit alive there, and bearing fruit with virility... 

Come, Holy Spirit....

This Pentecost Mass was a Low Mass; no music, but the prayers usually inaudible during a Missa Cantata or a Solemn High Mass were audible to us which made it easier to follow along. (Not that I did a good job at doing so.)

Still, it was perfect for Pentecost, for the silences were deeper without the ostentatious professional choir that inhabits a local Baroque parish, a different kind of beauty in full compliment to the raucous noise found in other places. God does not come as a storm or an earthquake, but in that still small voice, if only we could stop shouting into the wind long enough to finally listen.

I relished the simplicity of the silences, the rhythm of the Latin prayers, the genuflections, and the chance to "offer up" the pain in my bad knees from their constant contact with long-petrified kneelers.

When it was time to go forward for Holy Communion, I recalled, as I always do, that we are proceeding to the foot of the Cross so that we may take the flesh of God into ourselves; the very Sacred Heart of our beloved Savior. I remind myself that we are being fed from the Tree of Life; given the fruit of the Cross, the author of eternal Salvation.

The anticipation grows, almost becoming an anxiety that there "won't be enough".  I want that kind of desperation for the Sacrament; the constant draw, the hope, the anticipation that leads to that raw edge; almost a fear of loss.

I know that because I have that intense interior longing at times, that the Most Holy Sacrament of the Altar indeed has value, more than anything else on earth. (I have not yet become too jaded to recognize Whom I am receiving.) When I have those moments of intensity, I hold on to them as tightly as I can, retaining them in my memory for it seems that daily, the dryness of the spiritual life encroaches even further.

This time, instead of kneeling at the rail, I knelt at the prie-dieu and waited, listening to the priest offer, "Corpus Christi" as he blessed each Communicant with the Sign of the Cross, holding Christ between his finger and thumb. I listened as he came closer, the anticipation building.

As I always do, I gazed from the alter to the Crucifix, visually taking in Love Incarnate, nailed to the Cross...for me. 

Kneeling there wasn't the same as the Communion rail, and I could not stop the lament that rose from within; the opportunity to kneel at the same marble as the altar so as to receive from the same altar of Sacrifice itself. I was all too aware of the spiritual poverty of our age, and yet, joyful,  for here was a priest who could read the signs of the times and provide the spiritual sense of the rail, if not the reality. And in the Mass, the most important symbols transcend their reality to lead us into the deeper reality of the Paschal Mystery; eternal union with God Himself.

I knew, therefore, that it didn't matter that this makeshift "rail" wasn't actually of the identical material of the altar; the spiritual meaning far transcended what was under my knees.

Father and the altar server were nearing; now I could see peripherally the Sign of the Cross being made with the host at the intonation of "Corpus Christi".

As I continued to fix my gaze upon my Crucified Lord, I suddenly realized I could not recall whether or not to say "Amen" in response. I thought back to the different forms of the Mass at which I've assisted; the Ordinary Form in the vernacular (Amen!), the Ordinary Form in Latin (Amen!), the Ruthenian Rite of the Byzantine Church (non), and the Extraordinary Form of the Roman Liturgy (?????). I couldn't remember.

I tried to listen but I was so absorbed in Christ for the moment that the responses (or lack thereof) were lost to me.

My white lace head-covering  caught my peripheral attention as, subconsciously I sought to see how soon I'd be receiving Our Lord.  The veil itself (usually I wear black) was reminiscent especially on Pentecost, of a Bride's veil, of her purity. I recalled my First Communion veil, not really understanding that even then, I was a Bride of Christ and that all First Communicants are representative of the entire Church, past, present and future. First Communion Masses often feel like weddings because they ARE...and so is every Mass!

I was lost in time, but not a bit anxious about that fact. I wanted to kneel there forever, even if it meant waiting, even if Father eternally came close, but never brought Our Lord to me. It was sufficient to me to know that He was there; Holy Communion begins long before the actual moment of reception.

The voices and movements were closer and my heart pounded, thirsting for what was being offered to me. It is always this way at the communion rail; there is always this elongated moment of anticipation, this time to gaze upon the Cross, to absorb the Sacrifice made on our behalf, the Sacrifice calling or our own conscious and willing union, our own specific consent to the self-sacrifice required of every Catholic. Even in a few seconds, we experience this extended lifetime of intimacy, drawing us deeply into the fiery intensity sweetly burning Jesus into our souls, one heartbeat at a time.

As always, I was nearly trembling.

Finally Father and the altar server stood before me. I heard him intone, "Corpus Christi", and he made the Sign of the Cross over me, holding Christ in his hand as he spoke, the movement in perfect synchronicity with the Latin words announcing that finally, Jesus had come to me in all of His hidden Glory.

I opened to receive Him, giving of myself so that we might become one in this eternal moment of consummation, praying that this union would bear fruit not just in this world, but through eternity.

Father and the server left us in privacy as the next of the Mystical Body took their places at the foot of the Cross.

I crossed myself and stood, regretting having to go so quickly, but taking My Beloved Lord with me to the pew, kneeling there in silence, delighting in my Savior, thanking him with a quiet certainty far from superficial emotionalism. When tears arose, they caressed my eyes as briefly as a lover's kiss, falling upon the interior so as not to spoil the gentle afterglow.

*   *    *

2 O that you would kiss me with the kisses of your mouth! For your love is better than wine,

3 your anointing oils are fragrant, your name is is poured out; therefore the maidens love you.

4 Draw me after you, let us make haste. The king has brought me into his chambers.

We will exult and rejoice in you; we will extol your love more than wine; rightly do they love you.

~ The Song of Solomon 1:2-4

Come, Holy Spirit...

Gov'mint Cheese and Powdered Milk

On this Feast of St. Catherine of Siena, in the Year for Priests, I was going to post some more of her commentary on the Priesthood and the dignity of Priests. But I couldn't write that post today.

Instead, in her spirit, in honor of her life and her charism, I direct you, my readers, towards those she served most often, and to whom she dedicated her life:  The Unloved. The Forgotten. The Sick and Infirm.

Many think of the GREAT things St. Catherine did, including her role in ending the Avignon Captivity and the restoration of the true Pope.

Many try to misuse her name in favor of the laughable efforts of the "womynpryst" crowd in abusing her image for themselves with regard to their assessment of "speaking truth to power.".  Methinks St. Catherine would have something quite severe to say to such a crowd that does so much to taint the face of the Bride. Being a Catholic has nothing to do with "power": it has to do with service, and more importantly, our Vocation to Holiness.

The very moment "Power" enters into the conversation, holiness and salvation are no longer relevant. Oh, do I wish St. Catherine could speak today!

But, as usual, I digress.

Tonight....tonight, I speak to something dear to St. Catherine's heart. It has nothing to do with politics, and everything to do with humanity and God's holiness...and therefore, her holiness.

A Brief History

Many don't know that St. Catherine was cloistered in her own home for three years, serving as Anchoress to those who came to her for spiritual direction.  God Himself called her to this cloister, wherein He spoke to her through mystical experiences, but finally directed her Himself to leave the cloister to help her mother and to serve the poor.

St. Catherine was obedient, left the cloister of her room and like our modern Blessed Mother Teresa, went to serve the worst of the worst, and to great criticism.  She was never without both physical and personal persecution in her response to God's will.

She was not a feminist. She was not a politician. She was simply and purposefully a willing instrument of God in a world desperate for His Divine Love. As such, all she did was done according to God's will, and from what I know of her, she may well have been privy to the Divine Processions, and as such, to abuse her charism for political or ideological gain is an outright blasphemy. Let God be the Judge.

My Friends...St. Catherine is an EXAMPLE...stop trying to make her an exception to the rule! 

We are ALL called to holiness!

We are ALL called to grow  in holiness!

St. Catherine shows us all by her own example that before we can truly serve others and bring them to Christ, we must first be formed ourselves, and yes, that might be a very painful process!  For some (dense people like me) we need more advanced intellectual formation to feed our spiritual growth. Others are in more need of solid formation in prayer, which require, as a foundation, the basic tenants of our faith...such as the Catechism of the Catholic Church.  Unfortunately, for the last 50 years + (even beyond, far beyond the Second Vatican Council) that formation has been absent.  This is one of the reasons for the Council; to answer this deprivation of formation.

The fact is this:  If we go out to serve the poor and unfortunate out of a natural desire to help them, that is a good thing. But without a foundation in Christ, it is mere secular social work and has no eternal merit for either our spiritual growth or that of those we serve.

We are not called to be Government employees;  we are called to bring souls to Salvation in Christ!  

We can't give what we don't have, and if we don't take the time for supernatural formation, then all we have to offer is the spiritual equivalent of "Gov'mint cheese and powdered milk." **

This is one of the greatest messages of the life of St. Catherine;  like Christ, she lived by example. She spent time in deep prayer, and in her extraordinary case, was supernaturally formed by God Himself.

Most of us, no matter what our Vocation, don't have the benefit of such a grace of  mystical marriage with God, but that does not excuse us from our own foundational spiritual formation in accordance with our proper state in life. At a minimum, we MUST attend Mass every Sunday and Holy Day, we MUST, if we really want to serve God, attend more often as we are able, and seek to cultivate a life of prayer. The prayer of a wife or husband is not the same as a contemplative nun or monk, and the prayer life of a child usually doesn't match that of a priest. Yet we are all called to make Our Lord the center of our lives, through the Sacraments, thorough ongoing conversation with God...without which we can NEVER attain holiness and salvation.

We, all of us, as Catholics, are called to be formed, not just for ourselves, but to go out and form others. To serve others, to be Christ to others, leaven to the world, salt of the earth. To bring loved to those who are not loved.

There are no exceptions to this. There are different callings...but no exceptions.

Who Around You Subsists on Gov'ment Cheese & Powdered Milk?

Do you even know?

Who is your brother?  Who is your sister?

Many years ago, when I was a rookie police officer, still in Field Training, I was sent to my first Death Investigation.  We were called to "check the welfare" because the person's newspapers were piling up outside his door. The landlord was present with us when he keyed in and we discovered the resident of that apartment was dead.  He'd been there for a few days....and no one noticed.

Only the newspapers piling up outside his door gave a cue only the Landlord...that something was wrong.

No one else called. Not family. Not friends.

The Landlord. The guy he paid to live in that building, in that place. And when a payment wasn't due, he wasn't noticed. Think about it:  the only person who noticed something was the person being paid to notice, and he barely knew him.

We checked the dead man's phone. Nothing on the answering machine.

This guy was invisible to everyone but his landlord, who noticed his stack of unread newspapers.

This guy is your brother, and he died alone, and it took DAYS for someone to notice.

To St. Catherine, he would not have been invisible. To St. Catherine, he would have been noticed. He would not have died alone.

If we learn anything from St. Catherine it should be that our love for our neighbor flows from our love for God, and if we do not love God, we cannot properly love our neighbor.

Look around you. Take a hint from St. Catherine, and if there are any near you who are unloved, hard to love, or invisible, reach out to them.

Maybe your effort to reach out to one soul won't change the world, but it might save a soul, or at the very least, ensure that maybe that soul won't die alone and forgotten.

St. Catherine...pray for us!  

Footnotes:
Those of you who, like me,  grew up on Commodities will understand this reference to "Gob'ment cheese and powdered milk". Outside the US...leave a comment and one of us will define.) 

Fall in Love Again

Last night I was ready to delete my blog.

I was ready to just walk away from the whole mess. Every so often I get fed up with the snark and vitriol of the internet world, and truth be told, I get fed up with myself as well.

But I can't delete myself, so I don't really see how deleting my blog will help anything.

It's been a tough Lent, maybe my personal worst EVER. I fall...I get up. I fall again. I get up. I fall again. It's like my legs are made of rubber. I can't get out of the dirt, but then again, all I'm looking at is dirt. Even when I get to the point that I'm ready to lift my eyes, something else happens and I am thrust once again into the throes of disaster. I quite literally haven't been able to lift my head for weeks!

I've realized some of the problem is in my prayer life;  I had intended to spend MORE time in prayer each day, but I haven't been faithful to that. In fact, I don't think I've even really tried! It seems, actually, that the closer we get to Holy Week, the less focused I am, and the worse I'm doing.

This morning though, while walking my dog, taking in the fresh air and sunshine, I addressed these problems to Our Lord. I gave him my misery and asked Him about a particular insight that came to me last night. I gave Him my lack of Hope and my absolute weariness, asking Him, "When will this end?  How can I be ready for Holy Week? How can I be ready for YOU?"

Jesus has been silent of late, letting me wallow, and for good reason. I prayed for conversion, for I realize that I am in desperate need of conversion. That is the goal of this Lenten season for us all, but I did have a special request and a special focus. Until today, I thought that I had lost focus. As it turns out, my prayer has been answered.

God is faithful.

As I see now, He was allowing me to really wrestle with my own sin, ask those deep dark questions, and finally fall, exhausted, into the mud. It is only here in this weariness that I could finally see what has been lacking. It is only by experiencing this utter blindness that I finally can recognize my spiritual desolation and from that point, be brought to conversion.

This morning, while walking, I finally heard Jesus speak, and His words were simple. "Look at Me."

Huh?

Again, the words came to me; not in a locution, but in that still, small voice from within:  "Look at Me. I'm right HERE. LOOK at Me!"

And I looked...and that's when I understood.

I've been all over the place this Lent. I've been looking elsewhere, but He was within. He called, he shouted, but I couldn't hear because I had taken my eyes away from Him.

Conversion isn't some difficult theological construct. It doesn't require knowledge or philosophical understanding or complicated definitions.

Conversion is, simply put, falling in love. It is the state of turning toward God, toward the Author of Life, and allowing oneself to be inflamed by the fire of Divine Charity.

All Jesus asks us to do in Lent is to fall in love with Him again.

All He is saying is, "Look at Me."

When we do, when we really look at Him, we can't help but fall in love.

Late have I loved you, O Beauty ever ancient, ever new, late have I loved you! You were within me, but I was outside, and it was there that I searched for you. In my unloveliness I plunged into the lovely things which you created. You were with me, but I was not with you. Created things kept me from you; yet if they had not been in you they would have not been at all. You called, you shouted, and you broke through my deafness. You flashed, you shone, and you dispelled my blindness. You breathed your fragrance on me; I drew in breath and now I pant for you. I have tasted you, now I hunger and thirst for more. You touched me, and I burned for your peace. 

~ St. Augustine, Confessions

Talking With God as a Child

Today I read a wonderful post by Msgr. Charles Pope, and found myself alternately nodding along, smiling, laughing, and tearing up with his observations, and in the video he posted.

Children have this incredible gift, that, in their innocence are are fully who they are, they are perfectly honest, and haven't learned the terrible adult habit of censorship. In children, tactlessness is endearing, can be painful to us if we are the target of their observations, and they are shocking in their familiarity with God.

Wait.

Shouldn't we ALL be somewhat shocking in our familiarity with God?

After all, it is through Jesus Christ that we can call God our Father, and even beyond that, we can call Him ABBA! God invites our familiarity, for it is only in knowing Him that we can love him....and in loving Him that we can know Him.

Today I realized what has been lacking my prayer life: childlike familiarity with my Father.  I regularly pray the Liturgy of the Hours and find it to be indispensable;  when I miss an Hour, I feel like a chunk has been taken out of my soul.  If I miss my Rosary, I feel like I'm cheating somehow, and recognize immediately the distinct absence of Our Lady and Jesus in my life, for it means I have chosen my own will above love for Our Lord.

There are times that I go to my Adoration Hour and pray the Liturgy of the Hours as "duty" as opposed to doing it because I love it, and love Our Lord, in whose presence and in whose very words I pray.

There are times that I miss NOT having those devotions, and that faithfulness to the official Prayer of the Church (the LOH).

I've come to a point that even though I know true prayer is an ongoing dialogue with God, and that the Rosary and the LOH are part of that, and facilitate it, it is somehow not...enough.  It almost causes a disconnect, and that disconnect is my fault. It is up to me to not limit myself to what I HAVE to do, but to spend time talking with Jesus, and listening with all my heart and soul.

So what if I've had a bad day?  Why NOT tell Jesus about it and complain to Him?  Perhaps He can help me put the situation in perspective and turn the complaint into a blessing!

And what if I get new running/walking shoes (which I desperately need)....shouldn't I bring both my old and my new ones to the One I profess to love so much?  Why wouldn't He care about such small needs?  Doesn't one who loves another care about the little things?

Children don't hesitate to bring anything to Jesus. They come to Him as they are, they are totally honest in what they are thinking and feeling and believing or not believing.  Isn't He the source and the end of all things? The Alpha and the Omega? Why can't we, as adults, be as honest and direct, for after all, Jesus knows us far more deeply than we know ourselves!

Our humanity is not offensive to Jesus. What is offensive is the denial of our humanity and in our denial, our tacit refusal to rise above the animal nature to cooperate with grace that seeks to elevate us.  How can we be elevated if we refuse to even enter into conversations that bare our souls, giving Our Lord a chance to enter into and elevate us beyond what we can see in our blindness?

I have decided that, during this great season of Lent, I need to focus on being a child again, and  speaking with Jesus with the same forthright honesty, whether or not it puts me in a bad light.  I need to put aside my terrible plague of self-love and be who I am, in all my moods, in my sin, in what is good. I need, in short, to be willing to be child-like in the face of God, a very Teresean Spirituality (St. Therese of Lisieux), knowing my littleness, knowing God's Fatherhood, and recognizing that, truly, spiritually, I am not beyond the level of infancy.

How better to approach God than as a tiny infant? How can He resist? To reach for Him with tiny hands, with little smiles, widened eyes, random giggles, engaged in everything as if for the very first time.  Growing into toddlerhood wanting to know more, to be with He who is loved, gazing upon Him with adoring eyes, focused on every gesture, speaking every word to Him from the heart.

I want to recover this form of child-like prayer, in all its boldness, in all its humility, in all its expression of true respect, honesty, devotion and above all....love.

Pondering the Wound of Charity

For a couple weeks now I've been thinking about love, and by that term, I mean Charity. This comes partially from my Moral Theology class regarding the Theological Virtue of Charity, and partially from my own musings over time on the Passion of Our Lord.

It should go without saying that when I look upon the Crucifix, I see love in its most pure form. There, in that moment, is contained....EVERYTHING. Even I, in my utter insignificance and desolation am caught up and drawn in to those Holy Wounds, becoming even less so that He can be revealed as more.

While attending a talk, some of the words of the priest who was speaking struck me and caused my "contemplative" side to make a connection. Nothing new or interesting, but only one of those little arrows from God that we all experience from time to time, when a teaching is suddenly internalized.

REAL Charity Wounds

I considered how real Charity creates a wound, a blessed wound that continually bleeds in such a way that it can't be staunched. This is not a "mushy" love, but rather, a type of pain not held inward, but expressed outwardly, like the very gush of arterial blood. It can't be contained. Yet the more it gushes, instead of causing mortal death, it rather is the very expression of the font of life.

Every so often I feel that blessed wound, and know that it has changed me. At times the bleeding is only a trickle. At times I staunch the wound myself with my sin, cutting myself off, refusing to serve the Lord. I let the blood flow clot, I wrap it up and I turn away.

It is only through the Sacrament of Confession that I bring that bandage in to be removed, for through God's grace, He reminds me of His own deep love for me, prompting me to realize that I cannot stop this flow and SHOULD not, for by bleeding, my own blood is united with that of Jesus.

I go to Confession and reveal this encrusted, infected bandage, this terrible blockage, this monstrous clot to the priest, who removes it gently and tells me how to let this blood of Charity flow more perfectly, how to, through this wonderful wound, unite myself to the eternal Word who waits only for me to stop placing obstacles in His way.

For when my blood, in this sense, flows, it is truly His, not mine. This wound that in life would be mortal death, in the Spirit, belongs to the mystical nature of our supernatural relationship with our Beloved Savior.

As He suffered and died, so are we all called to do, according to His Most Holy and Divine Will. Not on the natural plane, but the supernatural.

Purity of Love

I have been pondering my own dedication to Jesus, the purity of my love for Him. I have such a devotion to His Passion, and prefer to look upon the bloodiest of crucifixes to remind myself of the blood He shed...for me. I have a hard time accepting that very personal sacrifice, that it was done for ME.

In all honesty, I have a hard time considering that ANYONE would die for me, for I don't think I am worth such a sacrifice. I get caught up in looking at my nothingness, my sins of omission, my lack of importance in the world. Why would ANYONE think my life would be worth THAT sacrifice??? What a waste!

I find it hard to believe anyone would find ME worth dying for. If they were pondering it, I'd stop them and put my own head into the noose, or point the deadly scimitar to my own heart.

In my Pride, I wouldn't let anyone die for me so personally, for if I ever met someone so magnanimous, I would want them to live for they could contribute so much more to the world than me. Someone so brave is worth far more than me. It is I who should go...not them. In fact, I've experienced this, in part...a story for another post.

In any case, I didn't have a choice in the Sacrifice of Christ, did I? So I realize in that thought process that I think as Man thinks, not as God thinks. The God who called me out of eternity, through love and into being, continues to hold me in existence, and in fact, DIED for me on the Cross! In spite of who I am and who I am not.

The more I ponder the Cross, the more I love God, the more I understand the necessity of sacrifice, the more I expect the "curse" of suffering. For in order to be conformed to Christ, we have to suffer and become the Accursed ourselves.

Why Do I Love?

My own Love, my own Charity is imperfect.

The other night, while praying Compline before bed, I gazed upon the Crucifix and upon my picture of Jesus in His Agony. His love for US isn't in question. His very personal love for ME isn't put to the test; it has been clearly defined.

Rather, I considered the hierarchical nature of creation, of the Church, of love itself, and how God's own love begets love. We return to Him what He gives us, and the more we return, the more we grow. The more we allow to flow through us, the more we are given. The font of charity never decreases, but only becomes greater, even if it were to flood the world, it would not be enough.

I looked upon Our Lord and wondered: Do I love Him ONLY because of what He did for me? Is my love for Jesus dependent upon His Sacrifice on my behalf? If so, then it means I only love Him for what He has done for me. It means that my litmus test for God is, "What have you done for me lately"?

Do I love Jesus ONLY for what He did for my Benefit?

Can that be accurate? If so....how SELFISH!

I had to seriously consider that. Am I in love with Jesus just because He is the ONLY one who would ever die for me?

If so...my love is conditional. My love is based ONLY upon something that He DID...not who He IS.

That ISN'T love. Love isn't selfish.

I had to ask myself: if Jesus had NOT died upon the Cross for me, would I still love God? Or would I be selfishly looking for benefits of knowing Him?

Where is my focus? Am I just "receiving" or am I willing to GIVE?

Am I bleeding freely in union with Christ...or am I placing a barrier between my own personal sacrifice and anyone who might benefit from my immolation?

When I look back at the Prophets, at the great Women of Israel; they operated on Faith. They loved God not for what He DID for them, but for Who He IS. Even the Prophets, BEFORE they knew God, loved Him. Before they were privy to the Divine Processions...loved God in a particular purity of heart and intention. They knew the Mystery and loved because they recognized God was worthy of their Love...even before the Sacrifice.

The recognized God, they loved Him, and they poured their ENTIRE BEING out for Him on behalf of their people. It was THEIR sacrifice that preceeded HIS. It was THEIR Sacrifice that was proleptic of HIS and in fact, it was HIS Sacrifice that made theirs both meaningful and possible.

It was their FAITH expressed through WORKS that called down God's Justice. They raised their souls to Him and let their blood flow in a fountain we recognize even today. They sacrificed themselves in divine Charity, Hoping in what they could not see, having Faith in what they did not experience.

That wound of charity, that wound that comes only through the love of Christ Himself, binds mystically as it flows.

It is no wonder this doesn't make sense to the natural world, for it seems oppositional. Yet it is, as we read in the Gospels, that we lose what we try to gain and gain what we are willing to lose.

I realize that I do not love Jesus as I ought. I recognize that my love for Him is conditional, for my blood does not flow freely. I keep bandages on hand so I can stop the arterial rush when it becomes too much for me. I reserve that flow for my own desires, rather than trusting in God. In my imperfection, as that blood overflows, I don't recognize it as grace, but as my life leaving my control and so I grasp even at impure wrappings to slow it all down.

I do not love God as I ought. I have been deeply wounded by the Charity of Our Lord, but instead of letting the blood flow from me as it did from His wounds and His side, I bind it up in fear and trepidation.

Oh, that Jesus would rip those bandages away and force me to hold my hands outward so that His love could overflow!

Why, oh WHY can I not TRUST in His Divine Salvation?

Why, oh Why do I try to staunch the wound given to me through His Love?

Why, oh Why, can I not love as I ought, and why do I attach conditions upon what I am willing to give in spite of what has been so freely given?

Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner!

Say Something Nice About a Priest Meme

Cathy tagged me for this Meme, the purpose of which is very simple: say something nice about a Priest!

The only problem I have with this is that I am blessed to know several priests who have touched my life and have brought me closer to Christ. I have so many priests I'd like to thank, including those I consider to be good friends.

So where do I begin?

I've written before of the unknown priest who heard a very difficult Confession. I've written of the one who anointed my Mom a couple years ago when we thought we were losing her during our Deathwatch Advent.

Maybe the best thing to do is honor the priests I know through recognition of the unsung and very hidden things they do; the simple things that perhaps mean more than any of us can understand. And in this case, I have to honor three priests, for the trilogy of them did the very same things for me, and at the same time. Clearly, I'm such a difficult case that one was simply not enough for the task! Or was this perhaps just a reflection of the Trinity found in a triangulation of good priests?

You decide.

A few years ago several things were converging at the same time: I was called to teach RCIA, a very new experience, and I was applying to Graduate School. It was perhaps a 9-month period of time during which all of this occurred, and it was all related.

When I looked over the materials for the Catholic Studies program at the University of St. Thomas, I saw that they were looking for recommendations from professors, but would accept that of priests if we had been out of school for a long time. I immediately approached two priests at my parish; my Pastor and one of the Associates. In all honesty, I didn't think either of them knew me well enough to write a recommendation, but I told both that I would answer any questions they had and provide any information required even to make a decision!

My Pastor simply told me to provide him with the form and he would return it in the provided envelope. The Associate asked me to come into his office so he could get a little more of my background and intentions, including my desire to teach RCIA that year. Up to that point, I really hadn't done much for my parish so had a very short resume as it applied to the Church, except for my "ministry" in Jr. High and High School. As an adult...NUTHIN'! But in the end he accepted the recommendation form, feeling he could answer their questions honestly. I was grateful.

In the meantime I began teaching RCIA. Enter the other Associate, who, upon realizing how nervous I was about my first foray into formal catechesis of others asked if it would help to meet with him and talk over the lesson I was planning. I accepted his invitation gratefully and found there an ally and a friend. He gave me some good tips on teaching in general, and, although he couldn't attend the first big talk I gave, he came into the classroom at the end to heckle me and see how it had gone. In fact, he entered the room with the other Associate who also had known how nervous I was and also wanted to provide a little support.

Later that fall, after Thanksgiving, I found that I was accepted by St. Thomas as a "special student", meaning I I could not qualify for financial aid. Given the cost of classes at St. Thomas, I could not afford to go, and sadly informed my references of the good news...but that I had to delay. I was looking into all my options.

That's when, at a fledgling Theology on Tap evening, Fr. W., my biggest RCIA supporter, upon learning my news told me about Ave Maria University, recommended the program and said he had brochures in his office. He knew they were offering a class beginning in February and suggested I look into it. Another person there, an acquaintance of mine, told me more about it and that he was looking into it as well, although he was in the Catholic Studies program at St. Thomas already. We discussed the two programs, and I realized that Ave Maria was truly was I was looking for. Had Father W. not mentioned it...who knows where I would be?

I picked up the brochure the next day and solidified my intention: I took that one class, the Writings of John Paul II as a special student, but was able to pay for the tuition out of pocket. In the meantime I was conferring with my Pastor, who also knew of my financial problems with UST, supported my looking into Ave Maria, and was familiar my agony over whether to apply there or not. I found that I might qualify for a scholarship...so much to consider!

And in all this time, I was teaching RCIA, with my Pastor, the other Associate Fr. H. occasionally present either to hear my reflections on the upcoming readings or my catechesis on the topic for the evening, depending on what was assigned for that night. I found them always to be helpful, supportive, and given it was my first year teaching, found it significant that at no point did either of them ever stand up and with a pointing finger yell out "HERETIC!" Nor did they accuse me of such in private.

It was a great help to know I was not a heretic or teaching heresy!

(Although Fr. H., upon a discussion as to which one of us was going to give the teaching on Sin, suggested I do so because, as he said, "You were a much bigger sinner than I was." Thanks, Father!)

And yes, I gave the teaching, and yes, Father would have been better at it even though it's probably true that I was the bigger sinner!

Our Pastor, although not as prone to the same kind of humor, like Fr. H. was always available for my questions as I prepared for the classes or had my own to ask. Just as surely as I was trying to form the (sorry, but true) largely uncatechized Sponsors, Catechumens, and Candidates, the Fathers were forming me. All three of them. It was that big of a job.

That spring I decided to apply to Ave Maria University formally, to be accepted into the Institute for Pastoral Theology. Once again I went to my Pastor and Fr. H., the same two who had written on my behalf to the University of St. Thomas. And once again, they agreed to help. I felt guilty; I knew I was giving them more work, and already they were stretched so thin, and I had delayed in my decision, leaving a deadline closer than should be comfortable. Both, within a couple days, either returned the sealed envelopes or sent them on directly (I forget which), and as I checked the box on the form agreed that what they said would remain confidential, to this day I have NO IDEA what they said about me, either for UST or Ave Maria. And because I agreed to confidentiality in their responses about me, I have not asked any of them about the content of their letters.

All I know is that I was accepted to BOTH programs, and I didn't do it on my own merit, but also that of the Priests who supported me without question. None of them questioned why I wanted to pursue the degree or what I ultimately wanted to do with it. They understood that I was seeking holiness, had a thirst for knowledge, and even though, really, maybe they should have hesitated in offering a recommendation on my behalf not even knowing what kind of STUDENT I was, they stuck their own necks out for my good, probably hoping for the full good of the Church.

I hope and pray I can live up to their expectations.

When I sit in class, I remember the priests who helped me get there. That includes the one who didn't write a letter, but first told me about the program and gave me the brochure. I can't write about this process without including him...he was instrumental.

Three Priests. Three of them.

Two of those Priests, the same two that wrote me letters for grad school, also served as references for my current job in another parish. True to the Mission of the Church, they formed me and sent me on, beyond the walls of our own parish, entrusting me not only to their own pastoral care, but that of the grad school they helped me to enter, and sending me to carry on the work of Christ in another place.

I am not very active in my own parish right now because my work in another and my grad studies take me away. But it is home, even though those same Associates aren't there any more, having moved on themselves. I see them occasionally and owe one of them an email. Our Pastor is still there, and sometimes asks me how classes and my job are going.

You can see why I had to mention all three priests here, if not by name. You can see how they all worked together to help this poor soul get to where she is now: still a poor soul, but one now in her last year of grad school and considering more.

It is definitely a relationship of trust, for I knew I could go to them for help, and even though they MUST have seen me as a risk to their own reputations, they offered what they could on my behalf. I am a different person now, in many ways. I could not have entered this program without them, for I had nowhere else to go. They gave me experience and helped me to develop skills. They offered support for further education, and, like Jesus, considered that their risk was worth it.

I pray that, in the end, if, God willing, I finally earn this degree (graduation in June 2010!), my effort will justify their risk, and I pray that everything I do in the future helps them to earn merit for eternity.

Thank you, Fathers, first for laying down your own lives for us all, but more personally:

* For your example of Faith in Christ, every single day, constantly

* Your example of Him to me personally, in the Sacraments (esp of Confession!), and in meeting with me when I've had questions

* Your (seeming) unquestioning support and trust in my endeavors

and finally...

* Being a true Spiritual Father in something small and hidden but which, for this particular soul, means the world, and might mean Eternity.

Thank you, Fathers. God bless you. I pray for you every day: it's the least I can do.

Love,

Your Spiritual Daughter

~ Adoro

*

This is such a great Meme, and although maybe it would be proper to tag 33 in honor of the years of Christ on earth, maybe I should actually stick with the rules for once and tag only 3. So I tag:

Angela

Fr. Schnippel (Priests aren't formed in a vacuum....)

Uncle Jim

I encourage you all to remain obedient to the Meme, to honor "a Priest", but if you have to honor a few who worked together...I look forward to reading what you have to say! :-)

Contemplate the Cross

WHEN you are alone in your room, take your crucifix, kiss its five wounds reverently - tell it to preach you a little sermon and then listen to the words of eternal life that it speaks to your heart; listen to the pleading of the thorns, the nails, the precious Blood. Oh what an eloquent sermon!

~ St. Paul of the Cross, Flowers of the Passion

Today is the Memorial of St. Paul of the Cross, priest and founder of the Passionists. I have a special devotion to him for many reasons, although I am only now beginning to discover his writings. Devotion to the Passion of Our Lord is a rare thing, especially in today's culture that seeks to escape suffering...never to embrace it. Yet in contemplation of Jesus, how can anyone expect to really know and love Him without that perfect unitive love that comes ONLY through suffering?

It is ONLY through suffering that we can know Christ with any real intimacy. He invites us into His Passion, to contemplate His wounds, suffered for love of us. He gave all. The Father looks at us through the wounds of Our Lord, and through those same wounds, we are absorbed into Him and given the grace to rest, completely, within His Most Sacred Heart.

"Love is a unitive virtue which appropriates the sufferings of the Beloved."

Spend some time each day contemplating the Cross, seeking to unite yourself with the Passion of Our Lord. Recall that each time you attend Mass, you are kneeling at the very foot of the Cross, the one and only Sacrifice of Calvary, having just offered yourself as a holocaust in union with

Him. Know what you are seeking, know what is being made present to you, and know that it is possible to be completely lost within the wounds that bring us all to salvation...if we are only willing to drink deeply of that cup so freely offered for our sins.

"Would that I could set the whole world on fire with love of God!"

St. Paul of the Cross....PRAY FOR US!

A Couple Observations

Love/Hate

Have you ever noticed that the things that bug you MOST about other people are also those things that are most endearing? A co-worker and I discussed this today. We have another co-worker who has certain traits that drive us CRAZY, yet when she is absent, we chuckle over them and I realized today that if she DIDN'T do those things...she wouldn't be, well....her! She wouldn't be who she is.

This made me realize that if she left, the things I would remember most fondly about her would be the stuff that drives me crazy now.

When I think back to old friendships, loved ones who have left for eternity, I remember their crazy quirks for those are the things that remain ingrained in my memory, and I thank God for giving them a facet of their personality that will ensure they will never be forgotten.

Priestly Vocations

I keep hearing this crazy myth that young men aren't interested in the priesthood anymore. Have you heard this myth, too?

What amazes me is that, well...it simply isn't true. Part of my job is to assist with interviewing candidates for Confirmation, and as part of that we discuss vocational discernment. Nearly every young man I have interviewed has expressed an interest in the priesthood, albeit some are more serious than others. I always encourage them to pursue where God is calling them and I speak positively about the seminary and the priesthood in general. I also point out to them, if they seem hesitant, that the seminary is just a beginning and that God will lead them. I also speak positively of marriage, of course.

It's always a short conversation and once it's done, I don't return to it, never wanting to pressure anyone. But I find most girls have looked into or think they would consider religious life, or would like more information about it, although the difference for them is that they leave it at "consideration." Overwhelmingly most girls believe they are called to marriage and if pressed to make a decision "now", they would say marriage. Why? They don't know enough about religious life. They don't know any Sisters although they think it's interesting.

There is no "Vocations Crisis".

Vocations are alive and well...the crisis is in the fact we have dropped the ball and haven't presented to our young people all of their options.

It is something we're working on in my place of employment, and if these kids being interviewed are honest, well, it is working. Seeds are being planted. We are doing a lot to promote the priesthood, but it's an uphill battle to promote religious life...simply because it isn't very visible. We can only do so much. A speaker here and there isn't sufficient.

Priests are witnesses by their very presence, immediately identifiable. We don't have Brothers and Sisters running around in habits to provide that same kind of witness. (We don't have any Sisters and Brothers WITHOUT habits running around here, either.) Even with the things we do to expose the kids to religious life, well, if it's not visible in the Church as a whole (in their experience) then it will never be enough to just talk about it on one evening of their life.

*

We have to do more.

Little Acts of Love

It's been a hard day for me, harder than in previous years. All day long I've either been crying or right on the edge and have had to work hard to joke with others at work. No one at work knows what I was going through today and I don't want them to know.

I hate it when people see me crying. And I don't want to worry people. Maybe this is one of the reasons I'm anonymous online...because as an anonymous I can write of these things and no one will call me up and make sure I'm not slicing my veins.

Which I'm not, by the way. Just sayin'.

Because I'm sad, though, I want to write of something beautiful.

All day, God has been with me, He has spoken to me, and although I can't share anything concrete, I can write of a revelation of love, which in turn reminds me that love isn't in big showy events, but small "inconsequential" ones that are hidden from sight.

Conversations from the Monastery

When I visited the Cistercians and it was clear that God had drawn me there in order to know Him in the silence, without pressure or expectation, it freed the conversations had with the Vocations Director there. We spoke of many many things, and on that Sunday, we spoke specificially of God's little acts of love.

We spoke of those times where we see something and desire it, perhaps a small thing, such as flowers. Any kind of simple pleasure, in fact. Sister said she finds she'll desire something and thinks to herself, "That's so stupid! I'm not going to ask Him for that!" And so she'll remain silent, her hidden desire obscured as she goes throughout her day or week.

And then she'll find that the very object of her desire, the very blessing for which she refused to ask...would land in her very hands. She would recognize that gift, and as she sat in front of me describing this, she dropped her head, her veil falling to frame her face as she stared downwards in surprised humility, softened in her reception of great love.

"Awww!"

Contained there was recognition of God's love so great He responds to the smallest requests, and a recognition of a lack of faith and love...to not ASK for the small things, thinking them insignificant.

God doesn't consider ANYTHING to be insignificant. He makes Himself present in the smallest things and delights in the little, unnoticeable acts of love.

I think He does this because we can't imitate the big ones, and so He gives us an example, something we can imitate every day to reveal Him to those around us.

If we don't know Love...we can't reveal it to others.

Maybe one of the reasons God sent me to visit the Cistercians was to know Him in His deep, personal love for us all, which is something I struggle to accept. I don't know who I am in relation to the Church, I don't know who or what I'm supposed to be, and so often I feel like I'm just floating on the fringes, invisible. Tonight, as I left Mass, I tried to talk to two people...who just walked away or remained in their conversations, not seeing me.

No, they didn't "shun" me. It was clear they didn't see me, which was fine. I'm not offended or discouraged.

It did remind me, though, to keep my own eyes open for others, as God keeps His eyes open for us, and responds in the smallest of ways, if only we are open to His gifts.

Little Errors

We also spoke of the little mistakes we make every day. I mentioned that during prayer that very day, a weird thought had interjected itself into my reading of Morning Prayer, rendering the Antiphon completely nonsensical and humorous. I had to suppress giggles as I apologized to God for my foible. At the same time I realized my apology was unnecessary as my goof wasn't intentional distraction, but simply arose sporadically, and God was probably laughing with me.

Sister and I spoke of how those simple little mistakes made us MORE human, MORE lovable to God, for He had created us in such a way that, even in our Fall, we make errors that are endearing, not sinful. And those little mistakes elicit great pleasure from Our Lord, who gave us a share in His own good humor. When we make little unintentional foibles, Jesus must laugh, given our good intentions that go hilariously wrong in our attempt to honor Him and join with Him throughout our long days.

I expressed to Sister that although I apologized to Jesus, I knew He was laughing, too, and in that, we drew closer to each other, giving the intended prayer even greater depth than that which was contained in the words and very history. It was my little error that made Him more present and more REAL to me, and in so doing, brought me more deeply into His Presence.

My Gift

While at the Monastery, hearing Sister's story of God's little gifts of love, I considered that very idea and shared with her my own memories of God revealing Himself to me in that way.

What I didn't mention was that I was hugely craving chocolate while on that retreat, and while there were chips and pop left for retreatants near a little mini-fridge in the guest quarters, there was no chocolate.

I did not ask God for chocolate, although I told Him of my craving and offered it up as random insignificant suffering. I was surprised at the craving while I was there and really thought it to be nothing at all.

That evening, the Guest Mistress told me that she'd have to set my place ahead of time in the morning as she had a prior commitment and wouldn't be available as usual. I said I'd be fine with whatever she set, and thanked her for everything, hoped she would do well.

The next morning after prayer as I sat in the guest refrectory, I saw a little jar that looked like jelly, but I couldn't identify it. I turned it, wondering if Smucker's had come out with something new.

The label read "Hot Fudge".

As I surveyed by breakfast table of cereal, bread, a toaster, milk, absent of butter or jelly, I wondered if there was some tradition I was supposed to know about?

Was this a Feast?

Was I supposed to put hot fudge on my cereal or smear it on toast in honor of something, or as a part of a community tradition?

As I ate my cereal, I contemplated that hot fudge jar, wondering why it was there. I had fallen deliberately into the "Everything is God's will" mentality to help me be docile to every little event at the Monastery, knowing in advance that I needed to leave preconceptions behind.

Perhaps I went too far as I contemplated the fudge; I almost missed the point.

Ah! That Little Signal of Love!

Then it hit me.

I pictured Sister GM getting my place ready before she headed to her appointment. She put everything out, and grabbed what she THOUGHT was jelly for my toast, for the pattern on the cap was checkered like all the jellies.

In her good will, wanting to make sure I had everything I needed, she gave me exactly what she DIDN'T intend...but God did.

As I ate my cereal, wishing for toast and jelly (I could have rung and asked for jelly but didn't, desiring to live in the moment and accepting everything), I realized the message God was sending.

Sister's little mistake was really a deep expression of God's love.

I hadn't spoken of my intense but unresolved random craving for chocolate.

That morning, the craving was gone, and it didn't matter. But there it was, if I thought I needed it. God answered, through the little gesture from His handmaid.

In contemplating the fudge, I contemplated my own mistake, and realized that God delighted in my mistake as much or more so than I delighted in Sr. MG's, for I did not ultimately see a "mistake" set before me, but an intention gone wrong, which actually was an answer to something deeper...and therefore an action giving the RIGHT response.

Real love.

God is in our little cravings, the things we don't want to request as we think them too small, and in our own tiny acts of charity for others. I have no doubt that Sr. MG, when she cleared my table when she got back from her appointment, realized her mistake. I hope that God helped her see, as He did for me, that it WASN'T a mistake, but a signal grace, a sign of love for us both. He used her as a willing messenger, and me, the woman in need of a tiny bouquet.

God does this for us and with us every day, if we would only be OPEN to Him. He DELIGHTS in the small things in our lives. They are what form us, what draw us, what draws others.

Ask anyone in friendship or marriage; what drew you and kept you together?

All who are honest and all that last will say the same; it is the small things.

It is the small things that reveal true love, it is the small things that reveal true friendship. Sometimes big things are needed (such as the Passion and Crucifixion), but before all that, wasn't Jesus a friend in small ways as well? Didn't He care for the most basic of needs? Didn't Jesus come to SHARE with us every human desire that would draw us to true holiness?

Doesn't any lover give not only where it is needed, but where a gift is wanted, especially if it is expressed without words? Isn't the hidden desire fulfilled a sign of true devotion?

Doesn't anyone who has love give to their object of affection or friendship something of beauty, something of desire...something so insignificant that no one else would know about it?

Love is in the small things. Let us learn to accept those little graces and give them as welll, for it is only in being a part of this that we can ever truly know God.

Romantic

It's a cloudy, rainy day in Minnesota, and something about this weather always seems to bring on a mood of cautious melancholy. For awhile I sat down to read one of my favorite books, Anne of Green Gables. I'm tired of deep theology and mystical spirituality. What I needed was...a bit of romance. A bit of an example of innocence and humor. A little dose of Anne Shirley.

For a long time now, I've wryly told people, "I don't have a romantic bone left in my body." In musing about that statement, though, I had to ask myself... "Is that really true?"

Have I gotten so jaded and cynical that I haven't a heart for romance?

Maybe the better question is, "What is Romance?"

Romance, like love in our modern age, isn't properly understood. It's become so warped that we who say we don't have it aren't really rejecting it outright, but perhaps the superficialiaty of this "enlightened" age.

Romance certainly can mean that one is prone to flights of fancy and impulsive acts of jealous destruction. However, the meaning is so much deeper than that.

We have this idea that to be practical, realistic, and reflective are antonyms to romance, yet I'd argue that without those three qualities, there can be no romance at all.

I've thought about my own writings, what I've written about discernment, conversion, and pursuing Jesus over the last few years. I've considered all of my words, spoken and unspoken, written publicly or written privately, the agony, the indescribable beauty of God, and I've now had to face my own hard statement: Can it really be said that I don't have a romantic bone left in my body?

Or is it actually that I've somehow managed to discover the true meaning of romance, just as I've learned the true meaning of love?

Real romance isn't all flowers and stars in our eyes and mooning about on tiptoe with our heads stuck in the clouds. I've rarely met a person like that, and if I have, romance actually had nothing to do with their sad condition.

No. Romance isn't fluff.

It's heartbreaking. It's sacrificial. It's a word that perhaps inadequately describes an indescribable interior motivation to go beyond where we ever thought we could in pursuit of understanding the deepest interior longings of our hearts. In that longing there is incredible joy especially when some of the final outcome is glimpsed as we follow that elusive lover from place to place, only to discover in the end that He has been present all the time, ever watchful, jealously guarding from the moment of conception.

Real romance is work, and it can be rejected, it can be lost, but not on account of the One we pursue, but through our own vile unfaithfulness. In this story, we are the antagonist, the adulterer, the unfaithful spouse constantly looking for salvation.

Perhaps its true, then, partially that I'm not a romantic. I fully reject the definition that limits the idea of romance to illicit affairs, celebrity clashes and bubble-headed characters of the big screen. I reject the hokey, ragged bodice-ripper paperbacks that could be put to better use as campfire kindling. I reject all of this because romance and love are supposed to be related and NONE of the above has ANYTHING to do with love, but only the pursuit of hedonistic self-satisfaction to the detriment of another soul.

No, I'm not a romantic. Not that kind. But perhaps I'm not entirely dead, either, for even as I reject the superficiality, I'm willing to embrace the fullness and the deepest truth of romance, for in some ways, I'm living it and writing about it.

We may not know how this particular romance will go, but we are all, every single one of us, called to enter into that story. Whether we are married or single, whether we are priests, brothers, sisters, friars, monks, nuns or hermits, we all have that deep interior longing for the elusive lover of our souls. He beckons us onward even when we cannot see, knowing that one day, if we follow and remain faithful, we'll be invited to that great unending wedding feast where we'll be bound forever to Him for eternity. We'll have to go through fire and flood, storms and collapse in order to get to Him, but we will go, because we cannot disobey the truth that calls us to carry on through any trial or tribulation. We do this, because He already did and showed us the way. Romance is that sacrifice, and our response.

That's real romance, and that's real love.

I guess I'm a romantic after all.