I don't often reference the News or News Organizations as, for the most part, there are so many other bloggers who do so that I figure my random two cents becomes part of a mindless echo chamber. Granted, there are stories that NEED to be put out there, and I am not adverse to doing so. But this is different and I think maybe I owe some publicity towards an organization that seems to deserve it! (It helps that I'm trying to study theology for my final and find this as a necessary diversion from that task.)
By accident, one day some time ago while randomly checking out my "Feedjit" widget on the side, I saw a reference to "Newsbobber". I'd never heard of them, so figured maybe I should check out this source apparently referring to me.
As it seems, they are an independent internet news service, collecting Minnesota-based news, and it seems they have a special love for Minnesota bloggers. (That alone makes me a fan; seriously, a news service that isn't disdainful or condescending of bloggers, but rather, HIGHLIGHTS us? Wow!) I'm especially impressed because of the fact they have determined a way to rank the top 100 Minnesota blogs (hottest blogs) , regardless of the subject matter. It's purely mathematical.
I can't pretend to understand it of course, as several blogs have the same score, but I think the difference comes from the way they measure the RSS feeds, subscribers, google page rank, etc. You can read their directory and ranking faq yourself for more information. Just don't come back and try to explain it to me. I really don't care at all and only provide the link for the mathematical geeks among you.
In any case, a couple months ago I sent this info to my friend Ray at Stella Borealis Catholic Roundtable, and he has apparently kept up his own analysis of the situation. I've kept my own tabs on the status my friends, such as Cathy of Alex at Recovering Dissident Catholic and Terry Nelson from Abbey-Roads but can't figure out why Swissmiss doesn't make the rankings, and I haven't seen my dear friends, the Hadleys & Company at Our Word at all. That's an absolute CRIME! (FYI....Our Word isn't specifically a religion blog, but discusses art, music, news, and contemporary culture. If they're NOT on your blog list then you CLEARLY haven't any culture at all!)
Based on Newsbobber's faq page, someone actually spends time with each blog in order to write a brief review, and based on the blurb about mine, they did their homework in that they are hitting the big points. I do have a quibble with what they said about mine as it seems to take three months of my life as a police officer and makes it sound like it was a bigger career. It wasn't. It was three months. An important three months of my life, to be sure, especially considering that I didn't get killed and no one died BECAUSE of me, but I can't deny that the experience lives on in me even now, so many years later. I don't fault the reviewer for this; clearly they were skimming and trying to get a feel for my main topics and who I am especially considering I continue to write under a pseudonym. All in all, I think their short commentary on my blog is fair and does tell the reader what they're up for if they click on my link. Kudos for that!
Anyway, that is my PSA for the month. If you are a citizen of Minnesota, someone from another state or country wanting to know what's going on in Minnesota, or a Minnesota blogger, this is a site you want to know about. Go ahead and suggest blogs, go ahead and patronize those you like: it will help their rankings.
******************
Disclaimer: I did not receive any blegging emails asking me to blog this PSA. I received no payment or kickbacks and I receive no benefit for linking to Newsbobber. I'm doing this out of the goodness of my heart for an endeavor I feel deserves attention, and for the benefit of my friends who deserve MORE attention.
With regard to the question on my heart: yes, I have one, albeit a bit cold or fickle at times.
Stop laughing.
*
Tuesday, December 08, 2009
Some News That Might Surprise You
First and most importantly!
Today is the Solemnity of the Immaculate Conception, and a Holy Day of Obligation. That means, my dear Catholic brothers and sisters, that you MUST go to Mass today! For those of you who are not Catholic, what we are celebrating is not the conception of Christ (which we celebrate at the Annunciation), but the conception of Mary.
So, people...GO TO MASS! I will be attending this evening in the middle of our first big snowstorm since I was too lazy to get my butt out of bed for the 8 am Mass, which I'm guessing was a school Mass, anyway. And I have to admit I'm not a fan of school Masses: a parade of readers, a different kid offering each petition, singing pithy songs to make sure we all know that "All Are Welcome". Ugh. It's an exercise in reinforcing and perpetuating the misunderstanding of "full and active participation" as opposed to what the kids should REALLY be learning about Mass and what it is, and cultivating in them a spirit of prayer...not activity.
But I digress.
Next piece of news:
I'm not very bright. (That part isn't news. That's a given.)
For a long time, ever since I had to put my greyhound to sleep, I've been pondering the idea of fostering. Most of the dog rescue groups in our area are foster-home based, and as I have a German Shepherd, I looked into one that tends to specialize in the breed. Last night I spoke with the woman in charge of coordinating these things, and got some more information, most of which was on their website. Foster homes don't incur expenses....the organization provides for food, veterinary care, a crate if needed, etc. All the fosters provide is a nice warm home, time (many of the dogs need at least rudimentary training), etc.
Well, in the midst of our discussion I kinda said...uh....Yes... (That's the news part.)
The dog she had in mind for me is from Missouri. Apparently the South is being overrun with German Shepherds, so they're transporting them to Minnesota for adoption, as the breed is in demand up here. I'll be getting a male, no idea how big he is, but I do know he's strong as an ox and has absolutely no manners. Just a winning personality!
I am still pondering this, going back and forth as it IS hard to have two dogs, especially considering I don't have a fenced yard. And with this oncoming snowstorm, I know that walking two dogs at once is going to get even MORE difficult!
But, alas...that is my idiocy. I was thinking with my heart again instead of my brain. Still, a dog like that will probably be adopted quickly and maybe I need something to shake up my life a little, and do something that will benefit someone else in the long term. My little Christmas Gift to someone who is looking for a good pet.Someone talk me out of this.
Oh, and I need to provide a name and number to them as a reference. They'll be doing a home visit to verify my living conditions (ie that I live where I claim to live, I'm not an animal hoarder - they're ok with book hoarding - and that in fact, my dog is healthy and happy and doesn't seem to be abused!).
Yeah, my little cream puff is currently hanging out on the couch snoozing. Spoiled dog!
Poor thing...she has NO IDEA what is about to happen...hope she is agreeable....
In Other News: GOOD JESUITS!
There are some really great, orthodox Jesuits out there and they are asking for help from we bloggers! From Fr. V. at Adam's Ale comes this announcement:
From AA's correspondent in Rome we receive news of this new site which was launched on December 1st. Fr. O reports, "This is a new online magazine that offers articles from Jesuits who are committed to orthodox teaching. There are two guys from the Biblicum on their editorial board (John Gavin and Jim Swetnam), and I can attest that they are priests of the highest caliber. Both of them teach Biblical Greek there (Swetnam is retired). Gavin is also well versed in Patristics, and Swetnam has spent much of his life studying Priesthood in the Letter to the Hebrews. They asked if we could get the word out to any "orthodox bloggers" that we knew."
Now, go check out their publication, New Jesuit Review!
Monday, December 07, 2009
Struggling for Trust
I've written before this of Trust, and it seems the more I learn from my studies in Theology, the more I learn about God, the more I learn about myself.
Everything is a new impact.
For so many years, I was in denial about the damage done to me by my parent's divorce, by my mother's bipolar disorder, my dad's alcoholism...everything. I've rationalized, "I turned out fine, I am a college graduate, a home owner, a taxpayer...."
Yet none of those "titles" reveals who I am, but only what I've done. It ignores the reality of my life. It ignores the fact that my struggle in finding my Vocation is deeply rooted in what has gone WRONG...not what has gone RIGHT. Which is fitting, actually, for Our Lord did not become Incarnate for those of us who are perfect, but rather, we who are sinners and in need of His Grace.
I have thought often, and have written, if you recall, on my problems with Trust. A family as defunct as my own doesn't lead to trust...it undermines it completely. Our parents are supposed to reveal God to us, and when things go wrong, we are shown a face of God that is not true. I loved my Dad very much, but he wasn't reliable, was too permissive in general, and didn't uphold a very clear image of God the Father to me. In fact, in many ways he was the very antithesis of God the Father. Mom started out well, but her own disease actually undermined most of it, especially when we got older and found that although we needed our mother...she was not there. We had to make our way....alone.
One of my biggest issues with accepting Mary, the Mother of God, as my own Mother was actually deeply damaged by my Mom's "mariolotry" while I was growing up, and her own reflection of what should have been an ideal...wasn't. I could write volumes on this.
My theological studies have done a great deal to reveal to me my own damaged nature. No longer can I turn away from the perfection God intends, no more can I deny that as much as I used to protest, I have to accept I HAVE been damaged by my upbringing, by those who were supposed to reveal the face of God to me.
To be honest to all, I have shied away from the Blessed Mother and I gaze upon Our Lord with deep mistrust. Not through will, but through ingrained instinct. Even as I struggle to come to Him, I cringe, I hide and so often, I run away.
For months now, I've been fighting with this reality, wanting to trust God, thinking that since I am aware of what causes my mistrust, by force of my Will maybe I can finally overcome it.
What idiotic thinking. What a recipe for despair!
No wonder I have been in such a spiritual depression! No wonder I have experienced such despair! No wonder I have lost contact with Hope.
I have been holding on by only a thread...for months now.
Months.
I've been grasping at straws...finally deciding to rest on what is left, knowing my struggle will only cause me to fall further.
Yet I have had a revelation:
Yes, we are to learn about God through our parents; the Decalogue (Ten Commandments) are numbered in that way for a reason. We see that first we owe to God what He is due, then to our parents, for they stand in for God until we can discern Him ourselves.
God is Faithful, and cannot be taken by surprise. It is of no matter to Him that my parents were not perfect copies of Him. He knew them before they were born, He knew their own struggles and what would happen in their parenthood. How could He NOT make provisions? Are we not all His children?
What I have come to realize is that it doesn't matter that I was damaged; the fact that I was given a deep mistrust is, in fact, my Cross to bear on this earth. Holiness doesn't depend on my parents, but upon my own willingness and desire to cooperate with God's grace. It depends upon His Sacrifice before my own can ever enter into the reality of this battle.
The fact that I can't rely on my mother for guidance, and was damaged by my father before he died doesn't mean that I cannot become holy. Rather, it is a gift, a very deep and personal gift, from Our Lord's Most Sacred Heart to mine. I guess it makes sense that blood is involved, and that it continues to gush in a way that no bandage or suture can staunch.
What God has given me is an opportunity to know and love Him as He is, for who He is, without seeing Him only through my parents. He has called me directly into the depths of suffering so that I could know Him that much more clearly.
This Cross that God has given me in the end will lead to perfect trust in Him, for He is all I have. He reveals His stability, His constant mercy, His ongoing friendship, His perpetual Sacrifice, even in the face of every faltering step I take, every fall, every disaster. Jesus is present and I don't continue to fight against my passions and the fires of Hell for anyone but for love of Him. The fire that burns in my soul, placed there through Baptism and Confirmation fueled like infused coal in Holy Communion, is far hotter and more purifying than the eternal fires of the Hell that seek to consume me in the Devil's eternal and unholy wrath.
So I thank God for this struggle, I thank Him for this Cross and I keep Him in sight as I continue to stagger through my vocational discernment and my temptations, knowing that if I only keep getting up, no matter how mortal the wound...maybe, eventually, I will find eternal life.
Not through my merit, but only through God's Grace...and my willing cooperation.
Thank you, Jesus.
I Trust in Thee....I trust in Thee....Lord Help me, I'm trying....to trust in Thee...
Everything is a new impact.
For so many years, I was in denial about the damage done to me by my parent's divorce, by my mother's bipolar disorder, my dad's alcoholism...everything. I've rationalized, "I turned out fine, I am a college graduate, a home owner, a taxpayer...."
Yet none of those "titles" reveals who I am, but only what I've done. It ignores the reality of my life. It ignores the fact that my struggle in finding my Vocation is deeply rooted in what has gone WRONG...not what has gone RIGHT. Which is fitting, actually, for Our Lord did not become Incarnate for those of us who are perfect, but rather, we who are sinners and in need of His Grace.
I have thought often, and have written, if you recall, on my problems with Trust. A family as defunct as my own doesn't lead to trust...it undermines it completely. Our parents are supposed to reveal God to us, and when things go wrong, we are shown a face of God that is not true. I loved my Dad very much, but he wasn't reliable, was too permissive in general, and didn't uphold a very clear image of God the Father to me. In fact, in many ways he was the very antithesis of God the Father. Mom started out well, but her own disease actually undermined most of it, especially when we got older and found that although we needed our mother...she was not there. We had to make our way....alone.
One of my biggest issues with accepting Mary, the Mother of God, as my own Mother was actually deeply damaged by my Mom's "mariolotry" while I was growing up, and her own reflection of what should have been an ideal...wasn't. I could write volumes on this.
My theological studies have done a great deal to reveal to me my own damaged nature. No longer can I turn away from the perfection God intends, no more can I deny that as much as I used to protest, I have to accept I HAVE been damaged by my upbringing, by those who were supposed to reveal the face of God to me.
To be honest to all, I have shied away from the Blessed Mother and I gaze upon Our Lord with deep mistrust. Not through will, but through ingrained instinct. Even as I struggle to come to Him, I cringe, I hide and so often, I run away.
For months now, I've been fighting with this reality, wanting to trust God, thinking that since I am aware of what causes my mistrust, by force of my Will maybe I can finally overcome it.
What idiotic thinking. What a recipe for despair!
No wonder I have been in such a spiritual depression! No wonder I have experienced such despair! No wonder I have lost contact with Hope.
I have been holding on by only a thread...for months now.
Months.
I've been grasping at straws...finally deciding to rest on what is left, knowing my struggle will only cause me to fall further.
Yet I have had a revelation:
Yes, we are to learn about God through our parents; the Decalogue (Ten Commandments) are numbered in that way for a reason. We see that first we owe to God what He is due, then to our parents, for they stand in for God until we can discern Him ourselves.
God is Faithful, and cannot be taken by surprise. It is of no matter to Him that my parents were not perfect copies of Him. He knew them before they were born, He knew their own struggles and what would happen in their parenthood. How could He NOT make provisions? Are we not all His children?
What I have come to realize is that it doesn't matter that I was damaged; the fact that I was given a deep mistrust is, in fact, my Cross to bear on this earth. Holiness doesn't depend on my parents, but upon my own willingness and desire to cooperate with God's grace. It depends upon His Sacrifice before my own can ever enter into the reality of this battle.
The fact that I can't rely on my mother for guidance, and was damaged by my father before he died doesn't mean that I cannot become holy. Rather, it is a gift, a very deep and personal gift, from Our Lord's Most Sacred Heart to mine. I guess it makes sense that blood is involved, and that it continues to gush in a way that no bandage or suture can staunch.
What God has given me is an opportunity to know and love Him as He is, for who He is, without seeing Him only through my parents. He has called me directly into the depths of suffering so that I could know Him that much more clearly.
This Cross that God has given me in the end will lead to perfect trust in Him, for He is all I have. He reveals His stability, His constant mercy, His ongoing friendship, His perpetual Sacrifice, even in the face of every faltering step I take, every fall, every disaster. Jesus is present and I don't continue to fight against my passions and the fires of Hell for anyone but for love of Him. The fire that burns in my soul, placed there through Baptism and Confirmation fueled like infused coal in Holy Communion, is far hotter and more purifying than the eternal fires of the Hell that seek to consume me in the Devil's eternal and unholy wrath.
So I thank God for this struggle, I thank Him for this Cross and I keep Him in sight as I continue to stagger through my vocational discernment and my temptations, knowing that if I only keep getting up, no matter how mortal the wound...maybe, eventually, I will find eternal life.
Not through my merit, but only through God's Grace...and my willing cooperation.
Thank you, Jesus.
I Trust in Thee....I trust in Thee....Lord Help me, I'm trying....to trust in Thee...
Saturday, December 05, 2009
Kyrie Eleison
I came across this tonight, a fictional piece I wrote during Lent at the beginning of the war in Afghanistan. My boyfriend at the time was serving for the Air National Guard and I was house sitting, had begun going to Mass again (at a liturgically-challenged parish) and was truly seeking my way back to Christ. This story came to me during Mass; there is more to it and I will share if there is interest. Please know that, as you read, IF you read it, this account was written in complete ignorance of liturgical norms and of course, of attitudes of real people serving overseas. I pulled from things in the news at that time and from, what I realize now, was a deepening understanding of the real meaning of Sacrifice. The following story is more about the mystical reality of the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass than anything else, and I pray that is transmitted.
***
The Mass began like a normal Lenten Mass, with a silent procession up the aisle, the congregation standing....waiting. The piano began to play soft background music as Father began the opening prayer. At intervals the choir and congregation sang the penitential rite:
"Kyr-i-e Ele-i-son! Chri-ste E-le-i-son, Ky-ri-e E-le-i-son!"
Mary bent her head, praying, singing along, wishing her son was with her. She wished this horrible war was over and her family could be back together again. Mary's husband Michael and their teenage daughter, Christy, stood on each side of her, and they all felt John's absence acutely. Theirs wasn't the only family member absent today; each week a Mass was dedicated to the parishioners who were serving their country in Iraq.
Father, intoned, "We offer this Mass today for Lance Corporal John Ames, 3rd Infantry, U.S. Marine Corps...."
"Lord, hear our prayer," responded the congregation.
Tears filled Mary's eyes, so touched was she by the support they'd received from their parish community. She hadn't heard from John since he left for the war. He was somewhere in Iraq; in that hot, horrible desert, doing his duty as he'd pledged when he joined the military. She prayed that Jesus walked beside him and his fellow soldiers. Around her, silently, the other parishioners did the same. Many felt the same anguish.
Ky-rie E-le-i-son, Chr-i-ste E-le-i-son, Ky-r-ie E-le-i-son!**
(**Lord have mercy, Christ have mercy, Lord have mercy.**)
*********************************
John knelt in the sand, stood in the sand and tried to breathe through the sand as the storm swirled around him. It was Sunday morning in America, and he thought of his family going to Mass, the devout Catholics that they were. He wished he was there. He wondered when he'd be able to go home again. And he wondered when this terrible sandstorm would pass. The wind was dying down, but until it did, progress would be very slow. At the moment they were all hunkered down, searching for the shelter they knew was there - if they could only get there. Although they were in their camp, it was easy to get lost and lose their bearings just from going from one tent to another!
John sat on the first cot he came to and pulled out his tablet. He was going to take the lull in battle to write a letter to his family as they waited for the storm to die down. He was keeping a collection of letters as he had no access to e-mail due to his job and mobility in the war. When he had the opportunity, he planned to send them all, in order.
He tucked the latest installment into his fatigues, keeping them all together to be sent to his family as soon as he was able. John picked up his weapon and walked into the desert, ready to embark on their next mission.
They learned that radar had picked up a line of Iraqi troops in the "surrender" position that the U.S. Military had detailed to them. The command staff cautioned them to be sure it wasn't an ambush, and to be ready to fight. They moved into the desert, into the darkness, guided by their contour maps and night vision goggles.
Kyr-ie E-le-i-son...Chr-ist-e E-le-i-son! Ky-r-i-e E-le-i-son.
*******************************************
Mary sat listening to the sermon that day. Father was talking about the inclination of humans to want to strike out against their enemies. But he cautioned to not get so caught up so as to dehumanize others.
"We are all called to acts of compassion as a demonstration of love. And that is hardest when the people most in need of our compassion are ‘the enemy.’Try to remember that God doesn't play politics...He loves us all. He sees us all with the same eyes, created us all in the same image, and expects us to do as Jesus taught...accept each other in His love..."
Mary closed her eyes, thinking of John, fighting in the desert against young men just like him or older men like his father; with families, children and others who loved them. She had no quarrel with the people; she only wanted her son home safe - just as did all the mothers in Iraq.
Ky-rie E-le-i-son...Chr-i-ste E-le-i-son, Ky-ri-e E-le-i-son...
****************************************
John approached the sand berm carefully, weapon locked and loaded. Was this a surrender or an ambush? Were there wounded they would carry out?
He saw the white flags and a few Iraqi soldiers on their knees, waiting, speaking in their tongues, trying to be understood. John, although a "killing machine" by training, was compassionate through upbringing. He unconsciously lowered his weapon as he tried to understand what they said.
Too late, he realized it was a ploy. The entire unit was surrounded by these men. The Americans fought bravely, but one by one they began to fall, their lives given to God and their country. There was nowhere for the remaining soldiers to run. John didn't want to be a POW, but he knew that if he didn't surrender, he'd be killed for certain.
John fell to his knees, both hands upraised, rifle held pointing aloft in his right. Staring into the mute, deadly eyes of the Iraqi weapons, he dropped his own, conceding his freedom in preservation of his life.
John and his fellow soldiers knelt there, hands raised while they were searched and cleared of any potential weapons. Had there been fewer Iraqis, they would have fought; but all knew it was futile, and all were choosing to submit. They had been trained in what to do if ever captured, so John waited, letting his training and, more importantly, his Faith take over.
The prayer came to him out of nowhere and he grasped it, repeating aloud, but almost under his breath, "Kyrie Eleison, Christe Eleison. Lord have mercy, Christ have mercy."
The Iraqi soldiers stopped in their approach, understanding that he was not speaking English...what did he say? No matter...they went forward and grabbed him and the few others roughly, pulling them to their feet. All were wounded from the battle, although not severely. Those with leg injuries were not carried, though...they were forced to walk, leaving trails of blood behind them which were quickly absorbed into the sand.
After marching for a short time the Iraqi soldiers stopped and forced the prisoners to their knees. A group of them stood behind the POW's and John felt the cold, hard steel of the Iraqi weapon pressed against the back of his head.
He looked up at the enemy in front of him and saw no compassion; only dark, gloating eyes. He vaguely wondered if that was his expression when he'd killed their troops. John wondered if this was the end, and he prayed to God, asking for forgiveness for the lives he'd taken. He thought of his family back home, probably still sitting at Mass, and prayed that they would be strong when they received the news. He panicked for awhile, thinking of them; of his life unfinished.
A sense of calm overcame him. An eye in the storm. John felt that he was going to die and he asked Jesus to meet him, to forgive him, and to preserve his soul in heaven. He had no access to the final Sacraments…all he had was hope in Divine Mercy.
The rifle clicked behind him as the commander gave the word to the firing squad. Overcome suddenly, inexplicably John sang softly, defiantly in the face of his enemy, "Ky-r-i-e....E-le-i-son...Chr-i-ste E-le-i-son, Ky-r-i-e El-e-i-son!....Kyr-i-e E-le-i-son, Chr-i-ste E-le-i-son, Ky-rie E-le-i-son.... "
His brother soldiers, to his surprise, took up the musical litany and sang with him, "Ky-r-ie, E-le-i-son! Chr-i-ste E-le-i-son, Ky-r-i-e E-le-i-son!...."
John felt the steel barrel pulled away from the back of his head as the soldier behind him stepped back, not sure how to respond. They hadn't expected this! John looked straight into the eyes of the Commander, still singing. He saw something there...a brief moment of compassion maybe? A respite? A realization that these POW's were men just like him? Their eyes locked in a moment of understanding and the Commander began to raise his hand. A sharp word from another Iraqi officer stopped him and the shadow fell across him again. The gun pushed hard against his head once again; and yet John and his fellow soldiers sang, waiting...
Waiting......
Kyr-i-e E-le-i-son! Chr-i-ste E-le-i-son! Ky-r-i-e E-le-i-son!.....
**********************************************
At the beginning of the liturgy of the Eucharist, the parishioners prayed aloud, "May the Lord accept the sacrifice at your hands, for the praise and glory of His name, for our good and the good of all His Church..."
The priest blessed the bread and wine consecrating them in the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass, transforming them into the body, blood, soul, and divinity of Jesus Christ.
Mary was suddenly and inexplicably overcome with emotion, and something even beyond: she actually seemed to feel the presence of Jesus, far beyond what she had EVER experienced. At the moment the Sacred Host was raised high, the Ames family unconsciously joined hands and bowed their heads, unified in the same sensation of being bathed in the love of Christ; in the absolute meaning of His Sacrifice. They became a part of it in a way they did not yet understand.
The congregation prayed, "Lord, I am not worthy to receive you, but only say the Word and I shall be healed."
To themselves, John's family also prayed silently, none understanding why, "Kyrie Eleison, Christe Eleison (Lord have Mercy, Christ have Mercy) My Lord and My God!"
************************************************
As John knelt in that dark foreign desert, the enemy's rifle against the back of his head, he continued to sing for God's mercy. He looked up and instead of the Iraqi officer, he saw an image of Jesus reaching out to him. He saw the wounds in His hands and understood the apparition before him. He heard the words in his head and prayed them out loud, interrupting the song.
Jesus was reaching out for him, offering His hand, smiling gently.
John could only say to Him, "Lord, I am not worthy to receive you. Only say the word and I shall be healed..."
Behind him, seeing the same vision the other captured soldiers continued to sing, "Kyrie Eleison! Christe Eleison! Kyrie Eleison..."
One soldier called out very clearly, "Forgive them Father, for they know not what they do..."
In the midst of the war, each man knew peace. And in the midst of life came death.
In the midst of death they were reborn through Christ.
John and his "brothers" never heard the shots and never felt rounds that stole their lives. And the Iraqi soldiers never understood the glow; the mystical penumbra surrounding them as they were born into eternity.
*************************************************
The Ames family learned the next day that John was MIA. They notified the church and activated the family prayer chain. But all knew, somehow, that John was gone. They had felt his sacrifice in that moment in time, during the eternal moment of the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass.
They learned a month later that John was Killed in Action. The military didn't tell her the details: they didn't know most of them. The Chaplin who met with them told her how John was a sort of spiritual leader among his peers, not afraid to live and defend just his country, but also his faith in Jesus Christ. He wished he could tell her, right then, the story they'd learned from a captured Iraqi soldier.
Hassan had been on the firing line and spoke of the POW's singing in Greek when faced with death. He spoke of the glow that seemed to emanate from them in that dark night. It seemed he was the one who held the gun to John's head.
He was not the only Iraqi POW taken from that group to convert. The deaths of the American soldiers had somehow caused the religious conversion of the enemy; especially those on the firing squad.
In effect, the American soldiers had sacrificed themselves for the eternal souls of men who wanted them dead. God called; they answered.
And in the midst of the war, death was not the only way to bring peace.
Kyrie Eleison! Christe Eleison! Kyrie Eleison!
***
The Mass began like a normal Lenten Mass, with a silent procession up the aisle, the congregation standing....waiting. The piano began to play soft background music as Father began the opening prayer. At intervals the choir and congregation sang the penitential rite:
"Kyr-i-e Ele-i-son! Chri-ste E-le-i-son, Ky-ri-e E-le-i-son!"
Mary bent her head, praying, singing along, wishing her son was with her. She wished this horrible war was over and her family could be back together again. Mary's husband Michael and their teenage daughter, Christy, stood on each side of her, and they all felt John's absence acutely. Theirs wasn't the only family member absent today; each week a Mass was dedicated to the parishioners who were serving their country in Iraq.Father, intoned, "We offer this Mass today for Lance Corporal John Ames, 3rd Infantry, U.S. Marine Corps...."
"Lord, hear our prayer," responded the congregation.
Tears filled Mary's eyes, so touched was she by the support they'd received from their parish community. She hadn't heard from John since he left for the war. He was somewhere in Iraq; in that hot, horrible desert, doing his duty as he'd pledged when he joined the military. She prayed that Jesus walked beside him and his fellow soldiers. Around her, silently, the other parishioners did the same. Many felt the same anguish.
Ky-rie E-le-i-son, Chr-i-ste E-le-i-son, Ky-r-ie E-le-i-son!**
(**Lord have mercy, Christ have mercy, Lord have mercy.**)
*********************************
John knelt in the sand, stood in the sand and tried to breathe through the sand as the storm swirled around him. It was Sunday morning in America, and he thought of his family going to Mass, the devout Catholics that they were. He wished he was there. He wondered when he'd be able to go home again. And he wondered when this terrible sandstorm would pass. The wind was dying down, but until it did, progress would be very slow. At the moment they were all hunkered down, searching for the shelter they knew was there - if they could only get there. Although they were in their camp, it was easy to get lost and lose their bearings just from going from one tent to another!
John sat on the first cot he came to and pulled out his tablet. He was going to take the lull in battle to write a letter to his family as they waited for the storm to die down. He was keeping a collection of letters as he had no access to e-mail due to his job and mobility in the war. When he had the opportunity, he planned to send them all, in order.
Dear Mom, Dad, and Christy,
I know you won't get this letter for a long time as there is no way to mail anything from this God-forsaken place. But please know that you're in my thoughts and prayers every day. I can't wait to come home. Currently we are in the midst of yet another storm (see previous letters). Have you been keeping a tally? It seems that no sooner does one end that another begins! It makes me very nervous to be out here not knowing if our air support will be able to follow through due to weather conditions.
But we are doing our jobs and all is going well. There have been very few casualties. Of course some are expected, it is a war, after all, but it's better not to think about that. Don't worry too much about me over here, especially you, Mom. We're very well trained, very careful, and very much looking forward to coming home.
P.S. Can we have grilled steak with your special marinade and corn on the cob for dinner when I get back? :)
Well, we're being called....gotta go. Will write more later. Take care, and....will you please pray for me? And for all of us over here? I know you already are, every day. Thanks, from all of us!
Love and miss you all,
John
He tucked the latest installment into his fatigues, keeping them all together to be sent to his family as soon as he was able. John picked up his weapon and walked into the desert, ready to embark on their next mission.
They learned that radar had picked up a line of Iraqi troops in the "surrender" position that the U.S. Military had detailed to them. The command staff cautioned them to be sure it wasn't an ambush, and to be ready to fight. They moved into the desert, into the darkness, guided by their contour maps and night vision goggles.
Kyr-ie E-le-i-son...Chr-ist-e E-le-i-son! Ky-r-i-e E-le-i-son.
*******************************************
Mary sat listening to the sermon that day. Father was talking about the inclination of humans to want to strike out against their enemies. But he cautioned to not get so caught up so as to dehumanize others.
"We are all called to acts of compassion as a demonstration of love. And that is hardest when the people most in need of our compassion are ‘the enemy.’Try to remember that God doesn't play politics...He loves us all. He sees us all with the same eyes, created us all in the same image, and expects us to do as Jesus taught...accept each other in His love..."
Mary closed her eyes, thinking of John, fighting in the desert against young men just like him or older men like his father; with families, children and others who loved them. She had no quarrel with the people; she only wanted her son home safe - just as did all the mothers in Iraq.
Ky-rie E-le-i-son...Chr-i-ste E-le-i-son, Ky-ri-e E-le-i-son...
****************************************
John approached the sand berm carefully, weapon locked and loaded. Was this a surrender or an ambush? Were there wounded they would carry out?
He saw the white flags and a few Iraqi soldiers on their knees, waiting, speaking in their tongues, trying to be understood. John, although a "killing machine" by training, was compassionate through upbringing. He unconsciously lowered his weapon as he tried to understand what they said.
Too late, he realized it was a ploy. The entire unit was surrounded by these men. The Americans fought bravely, but one by one they began to fall, their lives given to God and their country. There was nowhere for the remaining soldiers to run. John didn't want to be a POW, but he knew that if he didn't surrender, he'd be killed for certain.
John fell to his knees, both hands upraised, rifle held pointing aloft in his right. Staring into the mute, deadly eyes of the Iraqi weapons, he dropped his own, conceding his freedom in preservation of his life.
John and his fellow soldiers knelt there, hands raised while they were searched and cleared of any potential weapons. Had there been fewer Iraqis, they would have fought; but all knew it was futile, and all were choosing to submit. They had been trained in what to do if ever captured, so John waited, letting his training and, more importantly, his Faith take over.
The prayer came to him out of nowhere and he grasped it, repeating aloud, but almost under his breath, "Kyrie Eleison, Christe Eleison. Lord have mercy, Christ have mercy."
The Iraqi soldiers stopped in their approach, understanding that he was not speaking English...what did he say? No matter...they went forward and grabbed him and the few others roughly, pulling them to their feet. All were wounded from the battle, although not severely. Those with leg injuries were not carried, though...they were forced to walk, leaving trails of blood behind them which were quickly absorbed into the sand.
After marching for a short time the Iraqi soldiers stopped and forced the prisoners to their knees. A group of them stood behind the POW's and John felt the cold, hard steel of the Iraqi weapon pressed against the back of his head.
He looked up at the enemy in front of him and saw no compassion; only dark, gloating eyes. He vaguely wondered if that was his expression when he'd killed their troops. John wondered if this was the end, and he prayed to God, asking for forgiveness for the lives he'd taken. He thought of his family back home, probably still sitting at Mass, and prayed that they would be strong when they received the news. He panicked for awhile, thinking of them; of his life unfinished.
A sense of calm overcame him. An eye in the storm. John felt that he was going to die and he asked Jesus to meet him, to forgive him, and to preserve his soul in heaven. He had no access to the final Sacraments…all he had was hope in Divine Mercy.
The rifle clicked behind him as the commander gave the word to the firing squad. Overcome suddenly, inexplicably John sang softly, defiantly in the face of his enemy, "Ky-r-i-e....E-le-i-son...Chr-i-ste E-le-i-son, Ky-r-i-e El-e-i-son!....Kyr-i-e E-le-i-son, Chr-i-ste E-le-i-son, Ky-rie E-le-i-son.... "
His brother soldiers, to his surprise, took up the musical litany and sang with him, "Ky-r-ie, E-le-i-son! Chr-i-ste E-le-i-son, Ky-r-i-e E-le-i-son!...."
John felt the steel barrel pulled away from the back of his head as the soldier behind him stepped back, not sure how to respond. They hadn't expected this! John looked straight into the eyes of the Commander, still singing. He saw something there...a brief moment of compassion maybe? A respite? A realization that these POW's were men just like him? Their eyes locked in a moment of understanding and the Commander began to raise his hand. A sharp word from another Iraqi officer stopped him and the shadow fell across him again. The gun pushed hard against his head once again; and yet John and his fellow soldiers sang, waiting...
Waiting......
Kyr-i-e E-le-i-son! Chr-i-ste E-le-i-son! Ky-r-i-e E-le-i-son!.....
**********************************************
At the beginning of the liturgy of the Eucharist, the parishioners prayed aloud, "May the Lord accept the sacrifice at your hands, for the praise and glory of His name, for our good and the good of all His Church..."
The priest blessed the bread and wine consecrating them in the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass, transforming them into the body, blood, soul, and divinity of Jesus Christ.
"This is my Body and this is my Blood. It shall be given for you and for many in forgiveness of sin..."
Mary was suddenly and inexplicably overcome with emotion, and something even beyond: she actually seemed to feel the presence of Jesus, far beyond what she had EVER experienced. At the moment the Sacred Host was raised high, the Ames family unconsciously joined hands and bowed their heads, unified in the same sensation of being bathed in the love of Christ; in the absolute meaning of His Sacrifice. They became a part of it in a way they did not yet understand.
The congregation prayed, "Lord, I am not worthy to receive you, but only say the Word and I shall be healed."
To themselves, John's family also prayed silently, none understanding why, "Kyrie Eleison, Christe Eleison (Lord have Mercy, Christ have Mercy) My Lord and My God!"
************************************************
As John knelt in that dark foreign desert, the enemy's rifle against the back of his head, he continued to sing for God's mercy. He looked up and instead of the Iraqi officer, he saw an image of Jesus reaching out to him. He saw the wounds in His hands and understood the apparition before him. He heard the words in his head and prayed them out loud, interrupting the song.
"My Lord and My God!"
Jesus was reaching out for him, offering His hand, smiling gently.
John could only say to Him, "Lord, I am not worthy to receive you. Only say the word and I shall be healed..."
Behind him, seeing the same vision the other captured soldiers continued to sing, "Kyrie Eleison! Christe Eleison! Kyrie Eleison..."
One soldier called out very clearly, "Forgive them Father, for they know not what they do..."
In the midst of the war, each man knew peace. And in the midst of life came death.
In the midst of death they were reborn through Christ.
John and his "brothers" never heard the shots and never felt rounds that stole their lives. And the Iraqi soldiers never understood the glow; the mystical penumbra surrounding them as they were born into eternity.
*************************************************
The Ames family learned the next day that John was MIA. They notified the church and activated the family prayer chain. But all knew, somehow, that John was gone. They had felt his sacrifice in that moment in time, during the eternal moment of the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass.
They learned a month later that John was Killed in Action. The military didn't tell her the details: they didn't know most of them. The Chaplin who met with them told her how John was a sort of spiritual leader among his peers, not afraid to live and defend just his country, but also his faith in Jesus Christ. He wished he could tell her, right then, the story they'd learned from a captured Iraqi soldier.
Hassan had been on the firing line and spoke of the POW's singing in Greek when faced with death. He spoke of the glow that seemed to emanate from them in that dark night. It seemed he was the one who held the gun to John's head.
He was not the only Iraqi POW taken from that group to convert. The deaths of the American soldiers had somehow caused the religious conversion of the enemy; especially those on the firing squad.
In effect, the American soldiers had sacrificed themselves for the eternal souls of men who wanted them dead. God called; they answered.
And in the midst of the war, death was not the only way to bring peace.
Kyrie Eleison! Christe Eleison! Kyrie Eleison!
The Saturday Evenening Blog Post - December edition
A couple months ago I linked to a wonderful endeavor, THE SATURDAY EVENING BLOG POST over at Elizabeth Esther. This is actually my first submission, and guess what, everyone...there's room for MORE! So pick your favorite post of the month, head on over and maybe find some other cool blogs and bloggers!
In looking over my posts over the month, I decided on one that seemed to be popular: How to Study Theology. Even though it's a bit long, it seems to me anyone can identify with it by simply inserting their own subject, and the length...well, let's face it: when you're trying to study Theology (or Math, or Science, or Literature, etc...), it's soooo easy to just get caught up in that much-needed humor....
*snicker*
C'mon. Put the book aside. You KNOW you want to submit a post...and read a few....
(Seriously people, I need to finish my essay questions for Moral Theology, for Mariology on St. Louis de Montfort and Our Lady of Guadalupe, and study for my Liturgy & Sacraments test to take place next Saturday....and dang...my kitchen needs a little cleaning and some blogs need to be read...and the dog needs a walk.....)
In looking over my posts over the month, I decided on one that seemed to be popular: How to Study Theology. Even though it's a bit long, it seems to me anyone can identify with it by simply inserting their own subject, and the length...well, let's face it: when you're trying to study Theology (or Math, or Science, or Literature, etc...), it's soooo easy to just get caught up in that much-needed humor....
*snicker*
C'mon. Put the book aside. You KNOW you want to submit a post...and read a few....
(Seriously people, I need to finish my essay questions for Moral Theology, for Mariology on St. Louis de Montfort and Our Lady of Guadalupe, and study for my Liturgy & Sacraments test to take place next Saturday....and dang...my kitchen needs a little cleaning and some blogs need to be read...and the dog needs a walk.....)
Tuesday, December 01, 2009
Lead Us Not Into Temptation
I remember, as a little girl, learning the "Our Father", first from Mom, and then, when she was working, from Dad. He was Lutheran so prayed the doxology at the end in a way similar to how it was prayed at Mass...yet with a little different wording. Mom knew he did this but told us we must pray it as she taught us, so it became a small thing within our family to honor our parents in that special way. It pleased Dad when we prayed the doxology, and it pleased Mom when we didn't. When they were both home, we prayed the "Catholic way" and still, everyone was happy, for Dad deferred to Mom while giving us a wink.
Even as I remember this fondly, I also recall to mind the part of the Lord's Prayer that terrified me to no end.
The prayer scared me, for it seemed to rapidly descend from the comforting image of a yummy loaf of bread (which we didn't have EVERY day, but most days, and I really didn't know why we were praying for something so bland to be given to us DAILY. Or maybe we were praying for it so that it would be there when Mom wanted to serve it, and that prayer always seemed to be answered.)
The next image that came to mind was the word "trespass", and I knew that one. I always saw the black signs with orange wording, surrounded by a white border. I recognized the sign even BEFORE I knew how to read, for Mom pointed them out and told us we must never enter land where we saw that sign. And a few of our neighbors sported them, so we knew without a doubt that "trespassing" was a bad thing. I still remember the warm summer afternoon as we walked the gravel road on the hill over our house, exploring the neighborhood, listening to the sound of large dogs, legendarily vicious dogs warning us in no uncertain terms to heed the signs posted at intervals around the property.
Every time I prayed that prayer, and even to this very day, when I say the word "trespass" I think of that sign, standing out in its warning against a dark fence covered in encroaching foliage. Where, probably, there were big thorns and spiders hiding.
Still, it wasn't "trespass" that made my blood run cold. "Trespass" was just the warning before the REAL problem happened.
Rather, it was...."Temptation"
The very idea of being led into Temptation was enough to give me chills and nightmares.
It was very clear to me that "Temptation" was a place, because in the prayer, we were asking God not to lead us there. Any time we were being led somewhere, it was a location. So, it stands to reason that if we were asking God NOT to lead us into Temptation, my first question was: Why would God lead us somewhere awful? If God is Love, wouldn't it stand to reason to believe He would NEVER take us by the hand and lead us into some terrible, terrible place, worse than my night terrors, worse than the monster in the closet and the ghost under the bed?
Obviously, Temptation HAD to be an awful place, ESPECIALLY if were imploring He who is all Love not to bring us there.
In my mind, I envisioned Hell. I thought "Temptation" was where the devil lived, but since "Hell" was a bad word, then we probably couldn't say it in Church, and that's why we called it "Temptation."
I finally Saw Temptation
One summer, we went to visit our Grandmother in Minnesota, in the house where Mom grew up. Mom decided we needed a nap so as soon as our suitcases were brought up to the bedroom, she and Dad pushed the two beds together to accommodate us all, and tucked us in. Neither of us wanted to sleep, so my brother began the afternoon by telling me the crack between the beds led to Hell. He said that if the beds separated, we'd fall in and be tortured forever.
I told him to be quiet, leave me alone, and I put my pillow over my head in SPITE of the summer heat and fell into a troubled sleep. Unfortunately, I still remember the dream with a certain vividity. In the dream, my brother and I were awakened by an earthquake that separated the beds. In between, just as he'd noted, was the crack to Hell, and in spite of all we did to cling to each other and to the blankets and bedposts, we were drawn down into the lair of Satan. We received a whirlwind tour of this awful, awful place where the heat was unbearable, where the devil laughed incessantly at our demise, until finally, somehow, we escaped.
In the dream, when I screamed, asking where we were, the Devil said to me, "Temptation..." followed by his evil chuckle.
I still remember waking up, drenched in sweat, shaking, the sun still high in the summer's mid-afternoon. Even as I tried to shake it off, I couldn't, and now, how many years later...I STILL can't.
We were too little then to even KNOW about horror movies, had never seen one and didn't know they existed. I'd never seen ANYTHING like that before, and even the other terrors that sometimes awoke me at night weren't so awful as that particular dream.
Lead Us Not Into Temptation
A few days ago, I briefly read something that had to do with temptation; the fact that we must pass through it in order to overcome it, in order to grow in virtue. And in passing through that temptation, it is as though we are being scorched, we are being damned, we are being tortured. We can't see the end of it, but this is what makes it so important to pass through such a trial; it is how we grow in virtue and learn to trust in God.
Mom could never explain this to me because the concept was too big, and really, most of us can't grasp this reality.
I know that even with all the education I've received in theology in the last couple years, I CONTINUE to pray that I be preserved from temptation. It scares me for I am too weak, I too often given in, and my will has been trained over the years to give in to my passions. So when I am tempted I scream and cry out to God to save me, he remains silent, and...I give in to my malformed will.
I get up each morning hoping to overcome, and yet, at the end of the day, find I have failed miserable, often through very direct acts against God.
Now, as an adult, I understand what it means to pray, "Lead us not into Temptation, but deliver us from evil."
As an adult, I know that Temptation is indeed a place, and while it is not Hell itself, it is the gateway, and as soon as we enter that crevasse, we realize that, in fact, they blend into one thing. NONE of us goes to Hell without giving into Temptation. None of us gets out of Temptation without passing through it. Temptation is a paradox.
A terrible, terrible paradox, yet one we must enter, we must survive, we must, through the grace of God, overcome. No one becomes Holy without temptation.
So it seems that, in the spiritual life, we are at an impasse, aren't we? Temptation is the gateway, and it is much scarier in appearance than it is in reality. Temptation itself is not a sin; it is only an INVITATION to sin, something calling to our passions. That deathly knell can really seem like it must be obeyed, it can seem a lot more attractive than living holiness, can seem like it's not a big deal to give in to that one little passion....and yet, once we do...we might be cut of from God completely.
God never stops loving us. He is like the sun, which gives its rays, yet if we put a wall in front of it, that light can no longer pass through. The light does not stop in reality...it is actually that we have chosen not to let it in. We cut God off, refusing His Love, refusing His grace.
And there, in that eternal darkness, is Hell; eternal separation from God.
That's where Temptation leads.
Temptation is both pretty and dangerous and may come to us under both appearances, even while trying to make us believe it is something else.
But no, Temptation is indeed a place; it is the very doorway to damnation.
When confronted with it, when we are trapped there between Temptation and God, we need only take a step back, look upon the Cross, and let God love us. Even if we can't see the end of the assault, we can gaze upon our Crucified Lord and know that, eventually, this temptation will end, and to get through it all we need to do is trust in Him.
Jesus will never let go. The question is...will we let go of HIM?
Even as I remember this fondly, I also recall to mind the part of the Lord's Prayer that terrified me to no end.
...Give us this day our daily bread,
And forgive us our trespasses
As we forgive those who trespass against us.
Lead us not into temptation
But deliver us from evil. AMEN.
The prayer scared me, for it seemed to rapidly descend from the comforting image of a yummy loaf of bread (which we didn't have EVERY day, but most days, and I really didn't know why we were praying for something so bland to be given to us DAILY. Or maybe we were praying for it so that it would be there when Mom wanted to serve it, and that prayer always seemed to be answered.)
The next image that came to mind was the word "trespass", and I knew that one. I always saw the black signs with orange wording, surrounded by a white border. I recognized the sign even BEFORE I knew how to read, for Mom pointed them out and told us we must never enter land where we saw that sign. And a few of our neighbors sported them, so we knew without a doubt that "trespassing" was a bad thing. I still remember the warm summer afternoon as we walked the gravel road on the hill over our house, exploring the neighborhood, listening to the sound of large dogs, legendarily vicious dogs warning us in no uncertain terms to heed the signs posted at intervals around the property. Every time I prayed that prayer, and even to this very day, when I say the word "trespass" I think of that sign, standing out in its warning against a dark fence covered in encroaching foliage. Where, probably, there were big thorns and spiders hiding.
Still, it wasn't "trespass" that made my blood run cold. "Trespass" was just the warning before the REAL problem happened.
Rather, it was...."Temptation"
The very idea of being led into Temptation was enough to give me chills and nightmares.
Lead us not into temptation
But deliver us from evil. AMEN!
It was very clear to me that "Temptation" was a place, because in the prayer, we were asking God not to lead us there. Any time we were being led somewhere, it was a location. So, it stands to reason that if we were asking God NOT to lead us into Temptation, my first question was: Why would God lead us somewhere awful? If God is Love, wouldn't it stand to reason to believe He would NEVER take us by the hand and lead us into some terrible, terrible place, worse than my night terrors, worse than the monster in the closet and the ghost under the bed?
Obviously, Temptation HAD to be an awful place, ESPECIALLY if were imploring He who is all Love not to bring us there.
In my mind, I envisioned Hell. I thought "Temptation" was where the devil lived, but since "Hell" was a bad word, then we probably couldn't say it in Church, and that's why we called it "Temptation."
I finally Saw Temptation
One summer, we went to visit our Grandmother in Minnesota, in the house where Mom grew up. Mom decided we needed a nap so as soon as our suitcases were brought up to the bedroom, she and Dad pushed the two beds together to accommodate us all, and tucked us in. Neither of us wanted to sleep, so my brother began the afternoon by telling me the crack between the beds led to Hell. He said that if the beds separated, we'd fall in and be tortured forever.
I told him to be quiet, leave me alone, and I put my pillow over my head in SPITE of the summer heat and fell into a troubled sleep. Unfortunately, I still remember the dream with a certain vividity. In the dream, my brother and I were awakened by an earthquake that separated the beds. In between, just as he'd noted, was the crack to Hell, and in spite of all we did to cling to each other and to the blankets and bedposts, we were drawn down into the lair of Satan. We received a whirlwind tour of this awful, awful place where the heat was unbearable, where the devil laughed incessantly at our demise, until finally, somehow, we escaped.
In the dream, when I screamed, asking where we were, the Devil said to me, "Temptation..." followed by his evil chuckle.
I still remember waking up, drenched in sweat, shaking, the sun still high in the summer's mid-afternoon. Even as I tried to shake it off, I couldn't, and now, how many years later...I STILL can't.
We were too little then to even KNOW about horror movies, had never seen one and didn't know they existed. I'd never seen ANYTHING like that before, and even the other terrors that sometimes awoke me at night weren't so awful as that particular dream.
Lead Us Not Into Temptation
A few days ago, I briefly read something that had to do with temptation; the fact that we must pass through it in order to overcome it, in order to grow in virtue. And in passing through that temptation, it is as though we are being scorched, we are being damned, we are being tortured. We can't see the end of it, but this is what makes it so important to pass through such a trial; it is how we grow in virtue and learn to trust in God.
Mom could never explain this to me because the concept was too big, and really, most of us can't grasp this reality.
I know that even with all the education I've received in theology in the last couple years, I CONTINUE to pray that I be preserved from temptation. It scares me for I am too weak, I too often given in, and my will has been trained over the years to give in to my passions. So when I am tempted I scream and cry out to God to save me, he remains silent, and...I give in to my malformed will.
I get up each morning hoping to overcome, and yet, at the end of the day, find I have failed miserable, often through very direct acts against God.
Now, as an adult, I understand what it means to pray, "Lead us not into Temptation, but deliver us from evil."
As an adult, I know that Temptation is indeed a place, and while it is not Hell itself, it is the gateway, and as soon as we enter that crevasse, we realize that, in fact, they blend into one thing. NONE of us goes to Hell without giving into Temptation. None of us gets out of Temptation without passing through it. Temptation is a paradox.
A terrible, terrible paradox, yet one we must enter, we must survive, we must, through the grace of God, overcome. No one becomes Holy without temptation.
So it seems that, in the spiritual life, we are at an impasse, aren't we? Temptation is the gateway, and it is much scarier in appearance than it is in reality. Temptation itself is not a sin; it is only an INVITATION to sin, something calling to our passions. That deathly knell can really seem like it must be obeyed, it can seem a lot more attractive than living holiness, can seem like it's not a big deal to give in to that one little passion....and yet, once we do...we might be cut of from God completely.
God never stops loving us. He is like the sun, which gives its rays, yet if we put a wall in front of it, that light can no longer pass through. The light does not stop in reality...it is actually that we have chosen not to let it in. We cut God off, refusing His Love, refusing His grace.
And there, in that eternal darkness, is Hell; eternal separation from God.
That's where Temptation leads.
Temptation is both pretty and dangerous and may come to us under both appearances, even while trying to make us believe it is something else.
But no, Temptation is indeed a place; it is the very doorway to damnation.
When confronted with it, when we are trapped there between Temptation and God, we need only take a step back, look upon the Cross, and let God love us. Even if we can't see the end of the assault, we can gaze upon our Crucified Lord and know that, eventually, this temptation will end, and to get through it all we need to do is trust in Him.
Jesus will never let go. The question is...will we let go of HIM?
Et ne nos inducas in tentationem, sed libera nos a malo. Amen.
Lead us not into Temptation, but deliver us from Evil.....Amen.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Calling all Mothers..and those who Aren't.
Recently after Mass, I was chatting with some friends of mine who happen to be parents of a few children, who naturally exhibit their childishness in very dramatic ways characteristic of their littleness.
There was a woman nearby who was somehow engaged by one of the children, exclaimed over them, and then, from where she stood, was clearly speaking to the parents of the children, admonishing them with great joy to "Have more!"
Certainly I agree with the sentiment, especially given our culture, wherein the default condition is to kill the child and lament later, but I have to admit, a directive to "Have more!" actually rubs me in much the same way as the admonishment to "Stop having kids!" does from the polar opposite side of that spectrum. Truth be told, I was a little offended on behalf of my friends who ARE having children and don't find it necessary to consult anyone other than God as to how many they should produce.
So I chose to just ignore the woman who clearly wasn't speaking to me, anyway, considering that I don't HAVE any children and I'm just the local spinster-in-waiting who happens to have a lot of friends with big families.
Oh, but wait....
As I was standing next to the father, I didn't initially realize that the woman in question was actually speaking to ME, and so I didn't understand why she continued speaking as the mother stepped away either in order to chase one of them down or to speak to someone else. In any case, I suddenly became aware that Ms. Admonishment was looking at ME and telling me to "Have Faith!" from what I could ascertain (from what I could hear), and to "Trust in God and His timing!" and all that.
I seriously could not figure out why she was looking at ME while saying all these things, considering that I clearly was not a mother, nor married, nor a parent of any kind. I couldn't figure out why she was continuing to lecture even as the father of the children wandered away looking for one of them.
It was the ongoing lecturing that got my attention as she raised her fist in the air in some form of encouragement to have more children and trust in God and have faith. I was trying to figure out exactly WHO she was talking to considering that the children who had enamored her were all over the place, their parents were chasing them, and I was standing in one place just waiting for it all to come back to center again.
After a minute or so of me looking at her strangely, wondering if she was somehow trying to communicate with someone, I finally realized that she thought I was the mother and she was TRYING to talk to ME!
Oh, dear, and, well...Uh...um....NO.
While I thought it flattering that she assumed the adorable children at hand were MINE, when I finally realized she was directing her commentary towards me, and, in response to my very strange looks in her direction, was interpreting said confused countenance as a return expression of hopelessness and denial, I realized I had to set the record straight.
I sincerely had no idea what she had been saying before that but for those few quoted phrases, for she was standing too far away, speaking in a low tone, and since I wasn't the mother, I honestly hadn't paid much attention to her since obviously she could NOT have been speaking to me.
As it was, I did finally explain to her that I was just PRESENT in that particular space and had NOTHING to do with the presence of the children themselves. It was my great honor to point out their true parents.
This woman apparently was on a "CHILDREN!" kick, though, and apologized for her mistake as she patted me on the shoulder and repeated some of her previous litany of "God is faithful!" and "Trust in Him!" but to this she added, "Maybe soon!"
"Um...NO. I don't think so."
She interrupted to encourage me further in what she assumed to be my future Vocation, that being to get married and have as many children as she deemed appropriate.
I thanked her but said calmly that no, I am not called to marriage.
She seemed to be completely SHOCKED by that statement. I actually reached out to hold her up because I thought she was going to fall over.
Quickly, though, she recovered herself and I held my breath, waiting for her to switch to the other extreme of exclaiming over the idea that I'm going to be a nun, and how wonderful is THAT!?
Thankfully, she made no further assumptions, apologized profusely (which was totally unnecessary given our low-key exchange) and in fact, I patted her own shoulder as I dismissed her apology as unnecessary. I was actually quite amused, and even flattered that she thought such beautiful children could have come from me. It was very sweet. :-)
I am who I am, though.
Simply put, I am a woman trying to find my way in the world, neither chosen nor having been chosen, only in waiting, in preparation, knowing there is more....but not knowing what that means yet.
It is a grace simply to know what it ISN'T.
We all have a calling. While I love children and of course, the ones in question are very dear to me, as are their parents, that love doesn't change the sense of knowing it isn't my Vocation.
Whether male or female, those who are not called to marriage often have assumptions made about them. On the extreme end, many assume that we hate children, hate families, etc. Nothing could be further from the truth!
I have to admit, though, that before the recent exchange, I hadn't ever considered how certain people, in wanting to encourage life, really come across to mothers as, in their zealous love for the pro-life cause, almost DEMAND more children in exactly the same way the culture of death people try to DEMEAN the idea of more children as abhorrent and detrimental to society.
It has given me even MORE respect for larger families, and perhaps any mother, for the demand made upon them comes from all sides. Not just from the pro-death side that thinks children should be omitted in any way possible, but from those who are over-zealous and also forget that children come from God and that parents who are happily having children don't actually need pressure to have more. Aren't they already doing everything right?
Isn't GOD really in charge of life?
I have to admit I had a mad desire to compliment the woman on her interest in my reproductive system, but managed, for once. to hold my tongue. Of course she meant well, and of course she was paying me a compliment in what she thought was my motherhood...which it wasn't.
1. Firstly, that people often cross the line in their interest in very personal matters that belong only to a married couple and God. Seriously...to tell people to have MORE children or LESS belongs to the same category of rude presumption. One never knows what people are suffering or have suffered.
(Lest someone come along and suggest otherwise, I am not speaking here of dissent against Catholic teaching on contraception and the horror of abortion. I am speaking here of someone personally ordering another person to stop having children or to start having more when that couple is clearly living in such a way as to seek God's will in their marriage, and happen to be blessed with a few children!)
2. Secondly, that single women are STILL looked upon merely as future heifers and the very statement that we are not called to marriage is sufficient to cause a heart attack, or at the very least, a syncopal episode.
3. Even those who are zealous for married life and children don't actually consider religious life to be the obvious alternative (WHEW! I'm SO glad I wasn't going to be the cause of TWO syncopal episodes in 30 seconds!)
4. Some people don't know how to handle the fact that you might actually KNOW you are ore AREN'T called to something, and so the calm revelation that their pet project isn't in your discernment process is sufficient to stop the spiritual assault.
*
Now, lest some of my commenters get huffy and think I am not being charitable, realize that I DO think the best of this dear lady who clearly was very interested in the number of children she assumed my reproductive system could handle. I further recognize her concern with regard to wanting to encourage me in finding my alleged future husband, even though he does not exist. These are laudable things. They are false, but the intent is laudable. I was not offended and she was not offended. Therefore, none of you should be offended, either.
I do find it humorous even as I see the serious points, and realize that we have a LOT of work to do to educate even the best Catholics about the reality of Vocation.
Yes, I continue to seek mine. I know I am not called to marriage. That isn't a bad thing, as some want to assume. It doesn't mean I'm about to don a habit. It doesn't mean anything right now. It means only that I am seeking God's Will, His timing, and coming to know myself through knowing Him.
And dammit, it's a painful process, at least for some of us.
I'm seeing more and more, though, that it's hard even after the reality is discerned...because those who are married and do all they are supposed to are STILL subjected to random public opinion.
You know...the Church would be GREAT and we could all be so Holy...if it weren't for all the people around us......(1 Corinthians 12: 7-10)
...Just making an observation..... ;-)
There was a woman nearby who was somehow engaged by one of the children, exclaimed over them, and then, from where she stood, was clearly speaking to the parents of the children, admonishing them with great joy to "Have more!"
Certainly I agree with the sentiment, especially given our culture, wherein the default condition is to kill the child and lament later, but I have to admit, a directive to "Have more!" actually rubs me in much the same way as the admonishment to "Stop having kids!" does from the polar opposite side of that spectrum. Truth be told, I was a little offended on behalf of my friends who ARE having children and don't find it necessary to consult anyone other than God as to how many they should produce.
So I chose to just ignore the woman who clearly wasn't speaking to me, anyway, considering that I don't HAVE any children and I'm just the local spinster-in-waiting who happens to have a lot of friends with big families.
Oh, but wait....
As I was standing next to the father, I didn't initially realize that the woman in question was actually speaking to ME, and so I didn't understand why she continued speaking as the mother stepped away either in order to chase one of them down or to speak to someone else. In any case, I suddenly became aware that Ms. Admonishment was looking at ME and telling me to "Have Faith!" from what I could ascertain (from what I could hear), and to "Trust in God and His timing!" and all that.
I seriously could not figure out why she was looking at ME while saying all these things, considering that I clearly was not a mother, nor married, nor a parent of any kind. I couldn't figure out why she was continuing to lecture even as the father of the children wandered away looking for one of them.
It was the ongoing lecturing that got my attention as she raised her fist in the air in some form of encouragement to have more children and trust in God and have faith. I was trying to figure out exactly WHO she was talking to considering that the children who had enamored her were all over the place, their parents were chasing them, and I was standing in one place just waiting for it all to come back to center again.
After a minute or so of me looking at her strangely, wondering if she was somehow trying to communicate with someone, I finally realized that she thought I was the mother and she was TRYING to talk to ME!
Oh, dear, and, well...Uh...um....NO.
While I thought it flattering that she assumed the adorable children at hand were MINE, when I finally realized she was directing her commentary towards me, and, in response to my very strange looks in her direction, was interpreting said confused countenance as a return expression of hopelessness and denial, I realized I had to set the record straight.
I sincerely had no idea what she had been saying before that but for those few quoted phrases, for she was standing too far away, speaking in a low tone, and since I wasn't the mother, I honestly hadn't paid much attention to her since obviously she could NOT have been speaking to me.
As it was, I did finally explain to her that I was just PRESENT in that particular space and had NOTHING to do with the presence of the children themselves. It was my great honor to point out their true parents.
This woman apparently was on a "CHILDREN!" kick, though, and apologized for her mistake as she patted me on the shoulder and repeated some of her previous litany of "God is faithful!" and "Trust in Him!" but to this she added, "Maybe soon!"
"Um...NO. I don't think so."
She interrupted to encourage me further in what she assumed to be my future Vocation, that being to get married and have as many children as she deemed appropriate.
I thanked her but said calmly that no, I am not called to marriage.
She seemed to be completely SHOCKED by that statement. I actually reached out to hold her up because I thought she was going to fall over.
Quickly, though, she recovered herself and I held my breath, waiting for her to switch to the other extreme of exclaiming over the idea that I'm going to be a nun, and how wonderful is THAT!?
Thankfully, she made no further assumptions, apologized profusely (which was totally unnecessary given our low-key exchange) and in fact, I patted her own shoulder as I dismissed her apology as unnecessary. I was actually quite amused, and even flattered that she thought such beautiful children could have come from me. It was very sweet. :-)
I am who I am, though.
Simply put, I am a woman trying to find my way in the world, neither chosen nor having been chosen, only in waiting, in preparation, knowing there is more....but not knowing what that means yet.
It is a grace simply to know what it ISN'T.
We all have a calling. While I love children and of course, the ones in question are very dear to me, as are their parents, that love doesn't change the sense of knowing it isn't my Vocation.
Whether male or female, those who are not called to marriage often have assumptions made about them. On the extreme end, many assume that we hate children, hate families, etc. Nothing could be further from the truth!
I have to admit, though, that before the recent exchange, I hadn't ever considered how certain people, in wanting to encourage life, really come across to mothers as, in their zealous love for the pro-life cause, almost DEMAND more children in exactly the same way the culture of death people try to DEMEAN the idea of more children as abhorrent and detrimental to society.
It has given me even MORE respect for larger families, and perhaps any mother, for the demand made upon them comes from all sides. Not just from the pro-death side that thinks children should be omitted in any way possible, but from those who are over-zealous and also forget that children come from God and that parents who are happily having children don't actually need pressure to have more. Aren't they already doing everything right?
Isn't GOD really in charge of life?
I have to admit I had a mad desire to compliment the woman on her interest in my reproductive system, but managed, for once. to hold my tongue. Of course she meant well, and of course she was paying me a compliment in what she thought was my motherhood...which it wasn't.
This very short, innocent exchange, though, revealed a few things to me that maybe I hadn't previously understood:
1. Firstly, that people often cross the line in their interest in very personal matters that belong only to a married couple and God. Seriously...to tell people to have MORE children or LESS belongs to the same category of rude presumption. One never knows what people are suffering or have suffered.
(Lest someone come along and suggest otherwise, I am not speaking here of dissent against Catholic teaching on contraception and the horror of abortion. I am speaking here of someone personally ordering another person to stop having children or to start having more when that couple is clearly living in such a way as to seek God's will in their marriage, and happen to be blessed with a few children!)
2. Secondly, that single women are STILL looked upon merely as future heifers and the very statement that we are not called to marriage is sufficient to cause a heart attack, or at the very least, a syncopal episode.
3. Even those who are zealous for married life and children don't actually consider religious life to be the obvious alternative (WHEW! I'm SO glad I wasn't going to be the cause of TWO syncopal episodes in 30 seconds!)
4. Some people don't know how to handle the fact that you might actually KNOW you are ore AREN'T called to something, and so the calm revelation that their pet project isn't in your discernment process is sufficient to stop the spiritual assault.
*
Now, lest some of my commenters get huffy and think I am not being charitable, realize that I DO think the best of this dear lady who clearly was very interested in the number of children she assumed my reproductive system could handle. I further recognize her concern with regard to wanting to encourage me in finding my alleged future husband, even though he does not exist. These are laudable things. They are false, but the intent is laudable. I was not offended and she was not offended. Therefore, none of you should be offended, either.
I do find it humorous even as I see the serious points, and realize that we have a LOT of work to do to educate even the best Catholics about the reality of Vocation.
Yes, I continue to seek mine. I know I am not called to marriage. That isn't a bad thing, as some want to assume. It doesn't mean I'm about to don a habit. It doesn't mean anything right now. It means only that I am seeking God's Will, His timing, and coming to know myself through knowing Him.
And dammit, it's a painful process, at least for some of us.
I'm seeing more and more, though, that it's hard even after the reality is discerned...because those who are married and do all they are supposed to are STILL subjected to random public opinion.
You know...the Church would be GREAT and we could all be so Holy...if it weren't for all the people around us......(1 Corinthians 12: 7-10)
...Just making an observation..... ;-)
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Celebrity Worship
One of the things about our culture that drives me crazy belongs to the Cult of the Celebrity. I simply don't understand it.
Fair Warning: this post is NOT going to be among my most popular; in fact, I am quite certain I will be losing readership over this one. Don't say you weren't warned, but you knew what I was when you started following me. If you haven't been offended by my opinions, then you haven't been following long enough.
If I'm not honest, I'm not Adoro. Just sayin'
Teen Celebrity Infatuation:
As a teen, of course, I went through that particular phase of infatuation, writing letters to a few chosen male celebrities which were never answered (oh, thank God for that, I so wish I could forget those letters!), and went so far as to hang pictures of them on my walls. But I passed through that phase and moved on with my life. Admittedly, it was in moving on that I also let go of wanting to be an actress or famous person myself.
At that point, I finally began to see celebrities as people just like me with all the very same failings. I discovered at the same time, that if I was in the public eye, it wasn't comfortable, not fun, not glamorous, and actually...seemed overall to be quite ridiculous.
Over the years I've met a few celebrities, both secular and Catholic, and found them to be...well...average people. I liked them just fine, but didn't find anything there to make me turn myself inside-out with adulation in their presence.
Clearly, as this is a Catholic blog, I'm focusing mostly on the ecstatic behavior of the average internet Catholic in the internet presence of some Catholic celebrity.
Seriously...it's downright embarrassing to witness.
Now, certainly, Catholic celebs don't have the worldly panache of the seculars, nor should they. And indeed, those held in high esteem are wonderful role models, based on what can be witnessed in the public eye.
Still, even with a good example, I don't see anything of them that is worthy of the public worship that is given to them day in and day out. I don't see why people find they need to hang on every word, or work so hard to be noticed and approved by this or that Catholic celebrity figure. It's almost like some people think their existence and very Catholicism must be recognized and ratified by some of these celebs in order to be authentic.
I wonder at the reaction to these people, whose gifts given by God have placed them in the public eye, giving them a certain "Catholic Celebrity" status, and who, to so many, seem to be the final word on ANYTHING going on in the Church.
It fascinates me.
It fascinates me especially because I am sure that most of them, if not all, would not WANT the adulation of the masses, and probably didn't ask for it, and would further prefer that people NOT hang on their words.
Admittedly, though, I wonder at a few of these Catholic celebs who seem to crave that adulation and beckon it onward. The sad thing is that I've seen it not only via the internet, but also in person, in, for example, the "cult of the priest". There are certain priests who have a certain following of people who apparently see him as a kind of Savior...and will follow him ANYWHERE he goes. (I am not speaking here only of the internet, but also of a certain few priest-cults in my own diocese. But lest you are Protestant...check out the cult following of the charismatic pastors of the "Free Churches" in this area. Yeah..you suffer the same scourge and spiritual danger Maybe even MORE so for there are fewer of you.)
Ew. Creepy.
What I don't understand is WHY this behavior isn't so creepy over the internet? Isn't it the same thing?
I am seriously concerned that good, knowledgeable Catholics spend so much time hoping for the approval of certain Catholic "celebrities".
I am truly amazed that, in the past when I happened to criticize this odd obsequious behavior directed toward a certain personality, I was villified and quite literally admonished to "SHUT UP!", and even further, was calumniated by my accuser who said that all I talk about is "this" topic.Yet I had only brought it up once before with the very same question: "What's the big deal about X Catholic Celeb?"
No one has been able to give me an answer, and so in place of the answer, they chose to insult me with an ad hominem attack...which I expect on this post as well, even though I've not given any names.
I'm sure all my readers have their favorite Catholic Celebrities, and some of you assume I'm talking about YOURS.
So I'll let your comments reveal what's in YOUR heart: who do YOU worship? And why will you tolerate no criticism against your hero or heroine?
And what does your lack of tolerance reveal about your own spirituality, lack thereof, your attachments, and how far you've fallen from Our Lord and His Mother if you're so ready to shut down a legitimate question about a mere mortal man or woman celebrity?
Seriously...if you rely so heavily upon some celebrity, whether it is an internet celeb, a priest, or an alleged visionary such that any legitimate criticism of them and their humanity pisses you off, it's a sign you need to get a grip and spend more time at Mass, Confession and Adoration and LESS time on the internet peeing all over yourself in hopes of being noticed.
That's all I have to say about that. Let the hate mail begin...combox is open for discussion.
Fair Warning: this post is NOT going to be among my most popular; in fact, I am quite certain I will be losing readership over this one. Don't say you weren't warned, but you knew what I was when you started following me. If you haven't been offended by my opinions, then you haven't been following long enough.
If I'm not honest, I'm not Adoro. Just sayin'
Teen Celebrity Infatuation:
As a teen, of course, I went through that particular phase of infatuation, writing letters to a few chosen male celebrities which were never answered (oh, thank God for that, I so wish I could forget those letters!), and went so far as to hang pictures of them on my walls. But I passed through that phase and moved on with my life. Admittedly, it was in moving on that I also let go of wanting to be an actress or famous person myself.
At that point, I finally began to see celebrities as people just like me with all the very same failings. I discovered at the same time, that if I was in the public eye, it wasn't comfortable, not fun, not glamorous, and actually...seemed overall to be quite ridiculous.
Over the years I've met a few celebrities, both secular and Catholic, and found them to be...well...average people. I liked them just fine, but didn't find anything there to make me turn myself inside-out with adulation in their presence.
Yet I continue to see people rolling like submissive dogs peeing all over themselves when they read the words of this or that Catholic celebrity.
Clearly, as this is a Catholic blog, I'm focusing mostly on the ecstatic behavior of the average internet Catholic in the internet presence of some Catholic celebrity.
Seriously...it's downright embarrassing to witness.
Now, certainly, Catholic celebs don't have the worldly panache of the seculars, nor should they. And indeed, those held in high esteem are wonderful role models, based on what can be witnessed in the public eye.
Still, even with a good example, I don't see anything of them that is worthy of the public worship that is given to them day in and day out. I don't see why people find they need to hang on every word, or work so hard to be noticed and approved by this or that Catholic celebrity figure. It's almost like some people think their existence and very Catholicism must be recognized and ratified by some of these celebs in order to be authentic.
I wonder at the reaction to these people, whose gifts given by God have placed them in the public eye, giving them a certain "Catholic Celebrity" status, and who, to so many, seem to be the final word on ANYTHING going on in the Church.
It fascinates me.
It fascinates me especially because I am sure that most of them, if not all, would not WANT the adulation of the masses, and probably didn't ask for it, and would further prefer that people NOT hang on their words.
Admittedly, though, I wonder at a few of these Catholic celebs who seem to crave that adulation and beckon it onward. The sad thing is that I've seen it not only via the internet, but also in person, in, for example, the "cult of the priest". There are certain priests who have a certain following of people who apparently see him as a kind of Savior...and will follow him ANYWHERE he goes. (I am not speaking here only of the internet, but also of a certain few priest-cults in my own diocese. But lest you are Protestant...check out the cult following of the charismatic pastors of the "Free Churches" in this area. Yeah..you suffer the same scourge and spiritual danger Maybe even MORE so for there are fewer of you.)
Ew. Creepy.
What I don't understand is WHY this behavior isn't so creepy over the internet? Isn't it the same thing?
I am seriously concerned that good, knowledgeable Catholics spend so much time hoping for the approval of certain Catholic "celebrities".
I am truly amazed that, in the past when I happened to criticize this odd obsequious behavior directed toward a certain personality, I was villified and quite literally admonished to "SHUT UP!", and even further, was calumniated by my accuser who said that all I talk about is "this" topic.Yet I had only brought it up once before with the very same question: "What's the big deal about X Catholic Celeb?"
No one has been able to give me an answer, and so in place of the answer, they chose to insult me with an ad hominem attack...which I expect on this post as well, even though I've not given any names.
I'm sure all my readers have their favorite Catholic Celebrities, and some of you assume I'm talking about YOURS.
So I'll let your comments reveal what's in YOUR heart: who do YOU worship? And why will you tolerate no criticism against your hero or heroine?
And what does your lack of tolerance reveal about your own spirituality, lack thereof, your attachments, and how far you've fallen from Our Lord and His Mother if you're so ready to shut down a legitimate question about a mere mortal man or woman celebrity?
Seriously...if you rely so heavily upon some celebrity, whether it is an internet celeb, a priest, or an alleged visionary such that any legitimate criticism of them and their humanity pisses you off, it's a sign you need to get a grip and spend more time at Mass, Confession and Adoration and LESS time on the internet peeing all over yourself in hopes of being noticed.
That's all I have to say about that. Let the hate mail begin...combox is open for discussion.
**************************************************************
P.S. ~ The com box is NOT a litter box. If you have need to relieve yourself, I suggest you find appropriate facilities elsewhere.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Divine Justice and the Ransom of Israel
The Mass readings leading up to Advent, and even entering Advent give us pause. They speak of destruction, of our ends, and of final Justice.
They do not help us enter into warm and fuzzy consolations, but rather, force us to face the cold, hard reality of our final ends when we are called to our own particular judgment. They call us not to sleep in comfort even as we continue to embrace our favorite sins (for we ALL have our favorite sins), but to let them go, knowing that sleeping in comfort is a luxury we can't afford when we must contemplate the face of Our God.
I lament the fact that we so rarely hear, in homilies, of the last four things: Death, Judgment, Heaven and Hell.
The fact is: we will all die, and it's not going to be a predictable moment for the vast majority of us.
Advent calls us to take some time to truly examine ourselves and see if we are prepared, for even as we look forward to the celebration of the birth of the Messiah, we also look towards the Second Coming. While it is a joyous occasion, it is also one of sobriety, for it is entirely possible that we will NOT measure up. It is entirely possible that we have become well acquainted with mortal sin and habitual venial sin, and give ourselves as slaves to our passions instead of dedicating ourselves to love of Our Lord.
It is a time to remember that at any moment, we may be standing before Jesus Christ as both Judge and Savior, and it depends on US as to what role He will fulfill in that moment.
What have we chosen in life? EVERY act of sin is a decision AGAINST true charity. EVERY mortal sin is a decision to sever our own lives from Christ.
Every decision to receive Holy Communion while in the state of mortal sin not only compounds our terrible deathly state, but is in itself an act of sacrilege.
The Crucifix is Divine Justice
Every time we look upon the Crucifix, while it is important that we see there the love and mercy of Jesus Christ, we must ALSO recognize and take to heart this very personal act of Divine Justice.
Jesus didn't suffer his Passion and Death in order to lay the foundation for a dramatic screen play. He didn't give himself over to the extreme torture of scourging and crucifixion in order to satisfy a mere myth and give people something to talk about for awhile.
The Crucifixion was all about Divine Justice, just as it was about Divine Mercy. The problem is that all we tend to hear about these days is Divine Mercy.
We need a balance, for one part of the message is completely useless without the other.
We have to remember, when we recall the mercy of Jesus Christ, that His bloody visage wasn't just a weird moulage so a few EMT's could practice their trade on a real victim. He TRULY suffered every penalty assigned to Israel for their sin.
Jesus suffered all the thorns that were prescribed to Adam and his descendants, and in fact, was scourged by things that tore into his flesh even more effectively than even the worst thicket of buck thorn. The crown of thorns that was woven and placed around and into the tender flesh of his head was a revelation of the prescribed remedy for sin, and in fact, being hung on a cross of wood fulfilled the condemnation in Deuteronomy regarding the Accursed. God Himself directed that any that were hung from the tree were Accursed in His sight, and those who were accursed...were not in line for redemption.
Sacrificial Lamb
Throughout the Old Testament, we read of the sacrifice of atonement, of the lambs led to slaughter, and recall to mind Abraham, who was directed to offer his only son for sacrifice to the Lord. I still remember the first time I heard that story, and my utter horror that God would do such a thing, only to learn it was a test of Abraham's faith, an event proleptic of God's Justice.
God did not exercise His Justice in demanding what He was not willing to offer. In fact, He Himself was made Incarnate so that He could be offered in the place of all His beloved; He offered HIMSELF as the eternal Sacrifice, the ONLY one who could truly make atonement for our sins.
Justice DEMANDS sacrifice, for Justice is nothing more than rendering to another what is due. As humanity in its fallen nature could not possibly pay the penalty for sin, God Himself became one of us in order to pay that ransom; it is here that we understand His Mercy, for we recognize that without Mercy, there is no Justice, and without Justice, there can be no Mercy.
Advent
Advent is a time of Justice and Mercy both. It is a time to recall who we are in relation to God, and what we have done to offend Him that makes His Sacrifice necessary. We cannot look at the Infant Jesus in the manger without recognizing that the same wood upon which He rested is the very same wood of the Cross of Sacrifice. He was born to feed the world with His own flesh and blood, with His own Divinity, given first to the most lowly, and thirty-three years later, crucified in order to render Justice for sinners, for we cannot save ourselves.
We enter into Advent with an eye towards our final ends, for we cannot welcome God Incarnate without the recognition of the Justice to be rendered on our behalf. We cannot look upon the Nativity without recognizing the Crucifixion. We cannot look upon the innocence of the Virgin and her Son without being accountable for our own guilt.
If we are honest with ourselves, we have NOTHING to offer the infant, for on our own, we have no merit.
Even if we offer ourselves, everything we have, everything we are, everything we have been and will ever be, we give this child a tainted gift for it is not within us to offer perfection. We NEED this child in order to BECOME perfected.
He, through His Mother, accepts what we offer in our poverty, and makes it, and us, glorious.
If only we are willing. If only we can become humble as He in His infancy. If only we can trust in His Mercy while knowing we deserve Justice, and as long as we understand that Justice would require OUR own lives.
We cannot look upon the Crucifix, then, without seeing Justice rendered, without knowing Mercy is applied, without knowing that Charity is about sacrifice...
Advent calls us to enter into this mystery, become a part of it, turn from sin, and know that the Word was made flesh and dwelt among us..in order to save us from our sins, rendering Justice on our behalf.
O Come, O Come Emmanuel...and ransom captive Israel....
They do not help us enter into warm and fuzzy consolations, but rather, force us to face the cold, hard reality of our final ends when we are called to our own particular judgment. They call us not to sleep in comfort even as we continue to embrace our favorite sins (for we ALL have our favorite sins), but to let them go, knowing that sleeping in comfort is a luxury we can't afford when we must contemplate the face of Our God.
I lament the fact that we so rarely hear, in homilies, of the last four things: Death, Judgment, Heaven and Hell.
The fact is: we will all die, and it's not going to be a predictable moment for the vast majority of us.
Advent calls us to take some time to truly examine ourselves and see if we are prepared, for even as we look forward to the celebration of the birth of the Messiah, we also look towards the Second Coming. While it is a joyous occasion, it is also one of sobriety, for it is entirely possible that we will NOT measure up. It is entirely possible that we have become well acquainted with mortal sin and habitual venial sin, and give ourselves as slaves to our passions instead of dedicating ourselves to love of Our Lord.
It is a time to remember that at any moment, we may be standing before Jesus Christ as both Judge and Savior, and it depends on US as to what role He will fulfill in that moment.
What have we chosen in life? EVERY act of sin is a decision AGAINST true charity. EVERY mortal sin is a decision to sever our own lives from Christ.
Every decision to receive Holy Communion while in the state of mortal sin not only compounds our terrible deathly state, but is in itself an act of sacrilege.
The Crucifix is Divine Justice
Every time we look upon the Crucifix, while it is important that we see there the love and mercy of Jesus Christ, we must ALSO recognize and take to heart this very personal act of Divine Justice.
Jesus didn't suffer his Passion and Death in order to lay the foundation for a dramatic screen play. He didn't give himself over to the extreme torture of scourging and crucifixion in order to satisfy a mere myth and give people something to talk about for awhile.
The Crucifixion was all about Divine Justice, just as it was about Divine Mercy. The problem is that all we tend to hear about these days is Divine Mercy.
We need a balance, for one part of the message is completely useless without the other.
We have to remember, when we recall the mercy of Jesus Christ, that His bloody visage wasn't just a weird moulage so a few EMT's could practice their trade on a real victim. He TRULY suffered every penalty assigned to Israel for their sin.
Jesus suffered all the thorns that were prescribed to Adam and his descendants, and in fact, was scourged by things that tore into his flesh even more effectively than even the worst thicket of buck thorn. The crown of thorns that was woven and placed around and into the tender flesh of his head was a revelation of the prescribed remedy for sin, and in fact, being hung on a cross of wood fulfilled the condemnation in Deuteronomy regarding the Accursed. God Himself directed that any that were hung from the tree were Accursed in His sight, and those who were accursed...were not in line for redemption.Sacrificial Lamb
Throughout the Old Testament, we read of the sacrifice of atonement, of the lambs led to slaughter, and recall to mind Abraham, who was directed to offer his only son for sacrifice to the Lord. I still remember the first time I heard that story, and my utter horror that God would do such a thing, only to learn it was a test of Abraham's faith, an event proleptic of God's Justice.
God did not exercise His Justice in demanding what He was not willing to offer. In fact, He Himself was made Incarnate so that He could be offered in the place of all His beloved; He offered HIMSELF as the eternal Sacrifice, the ONLY one who could truly make atonement for our sins.
Justice DEMANDS sacrifice, for Justice is nothing more than rendering to another what is due. As humanity in its fallen nature could not possibly pay the penalty for sin, God Himself became one of us in order to pay that ransom; it is here that we understand His Mercy, for we recognize that without Mercy, there is no Justice, and without Justice, there can be no Mercy.
Advent
Advent is a time of Justice and Mercy both. It is a time to recall who we are in relation to God, and what we have done to offend Him that makes His Sacrifice necessary. We cannot look at the Infant Jesus in the manger without recognizing that the same wood upon which He rested is the very same wood of the Cross of Sacrifice. He was born to feed the world with His own flesh and blood, with His own Divinity, given first to the most lowly, and thirty-three years later, crucified in order to render Justice for sinners, for we cannot save ourselves.
We enter into Advent with an eye towards our final ends, for we cannot welcome God Incarnate without the recognition of the Justice to be rendered on our behalf. We cannot look upon the Nativity without recognizing the Crucifixion. We cannot look upon the innocence of the Virgin and her Son without being accountable for our own guilt.
If we are honest with ourselves, we have NOTHING to offer the infant, for on our own, we have no merit.
Even if we offer ourselves, everything we have, everything we are, everything we have been and will ever be, we give this child a tainted gift for it is not within us to offer perfection. We NEED this child in order to BECOME perfected.
He, through His Mother, accepts what we offer in our poverty, and makes it, and us, glorious.
If only we are willing. If only we can become humble as He in His infancy. If only we can trust in His Mercy while knowing we deserve Justice, and as long as we understand that Justice would require OUR own lives.
We cannot look upon the Crucifix, then, without seeing Justice rendered, without knowing Mercy is applied, without knowing that Charity is about sacrifice...
Advent calls us to enter into this mystery, become a part of it, turn from sin, and know that the Word was made flesh and dwelt among us..in order to save us from our sins, rendering Justice on our behalf.
O Come, O Come Emmanuel...and ransom captive Israel....
Friday, November 27, 2009
Thankful
Last summer, while visiting convents, two Sisters asked me, "What do YOU want?" Sure I want what God wants for me. But what IS that?
I've spent the last few months searching deeply, and still, I don't have the answer to that question. Yet I find that asking the question itself forces me to confront who I really am, and this weekend, I also realize how THANKFUL I am to God for His Providence. I don't know what it all means, but His hand has been there all along, molding me into the person I am now so that eventually I can be the woman He has called me into existence to be.
This weekend, I watched "August Rush" with my family, and was struck anew by the themes in the movie: about life, about chances, about the threads that bring everything together into an incredible symphony. This afternoon I watched the movie "Sylvester" about a Texas cowgirl who, through the support of family and friends finds her way to an Eventing trial with a mustang she trained and recognized for his talent.
I find that these movies are, in a way, a part of my story, too. Both, in some way, make me look into myself and remind me from whence I came...and the great gifts I have received.
Po' Roots and Welfare Offices
We grew up poor. Dad's parents emigrated to the United States, me here, and he was born here. They weren't "privileged", but worked very hard for their average American existence. Mom was from a large Catholic farm family who knew their share of tragedy and poverty.
We grew up in a little neighborhood where Mom and Dad eked out our home life through hard work, wanting to give us what they were never able achieve. In the end, it wasn't about the money they'd wanted to save, but rather the work ethic they instilled in us, the desire to do something better but not be satisfied with remaining in the dirt.
Mom and Dad divorced when we were kids, the bank foreclosed on the house, Mom applied for welfare, and I'll never forget those dingy government offices with the terror-inducing "AIDS epidemic" signs, sterile orange plastic chairs set on a brown tube attached to the wall, and the condescending attitude of overweight, middle-aged white-trash social workers who clearly thought Mom and I and every other person in the lobby was the scum of the earth for daring to be poor and yet continue to exist for the paperwork we caused them.
We never had much, so we didn't get to do the things our friends got to do. Our clothing consisted of "hammy-downs" (which, oddly, never smelled of ham) and whatever we got at Christmas or on birthdays. We became accustomed to nice people with big smiles dropping off bags of food for us for Thanksgiving, Christmas and Easter every year. Mom just told us that it was a gift from our parish, because Churches give Christmas gifts, too, and we should be thankful and write thank-you letters for what we were sent.
We were taught never to complain about our food or what we had, because EVERYTHING was a blessing; everything was a gift.
Blessings of Horses....
Like every little girl, I was a dreamer, and because we grew up in the age before massive dependence upon new technology, my "daydreams" found their "reality" in make-believe games, whether in private as I wandered around our yard, or in collaboration with friends as we wandered the forested hills and trails that linked our homes together. Our winters were taken up with sledding, our summers with wading pools and hiking and random games. No one had air conditioning, even in the Illinois humidity, but no one cared. How could anyone miss what one had never had?
But I always loved horses, and mostly from afar. We had a neighbor with a Shetland Pony, and I visited her often, and once I learned and received permission, I would leap upon her back as she grazed. She didn't seem to mind as I demanded nothing of her but her company.
Ah, I'll always have a place in my heart for bay-colored horses.
BUT.....!
Blessings of Music...
I also loved music. I would "dance" to The Sound of Music and the Greatest Hits of Peter, Paul, and Mary on our record player. As Mom went about chores, I danced in circles, singing, playing, and reveling in the various combinations of notes and movements.
We begged and begged for a piano, but Dad fell in love with a two-octave organ and bought it without Mom's approval. We started to practice, ran out of keyboard, hated the fake notes of this machine, and eventually it just became another object that existed for the purpose of gathering dust.
It wasn't that we hated music; it was that my brother and I hadn't found our instruments.
After we moved to Minnesota, I convinced Mom that I REALLY wanted to play the flute. Nothing else would suffice. As it turned out, an aunt bought a used flute for me, and Mom paid her back, $10.00 per month. It took YEARS for her to pay off that Gemeinhardt flute, and I STILL have it.
It nearly brought me to college with a music scholarship, in fact.
Last night as my brother, his girlfriend, Mom, and I watched August Rush and discussed music, I realized that only Mom had not studied it. My brother nearly majored in it, having studied classic guitar and music theory. His girlfriend played viola but loved the cello. We knew music.
Maybe our conversation last night was a blessing to Mom, for she had, in fact, provided her children with something never available to her. In spite of our poverty, we were all in possession of something that, throughout most of the world, belongs ONLY to the rich. Not to po' welfare kids from some neighborhood in Illinois.
Blessings of Horses - Part II
Back when I was 13, Dad, always wanting to indulge my love of horses, paid for riding lessons for me. He gave a choice, and let me pick the school. I decided upon English lessons because I felt I would learn things that would not be taught in the Western style, and with my big dreams, I wanted the best.
It didn't matter to me that here in the Midwest, Western style dominates and is most useful. I wanted to be an Olympian, and if that was to be, it meant I had to start out the right way.
In fact, that gift from my Dad, even though he couldn't afford it and it lasted only a year (every other week) has been a gift that continues to this day. It has benefitted me even in Western riding, and even though I never learned to jump, I was able to apply the principles and often leapt a fallen log while on a trail ride, discovering that when it is done right, it really DOES feel like flying.
I also learned that if your balance is off and you land on the hard, high edge of the back of a western saddle it's REALLY PAINFUL but less painful than being impaled on the broken tree that created the forest jump in the first place.
Just sayin'....
But What Do I Really Want?
In meditating upon that question, I am drawn back to these memories spanning from childhood to adulthood. The question makes me look at what I must truly value.
Certainly, as a child, I dreamed of owning a big mansion like in the show "Dallas" and I wanted a car like Kit from "Knight Rider" and I wanted to wield a lazer sword like Princess Leah, fly like Supergirl, lasso like Wonder Woman, be rich and own horses and go downhill skiing. Oh, and I wanted to be famous. I wanted to be an actress because that way I could be everything and always be learning new things for new adventurous roles.
Ah, how we are tempered by reality. Yet, I have to admit, I never really believed in the dreams I had for myself. I NEVER believed they would become reality. Truth: I NEVER wanted those things.
In all honesty, in looking at what I loved most deeply then and recall most fondly now: it is the same thing. I am the same person now as I was when I was a child.
I loved horses, not so that I could ride them to fame, but for the purity of their beauty and the freedom in the experience of riding them, growing in skill, in communication, and, well, let's face it: FUN! A few years ago while galloping along a Minnesota River trail, I was living a childhood dream, and it's a memory I hope to hold dear until the day I die.
Music is another deep, deep love. I don't play anymore, but used to be good. Maybe that dream of playing for the New York Philharmonic COULD have been a reality, had I continued. I'm saddened that I've lost my art, but I have discovered that music never leaves us and once we love it, we can never stop. My fingers itch to caress the keys again, the breath in my lungs longs to be expressed through trills, scales, and vibratos, and united with the harmonies of a thousand different instruments.
Every so often, I "write" symphonies as I fall asleep...and yet I never learned the skill.
It is only dormant...not crushed.
I am Thankful
I'm thankful for growing up in poverty, for it taught me to use my imagination and value the gifts I was given.
I am thankful for all that I have, for I realize I possess even now more than Mom and Dad, together, materially possessed...ever.
I recognize that the things I value most do not belong to the material world. They belong to simplicity, to basic gifts of God that were extended to me, required money to pay for, but once they were given to me...I possess them for life.
No one can un-teach me how to ride a horse or to enjoy their very existence. No one can make me forget the joy of playing complicated music after hours and hours of practice.
But....WHAT do I really WANT?
I guess, after all this musing, what I'm trying to say is that I am maybe coming closer to the heart of the question posed to me this summer. Or at least the heart of the answer.
I don't want fame and fortune. I am grateful to be a homeowner for the sake of having a roof over my head, but I don't value it as a possession. I am grateful for my possessions, but they don't bring meaning into my life.
Rather, I most frequently recall the "insubstantial" moments in my life, and with incredible gratitude. Things that cannot be purchased, cannot be repeated, and yet, in a way I can't articulate, define me in some fundamental way.
I don't yet know what I want, but I am thankful for what I have been given, what I've experienced in life.
Yes, I am thankful, I am grateful. For all of it.
Thank you, God.
Thank you.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Thanksgiving: What, Exactly, Are We Celebrating?
Adviso! This is one of those epically long posts that might qualify as "Story time with Adoro". It's part rant, part history, part Adoro being Adoro. So settle in with a leg of turkey from your annual sacrifice, some mashed potatoes, gravy, green bean hotdish with French's onions on top, a dinner roll, cranberries and a nice glass of Riesling or Gwertztraminer or maybe a Pinot Noir, because you aren't going anywhere any time soon. Don't say you weren't warned. Even my UK and Australian readers may want to read this one...your ancestors might be involved, too.....
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Every single year it happens: we Americans get together and exclaim over cutesy Pilgrim and Indian figures worshiping a cheap plastic squash holding court in the center of the table while we eat great quantities of food and then nap because we can't move our engorged bodies, so besotted are we with triptophan and wine.Every single year, as we ramp up for this "Holiday", while we use the word "Thanksgiving" officially, the REAL meaning of the day is summed up in popular parlance: "Turkey Day".
Yup. It's all about the Almighty Turkey. As Fr. Charles succinctly observes, we even make sure those who cannot afford one to worship ( uh, I mean roast) have one, or a few, if need be. Not ham. Not chicken. Not roast beef. TURKEY. As the good Father says:
People start to show up at the door of the church to "get their turkey" with a spirit similar to the one that brings out the hordes to "get their ashes" or "get their palms." It cracks me up because turkey is actually very cheap as edible proteins go, and not without hazards and pitfalls when it comes to preparation. It's a symbolic thing, I know, a graced transaction that has more depth of meaning than economic need reveals.
In a thousand years, archaeologists are going to dig into our decaying yet somewhat-preserved belongings and our literature and our celluloid (film) and ascertain that we, as a culture, one day out of the year lose our minds and worship one of the dumbest and most useless animals on the planet.
I remember as a child, a CATHOLIC child, learning in public school about the Puritans who were escaping England in search of "religious freedom". Their biggest enemy: The Big Bad Catholic Church, under the auspices of the Church of England, but really...it was the "Romanists" they hated the most.
These poor innocent people, thanks be to God, arrived on the shores of the New World where they nearly died as a result of their ignorance and complete inability to survive. We all remember the story of Squanto, the nice Indian who taught them about corn.
I still remember decorating a paper bag and making a headband with "feathers" in his honor in school. I loved the "Indian" stuff. The Pilgrim things always seemed lame to me. Maybe it was because they were slandering my religion and I was on to them even before I realized how far their hatred of us went.
But I can certainly say I NEVER knew that it was at the hands of the Catholic Church that the Pilgrims survived...through the intercession of Squanto.
This information isn't contained in popular History. I don't know why. It's one of the BEST stories I've ever read about history, and I read it today, and reproduce it, in part, for you thanks to the good Fr. MacRae, who hails from his unjust imprisonment:
"Before boarding the Mayflower, the Pilgrims were called 'Separatists.' The religious 'persecution' these Puritan Fathers of America came here to flee consisted largely of their wish to expunge the remnants of Catholicism in the established Church of England. Philip Lawler summed this up in his book,The Faithful Departed: The Collapse of Boston’s Catholic Culture" (Encounter Books, 2008) :
“ …the Puritans were campaigning against the lingering traces of Catholicism. Decades of brutal persecution – first under Henry VIII, then under Elizabeth I – had eliminated the Roman Church from English public life in the sixteenth century; the country’s few remaining faithful Catholics had been driven underground. For the Puritans, that was not enough … They were determined to erase any vestigial belief in the sacraments, any deference to an ecclesiastical hierarchy.” (The Faithful Departed, p. 22).
G.K. Chesterton once famously remarked, “In America, they have a feast to celebrate the arrival of the Pilgrims. Here in England, we should have a feast to celebrate their departure.”
Despite their disdain for Catholicism, it is one of the great ironies of American history that the Mayflower’s Puritan Pilgrims owe their very survival in the New World – indirectly at least – to the Catholic Church.
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Are you intrigued? Read on:
In 1614, six years before the arrival of the Mayflower, Captain John Smith (the same man rescued by Pocahontas in another famous tale) led two vessels to the coast of Maine to barter for fish and furs. When Smith departed from the Maine shore, he left a lieutenant, Thomas Hunt, in command to load the smaller ship with dried fish.
Without consultation, Hunt sailed his ship south into what is now called Cape Cod Bay. Anchored off the coast of Patuxet (now Plymouth) in 1614 Hunt and his men invited two dozen native villagers, including Squanto (Tisquantum) aboard their ship. Once aboard, the Indians - as the Europeans came to call them were forced at musket point into the ship's hold where they were chained. Kidnapped from their village and families, Hunt too them on a six-week journey across the Atlantic.
Not all the captured Indians survived the voyage. Those who did survive, Squanto among them, were taken to Malaga off the coast of Spain to be sold as slaves.
Fortunately for Squanto – and, later for our pilgrims – Spain was a Catholic country. In 1537, Pope Paul III issued “Sublimis Dei,” a papal bull forbidding Catholic governments from enslaving or mistreating Indians from the Americas. The Pope declared that Indians are “true men” and could not lawfully be deprived of liberty. The papal document declared that any Spanish intervention in the lives of Indians had to be motivated by benefit to the Indians themselves, and not to the Spanish
As a result, the Catholic Church in Spain strongly opposed mistreatment of Indians and opposed bringing them to Europe against their will At Malaga, Thomas Hunt managed to sell several of his Indian captives before two Catholic priests intervened. The priests seized and rescued the unsold Indians, including Squanto who somehow convinced the Spanish speaking priests to return him home.
Go to Fr. MacRae's post to read about how Squanto (Tisquantum) found his way back to his Native soil to find his entire tribe dead, and, as the only Native American fluent both in their languages AND in English, convinced the Native leader, Massasoit, in what we now recognize as Plymouth, Massachusetts NOT to kill the Pilgrims, but rather, to allow him to speak for both.
It was because of Squanto that the Pilgrims survived. It was because of the Catholic Church that Squanto survived and returned to save them.
You won't read about that in school. Are you WILLING to read about it NOW and fall on your knees in Thanksgiving for God's Divine Providence? Go back and read the ENTIRE POST Fr. MacRae has to offer.
BUT WAIT! THERE'S MORE!
I don't intend this post to be about the anti-Catholicism of the Pilgrims. Regardless of their hatred of us, of their faulty ideology and their complete ignorance, we owe them a debt of gratitude. These people risked their lives, many lost them, and it is because of them, in part, that this country was born. We owe them thanks for what they did, we should be offering prayers for their souls (because as they don't believe in Purgatory there is no one praying for them but us) and we owe Thanks to God for all He has done to make this country great.
It seems to me, though, in reality, we owe a far greater debt, to the Native Americans than we do the Pilgrims, for it is the Natives of this country who helped our founding families live, when they COULD have allowed them to simply starve to death. Yet, it seems to me that those who were branded as "savages" for so long were far more humane than those they harbored and taught to survive: the pathetic, ignorant, weak, anti-Catholic-to-the-death pilgrims.
Still, I'm not entirely sure that the Native Americans would look upon Squanto as a hero, and sadly, we who are of European descent have never been taught of his entire history and role in our survival. This is a HUGE disservice, both to the Native peoples and to our own ancestry. Can it be surmised that Tisquantum's actual life story is not presented to children or to the larger American audience because of the ties to the Catholics and Catholic ideology that saved him from Protestant slavery? It would be impossible to share his story without discussing what was behind it, and it seems to me it has been very purposefully suppressed. Why else would a nation fail to mention such a fascinating and epic life story of a man who united two worlds?
Such a history from the experience of a REAL hero is quite inconvenient to the romanticism and perfection of our founding Protestant European "saints" isn't it?
Five Kernels of Corn
We have to ask anew, after all this, WHAT, exactly, are we celebrating each year? How can we know if we've forgotten or have NEVER KNOWN our roots? All most of us know is the romanticized comfortable version of the first people to touch the shores of America, which doesn't tend to recognize the people who were already here and who enabled us to survive. It doesn't tend to mention, in the history books, the Hand of God who orchestrated the survival of our ancestors, or the heroic actions of real people like Tisquantum (Squanto) who gave his fiat to God in true charity, on behalf of the most destitute; our ancestors.
Our entire Nation is built upon poverty in every form.
A few years ago, one of my professors gave us a Thanksgiving lecture in the midst of our Scripture class, and I've never forgotten it. I can't forget his passion or the tears in his eyes, or the tears that fell from my own during his lecture. I was deeply moved. It should be mentioned that my professor had been raised and had been a Pastor in a Protestant religion, but had converted to Catholicism, so perhaps had a particular pain in his heart at the disunity and war that has always been present at the heart of America.
I posted this a few years ago but find it necessary to post it here again today, in its entirety. You can find the original here:
Many years ago, a ship set off from Europe, seeking greener pastures, a land of promise. They landed off course in winter, but decided to remain and eke out their new existance, and indeed, there the people settled. Their code was basic; the Lord is your God, and those who do not work shalt not eat.
That winter, food was rationed, and these completely unprepared people were also completely unequipped to battle for survival. Were it not for the intervention of the Native peoples, they all would have perished. During their worst days, all they had to eat, PER DAY, was 5 kernels of corn. Many died that winter.
And yet, they still had to continue working for survival, even under those rations:
Some of them survived, and their new friends taught them how to plant corn and how to survive in this new land. When they had their first bountiful harvest, they celebrated. And it was not for only one day. NO! They celebrated as in Biblcal times...for a week! But they remembered their previous winter, and so to begin, they were each rationed 5 grains of corn, as a reminder. It was a solemn moment. There they were, before a repast fit for Kings and their Courts, and yet, in humility, they remembered their moments of the most abject poverty. They remembered the lives lost, the terrible journey, and the friendship and hard work that enabled their survival.
They knew they owed their very lives to God. And only 5 grains of corn was enough to remind them of their humble positions before their Maker.
Deuteronomy 8: 1-20
1 Be careful to follow every command I am giving you today, so that you may live and increase and may enter and possess the land that the LORD promised on oath to your forefathers. 2 Remember how the LORD your God led you all the way in the desert these forty years, to humble you and to test you in order to know what was in your heart, whether or not you would keep his commands. 3 He humbled you, causing you to hunger and then feeding you with manna, which neither you nor your fathers had known, to teach you that man does not live on bread alone but on every word that comes from the mouth of the LORD. 4 Your clothes did not wear out and your feet did not swell during these forty years. 5 Know then in your heart that as a man disciplines his son, so the LORD your God disciplines you.
6 Observe the commands of the LORD your God, walking in his ways and revering him. 7 For the LORD your God is bringing you into a good land—a land with streams and pools of water, with springs flowing in the valleys and hills; 8 a land with wheat and barley, vines and fig trees, pomegranates, olive oil and honey; 9 a land where bread will not be scarce and you will lack nothing; a land where the rocks are iron and you can dig copper out of the hills.
10 When you have eaten and are satisfied, praise the LORD your God for the good land he has given you. 11 Be careful that you do not forget the LORD your God, failing to observe his commands, his laws and his decrees that I am giving you this day. 12 Otherwise, when you eat and are satisfied, when you build fine houses and settle down, 13 and when your herds and flocks grow large and your silver and gold increase and all you have is multiplied, 14 then your heart will become proud and you will forget the LORD your God, who brought you out of Egypt, out of the land of slavery. 15 He led you through the vast and dreadful desert, that thirsty and waterless land, with its venomous snakes and scorpions. He brought you water out of hard rock. 16 He gave you manna to eat in the desert, something your fathers had never known, to humble and to test you so that in the end it might go well with you. 17 You may say to yourself, "My power and the strength of my hands have produced this wealth for me." 18 But remember the LORD your God, for it is he who gives you the ability to produce wealth, and so confirms his covenant, which he swore to your forefathers, as it is today.
19 If you ever forget the LORD your God and follow other gods and worship and bow down to them, I testify against you today that you will surely be destroyed. 20 Like the nations the LORD destroyed before you, so you will be destroyed for not obeying the LORD your God.
DO NOT take the Lord's mercy for granted. Do not make your "Thanksgiving" a moment of self-praise about what YOU have accomplished and built. Remember that the Lord, your God has given you EVERYTHING that you have, to the very air in your lungs. As you sit around the table before a sumptuous repast, remember our forefathers and what they suffered, remember your own moments, if you had them, of absolute poverty, and remember that all you now have is a gift. Invite God into your celebration, and if it so helps, as you offer your Thanksgiving prayers and blessings, set before you 5 grains of corn. And Remember whom you serve, and who it is who holds you in existance...and Praise Him.
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Thanksgiving, 2009
My friends, Give thanks to God for what you have received. Remember the humble roots from which you spring. Remember the sacrifices of the pilgrims, the origin of our nation, the importance of our Catholic faith, so ignored and even vilified with regard to the founding of this country. Take pride in who you are as Americans and remember that many martyrs made this country great. Remember the heroism of the Native Peoples who taught our beloved ancestors to survive, recognizing that were it not for them, we would not be who we are.
God bless you all, have a blessed Thanksgiving, and let the five kernels of corn forever remind you of the humility of your roots and the hand of God in your very being in ever single moment.
Give thanks to God...His mercy endures forever!
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