You Can't Take it With You

We've all heard the old expression "you can't take it with you" so many times that it has probably lost its meaning. On the most basic level, it refers to the fact that we can't carry our riches to the grave. To me, however, it means a lot more than money. When I was reflecting on this today in prayer, I couldn't help but be reminded of all the baggage I carry with me that I can't take with me beyond this life. Some of it I probably shouldn't carry with me another day, to be honest. Each one of us has some kind of baggage. When I call it baggage the first thought is never pleasant. We are all collectors in one way or another. Collectors of things, feelings, experiences and grudges. We cocoon ourselves with our possessions, both material and mental, and clutch to them for dear life. But here's the kicker, we can't take our baggage with us to Heaven. Obviously we won't be able to bring the physical stuff like our money, finery or heirlooms. That's the stuff everyone thinks about when they hear this expression. The fact is that we can't take our grudges, wrong thinking, pains or self-obsession with us. My need to have the next best thing has no place in Heaven, because God is the best thing that has ever been given to me, and in Heaven I will at last have Him to the fullest. Before I can open myself to the fullness of God's self-gift to me, I need to let go of everything that is weakly trying to fill that deep, abiding need.

This duty we have to let go of all the "it" that we can't take with us is hard work. It can take a lifetime and more.When I'm on my deathbed, I doubt I'll be able to look back and say that I have reached a level of perfect detachment from all earthly things. I'll probably still be clutching my pearls, holding a stray grudge for a perceived slight or a real injury, and wrong about more than a few things. Very few of us reach a level of complete detachment, and by and large we get the pleasure of recognising them as Saints. Now don't get me wrong, it is my goal to find myself fully prepared for Heaven (I am one to set the bar high), but I recognise my weakness and inability to accept all the graces God pours out on my broken little heart. So where does that leave me? As a Catholic, I have the supreme comfort of realising God has prepared for me a place where I can finish whatever unfinished work was due to make me ready for the joys of Heaven. Purgatory, which is by the way not just a sort of eternal waiting room, is a place where I will be able to work to the purification of my soul while basking in the hope of Heaven. My hope will always be for my long home, but I rejoice in God's gift of my one day temporary home, that is Purgatory. Purgatory and purge come from the same word. It means to make clean or pure. And for all my friends who love to purge all your extra "stuff", use the same spirit and purge any emotional baggage you have too. Since we can't take material possessions with us anyway, we should get a head start on Purgatory and start letting go of our spiritual hang-ups.

Here's the lucky thing, if your "it" is love, you get to carry every last drop of that. So if there's anything you want to pile up, fill the rooms of your heart up with beautiful memories, love of others, hours of prayer for friends and strangers, and acts of kindness to one and all. The more you fill your heart up with love, the less room there will be for the "stuff" that clutters up your life and your soul. Now that it's a new year, maybe we can take on the challenge to say goodbye to a little more brokenness and welcome in more love.

Scandalous Gift of Gratitude

On the mornings that we have our Parents & Tots group at our parish, a few of the Moms (myself included) try to go to daily Mass with our kids. It's one of the little ways we're working at growing in faith together. We're lucky enough that our Pastor never pulls any punches for the weekday crowd, and consistently delivers thought provoking homilies that give us lots of material for our discussions in our group after Mass.

 

Today, the Gospel reading was the all too familiar story of the woman pouring out the expensive oil on Jesus' feet and then wiping it with her hair. I've heard that story thousands of times and always find it beautiful. Ever since our reconciliation service a few weeks ago, I've tried to follow our Pastor's advice to listen to those familiar stories with fresh ears. The kids were surprisingly quiet (thanks to a few extra adults there to help out!), so I found myself hearing details of the story I'd never heard before.

 

First of all, the woman was Mary, the sister of Lazarus. John the Evangelist makes a point of saying that this meeting was after the resurrection of Lazarus. Jesus had joined she and her sister Martha in weeping at the tomb of their brother, and then raised him from the dead. Her brother who she clearly loved, was given back to her in this life. The cycle of death was broken before her eyes. Faced with a gift of that magnitude, how would you respond? According to my Pastor's research, the nard Mary spilled poured out on Jesus' feet would be worth $25,000 by today's valuation. The people who witnessed this extravagance on Mary's part were scandalized (some might say rightly so) at what they considered a waste. But to Mary, that gift was an expression of her worship. She could not deny Jesus was God after seeing her brother come back from the dead. Jesus had conquered death, what was a mere $25k worth of ointment? How could earthly goods compare to that gift?

 

After Mary had given her small token of love to Christ, we hear Judas complaining that the money would have been better spent on the poor. Here again I heard a line I had never noticed before at John 12:6:

This he said, not that he cared for the poor but because he was a thief, and as he had the money box he used to take what was put into it.

 

Rather than being a man concerned for the poor and exasperated at the wastefulness, I saw for the first time another side of Judas. He, who had seen Jesus perform so many miracles, used the gift of this woman to attempt to stir up scandal. Surely the others in the room were already thinking the same thing, but I wonder at the image of one of the apostles openly criticising her. Mary's gift was an expression of her faith in Christ's divinity, but Judas' words show how closed his heart truly was to what was before him in the person of Jesus. Judas is shown to be a thief, riding on Jesus' coattails to make money off the backs of those generous enough to give money to the apostles for the service of the poor and weak. It's easy to see why he would have been upset over the loss of the 300 denarii when not too many days later he was willing to sell Jesus out for a mere 30 coins. Here he was, calling out Mary for his own gain, when he not only wouldn't give a penny of his own money for the poor, but was even taking from money given for their care.

 

How often is the Church criticized for its beautiful buildings and art, saying that all of it should be sold off to serve the poor? (If we can ignore the fact for the just a moment that they only people who could afford the art being preserved in the Vatican Museum (just for a small example) would be the super rich who would  be acquiring that art as material possessions rather than for the service of the poor... And if we could also ignore that selling off all the earthly goods of the Church would only be a temporary fix and wouldn't actually solve the real problem of poverty...) People continue to be scandalized by the beauty of the Church, and the way we adorn her. Part of that comes from the fact that, like Judas, they don't recognize the divinity of Christ and the miraculous beauty of the Church He established. If the Church is just a social club or maybe a charitable society, having a golden Chalice and marble statues is excessive. On the other hand, if the Church is the Bride of Christ, the site of a daily wedding banquet to celebrate the Bridegroom who gave His life for His Bride, how can we not adorn it? Yes, we have a duty and obligation to give service to the poor. This is part of the daily mission of the Church. At the end of the day we should seek to ease the suffering of the poor as much as we can, and attempt to feed the deep spiritual hunger of the poor in spirit as well. That does not mean we should deny Christ honour and glory in what earthly ways we can. Our Church is a house for the Eucharist, the true presence of Christ. We lay Him in safety in our Tabernacle. If Christ is truly in our Church, should we not like Mary adorn what is at His feet in a way befitting our belief of His Presence and Divinity?

 

We are left knowing that we must keep a delicate balance of praising God and serving the needs of those around us. It of course burns a little to hear the constant criticism of people in the First World who would happily see the Church stripped of all its finery, but wouldn't give up their earthly goods to serve the poor man they meet on their own street. Just like Judas, they'd use whatever means necessary to criticize those who love Christ. They are more than happy to use the poor as pawns to  try and scandalize the sensibilities of those who are not yet convinced of the divinity of Christ. The Devil always finds his way to quietly whisper something that sounds like truth but then to twist it to tarnish our vision. Yes, serving the poor is an essential part of being Christian. Yet, what makes us Christian is not our service, but our faith in the divinity of Christ. We are called to remember and celebrate the gift of Life given to us through Christ's sacrifice on the Cross. Like Mary, sometimes words don't seem a great enough gesture for that gift of Life. Sometimes we want to spill precious oils at the foot of the Lord, regardless of what those around us may think.

Reconciled

I wrote a post a few days ago about Confession. I basically explained that I haven't gone in a long time, and was struggling with it. That same night, I left my sweet babies at home in the gentle care of their Daddy, and made the walk down to the Church. When I decided to go several hours before it was a beautiful clear day, not a cloud in the sky. At 6:15pm when I hit the road for what should have been a 10 or 15 minute walk (or shall I say waddle?), there was a less than delightful rain/snow mix hailing down from the sky just slow enough that the faster I walked, the wetter I got. And cold. And whiny. Before I was even down the hill from my house, I considered turning back for the warmth and comfort of home. I honestly wasn't feeling the idea of going to Confession anyway, so the bad weather seemed a fine excuse to turn back. Just as I was about to turn around a song came on my iPod that paused my whining thoughts in my tracks. It was Audrey Assad's Breaking You (I've included the YouTube link at the bottom). It felt like Jesus was singing in my ear, singing of the pain in my heart. The line "Right now you don't know who you are, but I won't give up on you" really hit me hard. Jesus wasn't giving up on me. He was inviting me to come to Him and get the help waiting just a few more minutes away. Sure, the weather was ugly, but no less ugly than the sin in my heart that needed to be washed away. I just needed to show up and God would take care of the rest.

By the time I arrived at the Church I was worn out, uncomfortable, and nervous. I did my best to make some small talk with people as I cleaned myself off a little in the entry-way of our Church. I could feel that lump in my throat, the fear I was already feeling. I could intellectualize all I wanted about how easy it would be, how good it would feel, and how important it was, but my sin was whispering doubt and fear and judgement in my ears. I sat down in an empty part of the Church (near the front, if you're Catholic you'll get this. We are back pew dwellers by and large), but quickly small groups of people I knew sat around me. I wondered if they could feel my anxiety. They probably chalked it up to how ponderously pregnant I looked and felt. I find the hard wooden pews very uncomfortable when I'm pregnant, so I'm entirely sure I made a spectacle trying to sit and stand with a modicum of grace. The service was nice, although I can say easily the highlight was the Gospel reading. As it common in these settings, it was the parable of the Prodigal Son. I was fully ready to go into auto-pilot when our Pastor asked us to listen to the words as though we were hearing it for the first time. What an invitation! How often do we hear the Gospel and think "I've heard it all before!" then go on making our assumptions for what we will hear. That invitation to listen with fresh ears opened me up in a way I couldn't imagine to the beautiful imagery of a loving and merciful Father. If I can leave you with one thought, it would be to go and read the parable of the Prodigal Son like it was the first time you'd ever read it. I defy you not to cry as the Father runs to his son, saying he was dead but now alive again. That reading set the tone for the rest of my experience.

When all the prepared service was done everyone there (a good number in fact) wandered off into little lines to wait to have their confession heard by one of the many priests who had come to serve us patiently. I decided I'd go see my Pastor, who I've known since I was 15 or 16 years old (100 years ago now, right?). I knew I could give him the Coles notes version without feeling the need to over-explain. God knows my sin, but the point is that saying it out loud is so important. It gives me freedom but also accountability. So there I was in line, waiting, waiting waiting. I started to get jittery and considered simply leaving. I was in fact moments away from doing just that when I saw something that changed my heart. There was a young girl in front of me with her Mom. I found out later she was in grade 4, just a few years older than my oldest child. She looked a little anxious too, but when her turn came she went right up and received the Sacrament of Reconciliation. I was pleased to see this young girl out on a school night, choosing to go up and do something I, a grown woman, was so nervous about. When she was done, she came running back to her Mom (who was next in line) and gave her a big hug, tears streaming down her face. She was the picture of the joy and was clearly overwhelmed by her experience. I was so incredibly moved by her simple display of faith, by how deeply she felt the forgiveness she had been so anxious for. While I stood in line I leaned over and let her know that her joy made me want to go up too, that I was really nervous as I hadn't been to Confession in a long time, but that I wanted to feel the way she felt when I came down. She was shy and smiled so sweetly. A little Saint in the making I think.

With that in mind, I waited a little longer and then my turn came. I thought my heart was going to explode, or fall out, or simply melt away I was so nervous. Sounds so silly, I know. I am so out of the habit of seeking out the Sacrament of Reconciliation, I could barely think as I walked over and sat in the chair across from my Pastor. Thankfully, I managed to blurt out right away how I was feeling, that it had been so many years, and that I couldn't even remember what I was supposed to do. The picture of a gentle Father, he prayed with me, invited me to share what I needed to share, and listened with patience as I rambled for a few moments. No admonishments. No judgements. No taunting or teasing. Simply joy that I had come back seeking mercy. For my penance, he asked me to go home and read Luke 15, the parable of the Lost Sheep. At the end he smiled and I realized that I hadn't really been breathing for the majority of my time there. I was waiting for him to tell me what a bad person I was maybe? I don't know. Instead he laid his hand on my head to bless me, and with that the last of my fears washed away, along with my jealously protected sins. In their place flooded in a feeling of peace. This was what I had been running away from, pretty much my whole life. The Sacrament of mercy, forgiveness of peace. How can I cling to my sin so firmly knowing that this is what I could exchange it for? No more excuses. Time to trade my fear for security.

"I Will Give you Shepherds"

When I was discerning, one of the documents I came across was a post-synodal exhortation (try saying that three times fast!) called "Pastores Dabo Vobis" which translates to "I will give you shepherds" and is a reference to Jeremiah 3:15. The hopefulness of that quote is that God will never leave us without a shepherd to wander through the desert without end. A shepherd is someone charged with the loving care of his flock. Jesus used the image of the shepherd to tell beautiful parables about His abiding care for each individual child of God. Before He ascended to Heaven there to remain until His second coming, He gave us Pastors, or Shepherds to continue to guide His fledgling Church through the desert of this world. How grateful I am that God hasn't left it all up to me to find my way to Heaven, but has given me earthly guides to inspired and lead me along the little way of Christ.

As Catholics, our Shepherds are the priests, Bishops and most of all the Pope. The Pope, through constant prayer, consultation with scholars and Bishops, and the study of the Scriptures and Apostolic Tradition, guides us as our chief earthly Shepherd and works to preserve the rich depths of our faith as it has been handed down. He is charged with praying for all of us, but also to remind us always to hold strong to our faith. Our most recent Pope, Benedict XVI, used his papacy as an opportunity to guide us like a good Shepherd, point us always to Christ. One of his greatest contributions to Christian thought was his series called Jesus of Nazareth. He never pointed to himself, except to point out his own frailty, and used all his strength to point always us to Christ who redeems us. John Paul II used his papacy as well to point us to the love of Christ, reminding us always "Do not be afraid!" as we sought to come into closer relationship with Jesus. These men, so seemingly against the culture and irrelevant according to modern media, have been doing the only thing necessary to win our love: Fearlessly preaching the Gospel, with authenticity and truth. Neither of these two great men bent under the weight of increasing societal pressure to modify, tweak, or change the essential doctrine whose sole purpose is to keep us in right relationship with God and draw us up into relationship with Jesus. Both of them saw that the whims of culture change like shifting sand racked by a windstorm of popular opinion. The Church of Christ was built on a rock, not on the sand.

So as we live through this time where we have no earthly shepherd, we turn to God in patience and anxiety to see who will be our new earthly shepherd, our new Peter. When John Paul II passed away, it felt so easy and smooth as then Cardinal Ratzinger took the tiller on the barque and guided us all through the early days of Sede vacante. When they announced "Habemus Papam!" and his kind face came out to wave in disbelief at his flock, I felt reassured. The Holy Spirit was with us, taking care of us, giving us a shepherd after God's own heart. Right now, there are many good men who could take up the tiller and steady the boat, but no one man stands out to me the clear choice. I'm sure the Cardinals are lying in bed right now pondering the same question, but with a greater weight than I. Our new Pope is more than likely among them. Is he lying in his bed with the fear and doubt of Peter, but also the faith to say that he will take up the duty of feeding Christ's flock when he faces the Cross of the papacy soon to be presented to him? As all Catholics cling together on our boat, rocked by the wild storms on all sides, I'm sure even the man who will be our Peter is wondering if the Lord is asleep in the boat. But truly the Lord is not asleep. In these days He lets us steer the boat, but entrusts us with a man to take the tiller and keep our course between the rocks steady and secure, following the route the Lord charted for us nearly 2000 years ago. I trust that the Holy Spirit is guiding the Cardinals to see and elect the man God has chosen, a man who will turn from his own desires and his fear, to take up the staff and get to the work of strengthening and feeding Christ's weary flock. God will give us a new shepherd, a shepherd after His own heart.

My Conversion Story

I think it's fair to say every Christian has a conversion story. There are big conversions like Jen Fulwiller from Conversion Diary, who through long and patient journey moved from atheism all the way to being a Roman Catholic. Inspiring stuff that. There's other quieter stories of conversion we didn't know were happening until we look back and see a long line of little changes in our heart. Then somewhere in the middle there's me. People love hearing elements of my journey, what with the nunnery, marrying the former monk, and the having of many babies. That's all lovely to share, and seriously I will talk your ear off if you bring it up (you have been warned folks). But that's not really how it all started. This part of my life is the result of a few small choices and one big trip that changed everything for me. I've mentioned it in the past, but I felt it was finally time to tell more about my conversion.

To do that we have to start a ways back. My parents were and are good, Church-going folk. Regular attendees and devoted participants in whatever ministry they could manage over the years. By habit more than by force of desire, I grew up a well-educated, passionate young woman for whom attendance and participation in my Church community was as natural as breathing. I passed seamlessly from Baptism to First Communion to Confirmation (notice I skipped Reconciliation, I actually didn't receive that particular sacrament until I was in my late teens!). I gave the Church my time and passion, as I had the utmost respect for the morals and ethics I heard preached from the altar. I had a near encyclopedic knowledge of the Bible, Catholic doctrine, and the Saints. But for my wannabe-Thomistic ways, I had none of the love or faith to make that knowledge useful.

When my Confirmation came about, we were required to do "service" work in our community, and having a love of music, I joyfully joined the choir, fitting in nicely with the all-ages crowd. As I rounded out my first year of service, my choir director let me know about a Church Choir camp. If only to have something to do and to learn some new music, I decided to go for it. Again, participation was one of my strong points. I had seldom had the classic camp experience, y'know, where you have a great time, eat food of variable quality due to its quantity, and then cried as I bid farewell to my new friends for life (which is actually true, I am still close friends with many of them!). I was confused and touched by the somewhat counter-cultural experience of faith I witnessed amongst many of my fellow campers. Kids my own age weren't talking about liturgical correctness and what songs were in the new hymnal (although I guess that would've been weird), they were talking about Jesus and their desire to give themselves to God. They prayed the rosary with our Bishop when he visited with joy and affection for Mary. I had arrived, rosary in hand, with no sweet clue as to how to use it except as a wall decoration (and once, as a necklace, which was quickly rebuked by my Father). The kids seemed to be living in a different world than me, and they were happy about it. Even though I had developed deep friendships with many of them, I felt like I had lost the plot. They were talking all about World Youth Day (what the heck is that I wondered?) and how they were busy fundraising and planning. I came home from camp for the first time aware that I had clearly missed some important piece in the puzzle for what Church was meant to be. So when the notice came out inviting more young people to sign up for a pilgrimage for World Youth Day in 2000 I decided to give it a try. It certainly didn't hurt that it was in Rome, which was on my short list of must see cities. So I started my small fundraising efforts with a tourist's intentions and the seed of curiosity planted in my heart at camp that year.

Suffice it to say my efforts to fundraise were half-hearted. How was I going to raise $5000 all on my own? No one else in my parish was going so I was going to have to be creative. Let's say I wasn't. I was pretty lazy to be honest. The trip sounded fun, but did I want to be stuck on a plane with a bunch of Jesus Freaks? I met a few of them in our preparation and while I liked them, I was again confused and a little put off by how much they talked about Jesus and seemed to worship the Pope. Seriously, why get so excited about an old man who already was having problems talking? Ugh. I was happy to let the fundraising slide and have that be my out. The curiosity from my summer camp had faded in the face of the day to day life of high school. So when I got hit by a car on my 16th birthday and survived with barely a scratch and was then awarded a settlement (against my will as I had no desire to sue the sweet man who accidentally hit me) that was just enough to pay for the trip, I had lost my out. The realization that I almost died fuelled my desire to live out a few of my dreams lest fate came back to finish me off. Sounds silly all these years later, but it was definitely part of my thought process.

So I left my small city for the impossible heat and crushing crowds of Rome with 81 other pilgrims (including a handful of priests and our Bishop) to meet the universal Church face to face. Culture shock doesn't even begin to describe my experience, and I'm not talking about Italy (although c'mon, who doesn't love all things Italian??). Everywhere I went there were roaming crowds of excited chanting young Catholics praising Jesus. In subway cars that made sardine cans look inviting, besides cute panini carts (I can still taste it now!), in the massive lines for the Coliseum, and, so it felt, around every street corner. None was more startling to me than when I met these enthusiastic young people completely silenced in the face of the Eucharist. My fake it 'til you make it Catholicism felt suddenly so empty in the face of their authentic and unencumbered devotion. I could play the part next to them, but I was so afraid of being caught in the lie that my faith was nothing more than the expression of custom and learning outside the context of real caring. I did my best to fit in while giving myself over to living behind the lens of my camera, photographing every building and Church we walked by like a good little photojournalist, with not an ounce of passion for much more than the architecture. I recall getting pretty upset on more than one occasion at a young priest who was in our group who kept taking pictures of me along our travels. I wasn't really part of this group of people. Sure, I'd love to feel the way they all did, but I didn't belong with them because I didn't really believe what they believed. Why document the little vacuum I was feeling with all those pictures and video? (I'm glad he did now of course!)

One of the turning points for me came when one of my new friends, a young man whose cabin was across from mine (he shared his with our photographer priest, another newly minted priest, and another young man), teased me for only taking pictures of places and not people, and especially not myself. He called me to account on the fact that I was willfully separating myself from the action around me, willfully denying that I could be part of the group. I doubt he even knew what that little comment meant in the moment. I had been playing my part well, saying all the right words, but I had held myself back from seeing the possibility of my life as one of these faithful young people. It took a little more coaxing, but one night without much fanfare, as I layed on the cabin's deck in my sleeping bag listening to the new (or dare I say baby?) priest snoring his way through the night, I gave in. I had a quiet chat with God, this stranger who had been persistently knocking at the door of my heart my whole life, but never more than that week. I told Him that if He wanted, He could have my life. That I wanted to have the faith that the people all around me had. That if He gave me even an ounce of their faith, I would hold on to it so tight nothing could take it from it. There was no lightning bolt, no burning bush, just a quiet whisper in my heart. God didn't need to say Yes to me, He'd said that before there was time. He was waiting for me to let Him in, and then gently at first, and then more and more as time went on, God came into my heart. I woke up the next day still confused, but a little more open.

By the time our pilgrimage was over, I had actually been given a pilgrim's heart. I left with a deep sense that God had a plan for my life and began on the long path to figure out what that was. As time went on and I sought to deepen my relationship with Christ, I am so grateful I have always had the backdrop of the Church to encourage and guide me. Every conversion I've had, and I've had so many over the years, has been joyfully in the arms of the Church, through the loving hands of the community God surrounds me with. God continues every day to seek out my empty places, and to fill them with His abundant love, through the grace of the Sacraments given me whenever I seek them out. If it weren't for the community of believers I met first at camp, then at WYD, then again through the Challenge retreats, the Franciscans, and now through my parish, I would never have opened my heart to Christ, and then continued to break open the door in my heart wider and wider.

St. Valentine and his Day

I know a lot of people who have a beef with the commercialization of Christmas. Every holiday season we're inundated with images of a jolly old chap selling us Coca-Cola, every product imaginable, as well as an array of toys that defies my imagination. To some extent I expect it at Christmas these days. And if the birth of Christ is open game, I shouldn't be surprised by the sickeningly sweet shades of pink and red that are washing over the local stores. Not that they're just starting to spread. Most retail outlets had at least one Valentine's Day aisle while Christmas shopping was still in full force. It feels like a slow-spread disease, the symptoms of which are forced displays of affection, a blindness to any colour not in the family of red or pink, and high blood sugars from excessive chocolate consumption. While I'm sure a lot of folks aren't just making displays of affection for Valentine's Day and are daily making their significant others feel beloved, I wonder why it feels like the message is to absolutely spoil your partner or spouse for the one day, but not to focus on the other 364 days. Even if you are a spontaneous person who spoils your loved ones in unexpected ways and on any day, the expectations behind this singular day are so huge, how can even the most loving person manage to keep up? It seems, according to the media and consumer stores, that I'm supposed to be expecting spa packages, special meals, cards, gifts, special mementos and so much more from my husband. Apparently all that is required of me is that I show up to be loved, maybe get him a card, and watch some hockey. I feel like something's been lost in translation.

St. Valentine must be rolling his eyes up in Heaven. Here a was a man, a priest, who gave his life to God and to God's Church every day of his life up until the moment he was brutally martyred. He was a man of daily charity to those who relied on him to give them the Sacraments. St. Valentine is associated with romantic love because he risked his life to help couples celebrate the Sacrament of Marriage at a time when Christianity was prohibited in the Roman Empire. At any point he could have given up his clandestine works of devotion to his flock, but he continued on until he was arrested and martyred. To me, this seems so much at odds with the current incarnation of his feast day. Here's a man, a beautiful image of sacrificial love, whose feast day is being used for indulgence, selfish expectations, and excess. The couples for whom he risked his life to witness the Sacrament of their Marriage, must be up there in Heaven rolling their eyes too. They had to gather in secret locations away from the eyes of the Roman law to sanctify their union. I'm pretty sure the idea of chocolates and spa treatments seem empty next to the freedom to celebrate their faith in peace. I may be speaking out of turn, but I'm pretty sure these couples would be at Mass on February 14th, giving thanks to God for the priest who gave everything to God and to them.

All of this leads me to reflect that if we're going to set St. Valentine's day apart as a special day, it shouldn't be a day to celebrate saccharine emotional displays. It should be a day to emulate that sacrificial love that St. Valentine lived unto his own death. And like St. Valentine, it shouldn't just be on one day, it should be the act of every day. While I think it's always great to remind people around us that we love them, I think we should go well past just saying it, and prove it year round, by devoting small duties and prayers to ease their path and bring them closer to God. Through the daily administering of his duties, St. Valentine brought Christ to those around him. This St. Valentine's Day, perhaps what we could do for those we loved would be to pray for them, offer Mass, and instead of handing over our money to the stores for the sake of trinkets and foods, give our loved ones the gift of ourselves. Maybe that means sitting down and taking extra time to listen to them, or pray with them, or even letting them go and take a nap when they get home after a long day. All the things that society tells us will express our love will only last a day or two. The flowers will wilt, the chocolates will be eaten, the cards will find their way into the recycling, but the gift of yourself will build up your relationship in a truly lasting way that could snowball and improve your relationship for the rest of your lives together.

Light in the Darkness

I've been struggling with whether or not I wanted to write this post. I really don't want to, but of course I feel like I have to. I almost let my feelings slide into unspoken thoughts, then I read this beautiful post over at Mommy Miracles, and felt again the words bubbling to the top, demanding a voice. So here are my few words, the result of the desperate cry of my heart, imperfectly cobbled together in hopes of finding a little peace outside my own head.

On Friday, I did not lose a child, or a sister, or a parent. On Friday, my children did not lose their sense of safety. On Friday, my family did not become the center of media attention, or become the center of a debate on security, gun control, or support for mental health. My little world stayed very much the same. My children continued on in blissful ignorance. And yet here I am, my heart broken, tears rolling down my cheeks without warning, aching for the way the world felt on Thursday. I have been struggling to tear my eyes away from news media and have been escaping into silly movies, cuddles with my children, and fervent prayer. As a parent I keep finding myself drawn into the vacuum of grief so visible on the faces of the parents enduring a tragedy no parent should ever endure. Children the same age as my daughter should not know the terror these children endured.

What can I do when death knocks on the door, and leaves its cold streaks across my heart? I did the only thing I could for my own heart, and for the hearts of the families who are spending the end of Advent not preparing for the birth of Christ, but for the funeral of a loved one. I prayed. I prayed alone. I prayed with friends. I took my kids to the Church and we prayed.

At my parish, we have a Pro-Life Holy Hour the third Saturday of every month. As I tried to lead our prayers over the clatter and chatter of 5 little kids (4 of them mine of course), I could feel the veil lifting. Our chapel holds the Tabernacle, which is on a pedestal on a platform step higher than the rest of the room. The platform is big enough for an adult to have access to the ciborium holding Jesus in safety inside. This also means the platform is more than big enough for 5 kids aged 5 and under to crawl up and sit together. The kids were drawn to the Tabernacle, even the little 1 year olds. They didn't know what we were there for, or why some of the grown ups were crying. They just knew we were there to be with Jesus. So they went and hung out with Jesus, saying their little prayers and laughing together in perfect communion. At one point, I couldn't help but remark that this was what Heaven looked like on Saturday. A crowd of little kids, their cares washed away, looking down from the heights at their parents with happy smiles, in peace in the presence of God. We adults watched with a sense of joy and sadness, turning out prayers to those left behind, but comforted by the knowledge that their children and ours are welcome with God, that they are His beloved children too. Our kids only belong to us for their lifetime, but they are God's first and always.

Since Saturday morning, whenever I feel the darkness stealing its way back into my heart, I think back on that moment. A sweet taste of bliss and a comfort. My prayer today is that the families experience the real, unfathomable, heartbreaking loss of their children, sisters, and parents, can feel this grace that God gave me today. I pray He finds some way into their hearts to heal them.

Taste of Heaven

I don't mean to brag (well, maybe a little), but I'm pretty sure I'm a member of the best Catholic parish in the world. That's a pretty hefty claim, I realise, but I think I can back it up! For one, we have an amazing, engaging, and brave parish priest. He's willing to do things that he know may not be popular, because he knows it's right. His homilies are engaging, and he has no problem speaking difficult truths from the pulpit. He also has no problem letting us know that he's not the reason our parish is incredible. You can have an actual Saint at your parish, and you still might not be a happening parish filling the pews and drawing new people in. Having a great pastor is only one piece of the puzzle. Our priest recognises his primary job is to bring us the Sacraments, teach us about our Faith from the pulpit, and, very importantly, to nurture parish leaders who can raise up an incredible community outside of our Sunday Mass. Which leads to my real point. Yes, we have an incredible parish priest. He's got a vision for what our parish can become and is working so so so hard to help us make that happen, but in the end he's putting it in the hands of the laity to get the job done.

When we moved to this area and started attending this parish, I was a little nervous. We'd been going to a very lovely parish downtown with a pastor who we consider a very close friend and were liking the parish in principle. We didn't participate in any parish activities because we were already commuting to get there and didn't see anything that really jumped out at us. I was also struggling with the idea of going to the Church that was actually in our area because my Dad is a public figure there, and it's an amalgamation including my childhood parish. Not that I don't love my Dad, but he casts quite a shadow, and is there anything worse than having no one know your name except for as "So and So's daughter"? Despite my misgivings, we thought we'd come for one or two weekends to feel the new place out. If nothing else, it would  be nice to check out the swanky new building! The first impression, which has turned into a lasting one, was that this is a vibrant, welcoming parish. Strangers smiled and welcomed us on the way in. Folks introduced themselves out of nowhere when we sat down. And no, they didn't have that lean and hungry look some people get when they see a young family at Church (quickly! Young people! Start signing them up for stuff!). They didn't recognise us, so they wanted to make us feel at home. Some folks who recognised me from my particular childhood parish (the new parish is an amalgamation of 3 smaller parishes) came over and welcomed us back with no judgements (sometimes when you've moved to a different parish, people kind of assume that they you left the Church altogether... haha). Simply just happy to see us! And boy are they welcoming of kids! Your kids screaming his or her head off? That's okay! That's what kids do. Can I help you at all? What a joy to see your family here!

After a few masses, we were hooked on this new parish. We found the particular mass that worked for us, and actually managed to get ourselves a regular spot. It took another couple of months before we really go involved, but after a while people gently invited us (and in the case of my Dad, much less gently) to join a few activities. I took Alpha last year, and this year I'm helping to run it for Young Families in our parish. (Don't know what Alpha is? You're missing out friend! Run to your local parish and if they're not carrying it, they should be!). Our Alpha class turns into a faith based playgroup when we're not running the course, which means we have year-round fun, support, and growth in our faith. Based on the inspiration of my experience during my 4th pregnancy, I started a little ministry called Food for Families that brings ready to cook meals to young families who are greeting a new baby. I've also joined the Baptism Formation Committee, the Pro-Life Committee, and just this past week the Welcoming Committee (a new committee to help people who are new to the parish feel welcome and comfortable). All stuff that's right up my alley, and none of it so taxing that I'm pulling my hair out. And no one MADE me do any of it. I just feel so energised by our parish that I WANT to do it! And it isn't just me! My husband joined the Knights of Columbus, which has him out and about quite and bit, joined the Pro-Life Committee with me, and started doing a retreat series called Moment by Moment, which is a 30 Day retreat stretched out to be once a week for 30 weeks. I think it's fair to say he's loving it to.

The most incredible thing about this parish is that there's really something for everyone! We've got Youth groups, bible studies, faith formation, grief support, playgroups, movie nights, fun activities like knitting or Ukrainian Easter eggs, and just about anything else you can think of! It's so much that we have a person who specifically coordinates all our volunteers! Our parish bulletin is so packed with real activities each month that we're trying to upgrade to a bigger format so we can actually tell folks about everything going on! Our parish is living proof that if you raise up good leaders, they'll go out and raise up more good leaders, and so on! We're all working together, growing together, praying together, and spending a lot of our time laughing. With the strength of God and our desire to come closer to Him individually and as a community, we drawing new people in and helping people find faith, re-learn their faith, and grow in their faith. When you look back across the Church during Mass, it's hard not to notice a lot of shining faces with their eyes fixed on the Cross. Our parish, its staff, parishioners and pastor, are working hard to become a little foretaste of Heaven so compelling that we ignite a fire of Faith so strong we could catch the whole world on fire. Every time I feel the flame of my Baptism growing dim, I can depend that there's someone in the parish who will share their light with me, and help me grow back into a raging inferno of love for Christ.

And that's the kind of parish we could all use.

Church of Entitlement

I've been reading a lot about the Church lately that has me a little irked. The general reaction reminds me of the old saying "What have you done for ME lately?". The feeling of entitlement is just sickening. The issues spawn from what we think is our right, our due. Changes to the priesthood, change in worship styles, changes in sexual ethics, demanding sacraments on our own terms, viewing the Church as a pretty building for hire at the right price, wanting to have your pastor's personal line on speed dial, etc.

Every one of these issues find their root in our feeling of entitlement. We want the Church to serve our will, our desire, and our vision. The Church is there to serve us yes, but not because we deserve anything. Christ called us to serve the weak, the unworthy, and the sinners (of which most if not all of us fall into all three categories). The Church's service to us, however, does not mean that She is meant to bow down to our human knowledge, will, and societal demands. The Church is not a teenager bowing down to peer pressure. She is the Bride of Christ, and must, like her Heavenly Spouse, bear witness to the truths God has taught us through Holy Scripture and through our long Tradition. To change Her ways to appeal to current societal appeals is to deny Her dignity. Her duty is now and has always been to present Christ to us, through God's word, through the Sacraments He instituted in Her, especially through the Most Sacred Sacrament of the Holy Eucharist. Nothing else the world tells us we need can compare to the mystery and glory of the Eucharist.

The fact that I can even dare to approach the altar of God, for which I am eminently unworthy, is a miracle of unending mercy and grace. My worthiness comes not from my good deeds, my own time in devoted prayer, or even by nature of my humanity, even though I was made in God's image. I am fallen, spoiled, and broken. I am a distorted image of God. I can never rise on my own to a level of dignity high enough to deserve to even sit at the foot of the Altar to bask in the wonder of His Presence. The only reason I can even begin to approach the Lord, and even then with soul-rending humility, is because Christ has taken on my sin and allowed me to take upon myself His worthiness. I am alive in God on borrowed grace that I fight to continue to accept every day I live. My baptism has saved me and the Eucharist brings me into the body of Christ and sustains me. Despite my brokenness, Christ has given me mercy.

In that light, the Church owes me nothing. The Church has already given me more than I can ever deserve as She shares with me through Her anointed ministers the Sacraments of Christ. To come to Her with a sense of entitlement and demand She bend to my will is to throw back in Her face and that of Her Spouse the gift of the Cross. How can I say what She offers is too little when She is Christ to me as I await Heaven?

All I can ask of my Church is that Her ministers remain accountable, truthful, and that they do everything they can to maintain Her in the same dignity Christ gave to Her on Calvary. At times we may choose to adorn Her in different ways and delve more deeply into the truths She protects, but we must always strive to protect Her true beauty, which is the Sacraments. We must request them with great discernment and humility and accept them with a bowed heart and not a grasping hand. At times we must step back and realise we still cannot ask for the Sacraments because of our state of sinfulness or even the realisation that not all Sacraments are meant for us individually. Our Church is not a fast food chain. The altar is not a table. The Eucharist is not bread, but the Very Body and Blood of our Saviour, broken and poured out for us as a ransom from death. Let us treat the Church as holy ground, not as a place where we can place our order and expect it to be filled to the letter. Approach the Altar of Christ with sorrow and weeping as you would the Cross, and give thanks for what you have been given in the depths of your sinfulness and leave your self-entitled requests at the door. In doing that and accepting Christ in the Sacraments as God has ordained them for you, you will find great joy, peace, and fulfilment than any plan you could conceive for yourself.

Post-Election Hangover

I'm not an American, but like many other Canadians, I found myself glued to the screen until late in the night watching CNN call state after state (don't get me started on calling a state before any ballots have been counted) for one candidate or another. As an informed citizen of the world, I had my own little opinions as to who the best candidate would be, and how the next 4 years would look in the ole US of A. At the end of the day it doesn't matter whether I was with Obama or Romney. First of all, I couldn't vote, and secondly, the election is over and the results are in.

I'm left this evening reflecting on the honest truth that if I had been in the US, I'm not sure who would have gotten my vote. As in Canada, we always seem to be voting for the lesser of two (or in our case several) evils. When we pin our hopes on human beings and proclaim their policy to be divine, we're bound to run into troubles. The fact is that after all these years, I've given up on the idea of a Philosopher King (sorry Plato. What a tease). There is no human being who can act in all ways perfectly according to how I believe God would act. There are elements that we cling to, and find enough of an anchor of faithfulness to morality that we'll wear a pin, put a sign up on our lawn, and even debate vigorously for our candidate in the streets. I find it tough to get so engaged in any one politician. I see positive and negative policies on all sides. Social justice, right to life, healthcare, education, all of it. No one candidate has it %100 right. So we wake up on election day to a close split and a promise to work together and go back to campaigning when the dawn breaks. There is no Philosopher King, just a collection of people as broken as we are struggling to figure out what's right, what's important, and what will get them or their party elected in another 4 years (or often less if you're Canadian).

I guess I'm a little disillusioned with the obsession with politics. Don't get me wrong, I believe strongly in civic involvement, and have never missed an opportunity to cast my ballot after careful consideration. I do not, however, act like the Apocalypse is upon us when my candidate isn't elected, nor do I thank Sweet Jesus like it's some kind of deus ex machina when I pick the winning team. Rather, I think what we could all consider doing is saying a prayer for whomever finds themselves holding the balance of power, that they would use it carefully, rightly, and with deep charity for the people who entrusted them with the guidance of their nation, state or province, town, or municipality.

At the end of the day, politicians will create their policies, fund their projects, cut this that or the other thing, and do their best to do what they promised to do in election speeches. So what are we left with? How do we change the world, like so many politicians promised us over the years? My thought is that all we can do is start with ourselves. If we want the world to be more Christian, we need to look inside our hearts and figure out what that really means, and then be Christian. Not halfway Christian when it's convenient, but Christian with our whole heart, mind, soul, and strength. That kind of Christianity doesn't offend people, because real, authentic Christianity is by its very nature a daily expression of love and charity, but done in humility. It is the act of being unafraid to speak the truth, but being able to do so with kindness, love, and gentleness. That kind of love attracts people. It doesn't lead people to call us extremists. That kind of love sets others ablaze with love. It inspires other people to look deeper into themselves, to re-evaluate who they are in the world.

Don't believe me? Look at Mother Theresa. Every time you see a video of her tending to the poor, sick, and helpless, don't you feel a little accusation in your own heart, and a call to be more than who you are today? Now, I know that you and I are no Mother Theresa, but that doesn't mean we can't inspire someone today, and change our world a little bit at a time. Imagine if we all embraced the true call of our faith, how simply being who Christ called us to be could really change the world. Politics can only take us so far, and often not that far at all. If we want to see the poor fed, the naked clothed, widows and orphans taken care of, and people in crisis supported, we are the ones who need to step up, organise, fundraise and finally share our own wealth as we can to make sure no one is left feeling forgotten. There are no Philosopher Kings. My only King is the King of Kings, Jesus Christ. He's the model I want to follow, He's the one who will work with me and through me to bring about real change.

The vote is cast. The election is over. Time for the rest of us to get to work.

Santo Subito!

For those of you who remember and loved Pope John Paul II, the words "Santo Subito!" are as much a part of your psyche as "JP II, we love you!". Both phrases come from very different points of his life. The latter I first heard when I attending World Youth Day in Rome in the year 2000. Hundreds of thousands of English speaking pilgrims shouted out our love for our friend, Pope John Paul II. Yes, he was our Pope. The only Pope in my life time at that point.

What was it about him that we loved, that I loved? I can give a million reasons, all of them good. I read his books, and could feel the hope and love that he infused into every moment of his life wash over me. I saw how human he was. When I was old enough to care about who the Pope was, he was an old man, falling apart before my eyes. He was dying every day on the world stage, but somehow managed to effortlessly hold on to his dignity. He showed all of us that dignity doesn't come from human esteem, but from the God who created each of us and continues to give us life each day. I loved him for who he was in history. For the bravery of his faith during the second world war, his faith in the face of a darkness so deep it swallowed up the lives of countless people, including some of his dearest friends. He came out of that evil time with great conviction, compassion and most of all love. He took the character his experiences built up in himself and used it on the world stage to stand up to evil, and stood up to communism in his beloved Poland. When he was elected Pope, he became a symbol of hope for his polish countrymen and women who were struggling again under the weight of oppression at the hand of communism. These are good reasons. But they only scratch the surface of why I loved him.

When I look at videos of John Paul II on YouTube, I feel it right away. I love this man like a member of my own family. Like a friend I've know my whole life. And why is that? Because I can feel when I see him that he loved me too. As a young girl I was lucky enough to go to World Youth Day twice before he passed away. World Youth Day is a youth festival instituted by the Pope to bring young Catholics together to encourage each other, grow in faith, and sit at the foot of Peter to hear in a way that made sense to us the Gospel of Christ. We came together, many of us there just there for a trip, and left on fire with love for Christ. So how does this man in his 80s connect to my youthful experience of faith? By far, the most exciting part of WYD, in both Rome and Toronto, was hearing the Pope speak. He loved young people, and understood how to talk to us. He didn't baby us, or dumb down the message of Christ. He challenged us, he told us we were called, he reminded us that God loved us. He said that he loved us and felt young when he was with us. This was no pandering of an ancient Church desperately grasping at the young in hopes of staying just viable enough to make it through another decade. This was a man who loved God so much, that he wanted to share his faith with us so we could find the joy he had. He knew that with that faith and joy, we could go back into the world and stay strong while being inundated with messages of immorality, consumerism, and death. He could see the challenges our generation faced, and prayed for us and loved us in it all. If you caught eyes with him as he drove by you, you felt like he was looking into your soul. People I know that actually got to meet him and chat with him each tell stories of how he would take great interest in details of their lives, and would share with them kindness and humour. He wasn't an unapproachable man in love with his own title. He was your friend, your confidant, and your greatest supporter. For me, he was an image of how I imagine Jesus was when he walked on the earth two millenia ago. He was what every true Vicar of Christ should be, someone who will love you unconditionally, tell you "Be not afraid", and then show you how to come closer to God.

So when he passed away, young people from around the world who had been drawn to him joined together with an aching cry of loss. Our friend was no longer here. But we also know that our beloved friend was with God, surely welcomed him with open arms into the Kingdom he has shared with so much passion. We took our tears and turned them into joyful shouts of "Santo Subito!", "A Saint Soon!" (sounds better in Italian). We wanted to Church to recognise formally what we already knew, that in our lifetime we had known a Saint. Already our beloved Pope is Blessed, so now we're waiting patiently for the requirements to be fulfilled so that the whole Church will join us in rejoicing in God's grace as witness in the life of a mere human who became a earthly image of Christ.

So my prayers rise up with the cry of my soul of "JP II, we love you!" and my voice shouts out "Santo Subito!" in gratitude for the man who became my friend without even knowing my name. His witness of holiness left a stamp on my heart that inspires me every day to be who God is calling me some day, so that I can open my heart up enough to make my very life an act of praise.

Life's Storms

As my readers in North America have surely heard, there is a big crazy storm slowly making its way here. My social media feeds are filling up with plans, preparations, and comments of either apprehension or cool disbelief of how bad things could be. Back in 2003 we had a pretty bad storm here that knocked power out to the whole city, and my neighbourhood in particular for over a week. We ate a lot of BBQ'd food and canned food. I was still living at home and had mono, so I got to lay on the couch, sick as a dog, watching my mother turn from BBQ novice to BBQ gourmet.

So here I am, 9 years later, with 4 kids of my own and one on the way, curious as to what the future will bring when this storm finally hits. We've stocked up on non-perishable food. If our BBQ doesn't carry us through, my folks live close by so I can trust that in case of emergency we can head over there to get meals if the roads are clear. I've stocked up on water. Probably more than we'll need. But never too much when you have 4 kids.

I couldn't help but think as I sorted through everything in my house to get ready for the storm that it's actually pretty easy to prepare for the big storms mother nature throws our way. With some certainty, we can have emergency kits ready. Our 24 hour weather channels give us plenty of warning so we can stock up, tie down things outside, and have lots of warm blankets ready to go. In the grander scheme of things, these kinds of storms are so easy to deal with.

All of this preparedness had me reflecting on spiritual storms that come our way. We rarely have any warning when they're coming. Often it's one day to the next. We go from spiritual sunshine to complete spiritual despair because of a sudden event, or a loss of hope, or a betrayal. We have no warning, no chance to quickly stock up on our spiritual goods to carry us through the storm. So how do we prepare for something that we have no warning for? For myself, I always try to do my best to build up the safety of my spirit. I try to build up a life of prayer so that I have a deep relationship with God. I don't necessarily sit and stock up on my Hail Mary's (not that I don't pray the rosary, because for real I love the rosary). I try my best to have God on my heart throughout the day. If I keep a constant dialogue with God, it's easier to remember He's there, so when I come into a time of storm, I already have that relationship with God to turn to. I also try to go to Mass. Obviously on Sunday, but when I can, I take the kids to a weekday Mass. That helps me build up my spiritual stores because physical communion with Christ through the Eucharist gives me strength I never imagined, and a peace that passes all understanding (if only for a moment through the drama of taking 4 kids to Church! haha). I'm also reminded that in any storm, the community of my Church is there for me. Christ will always reach out to me through His body, the Church. I feel so much security in my faith, even in the darkest of storms.

For me, real faith that will hold me up in my despair and struggles is not just the practice of the weekend, it is the daily act of diving deep into the love of God. Just like my kids can depend on my husband and I to take care of them regardless of what storms rage outside our door, I know that I can fall into the arms of my Heavenly Father and find Him always there when a storm is raging in my heart.