It's hard to believe it, but my baby is going to have his first birthday at the end of the month. It has been a joyful, wild, and at times difficult year. He has been a source of constant delight to our whole family. The darling of his brothers and sisters, he is full of smiles at almost all times. He seems days away from starting to walk, although I suspect like his older brother he will wait as long as possible to actually take his steps without a walker. My baby, if I can still call him that, spends most of his day getting into mischief and tearing around the main level with the help of a variety of walking devices and anything he can stand upright with and push for a distance. Just the other day he stood up and pushed the kids' little table clear across the room. We're constantly having to pull things up out of his long reach. A delightful conundrum to see him so mobile and curious.
During the first year of his sweet life, the greater life of our family has been turned on its ear. Our usual routine has changed dramatically and certain things, like our housework, have fallen completely apart. Our once moderately untidy home seems almost beyond reprieve. We're still co-sleeping (a first for us for this length of time) so his nursery has become the de facto storage room (that and every other closet, empty corner and flat surface). Our project will be to re-claim that, hopefully before his first birthday. Already this week we've re-organized the girls' room, adding back in the dressers we left out when we moved into our townhouse. We did that primarily to keep the kids from tossing all their clothes on the floor. With their bunk bed and newer laminate flooring their room looks brand new. All it needs is a coat of paint and baseboards to complete the effect. Next on our list is to re-organize baby boy's room so we can slowly get him in his crib. We want him used to sleeping in the crib before we move it down the hall to his brothers' room. That'll happen once we lay the new laminate in there and set up their bunk bed. Another year of big changes ahead.
Not to say that all the changes are due to our wee baby boy. Although his birth caused the usually fog of exhaustion, that wore off somewhere around the 4 month mark. While we were dealing with new baby love, my husband has been doing battle with his chronic illnesses (diabetes and gastroparesis). Of late he's been fighting the most persistent and long lasting case of cellulitis in his leg. Poor man works so blessed hard for us, and despite all the setbacks his health causes, he can't be kept down. God continues to bless us and we're fighting hard to keep our joy. The other reason for our topsy turvy year has been my Mom's terminal cancer diagnosis. She is daily doing battle for her health and despite an early prognosis of only a few months, she has been steadily improving her health and her prognosis. It has reminded our little family how precious every day is with our loved ones. We have been trying to spend two or more days a week visiting her, providing as much entertainment as exhaustion I suspect. The bonus has been of course more time with my Dad and brother (beloved and doting Uncle). The kids are being blessed with lots of fond memories they can treasure for their whole life.
What should have brought our family down has been a season of miracles, both big and small. God only knows what the second year of our baby's life will bring, but I trust in His mercy. He is good, and while circumstances may not always seem bright, I feel His loving care surrounds our family, protecting us.
Showing posts with label God. Show all posts
Showing posts with label God. Show all posts
Thursday, 8 May 2014
Wednesday, 10 April 2013
Spiritual Toddler
Yesterday I was lucky enough to have the chance to share about the hows and whys of Twitter with a dear friend of mine at our parish. She and I worked hard putting together a presentation and a nice hand out. We were going to deliver it as a team, passing back and forth and enriching what each other had to say. I was, needless to say, excited for the chance to help out. Our little Twitter tutorial was scheduled to happen after the Tuesday Coffee Social after morning Mass. The perfect time to bring the kids because there would be snacks to keep them happy and it was early enough in the day that they wouldn't be exhausted. We had even arranged for someone to entertain the kids, a friend of whom they are extremely fond. Unfortunately (well, really fortunately when I think of it!) he got called in to the work so I was flying solo. But that's okay! I am a pro Mom. I know how to prepare. I packed the kids up in time to get to Church a little before Mass and I brought up a kids table to set up my laptop so the kids could watch Netflix while we gave our short presentation (yay free wireless at the Church!).
We settled down in our regular weekday pew for Mass (yes, we have a regular spot). Our friend showed up and the three oldest kids stayed with her the whole time, happily cuddling and trying to kid with her. She and her husband are just like family. They're actually going to be baby boy's Godparents. We're so lucky to have them joining our family officially. But I digress. The kids were generally speaking awesome during Mass, excluding one outburst from the oldest boy who seems to believe that he can't pass through the line for Communion without getting a blessing from our parish priest, even if we're in another line. Huge drama if he doesn't get his blessing, regardless of how much I explain it's not appropriate to scream over a blessing and that he can get one AFTER Mass. Ugh. Anyway.... So Mass went very well all things considered.
After Mass was over we made our way to the room where we were giving the presentation. I set up a movie on Netflix, one I knew the kids would LOVE. I then snuck out to the reception and got a plate full of sweet and treats. Enough to make a lunch for my brood. Feeling like one of those Moms who can have it all, I get ready to help give the presentation about Twitter. A good number of people come in and take a seat and we get ready to start. And then the action really starts. Out of nowhere, my 4 year old boy loses it. Completely. For reasons that are completely obvious to him but ridiculous to me. He hasn't thrown a tantrum of that magnitude in half a year. It was epic. There was tears, screeching, screaming and begging. I had no place to put him in time out to cool off and his voice was so loud in the relatively small room. After lots of struggles I finally got him to quiet down. How, you ask? I ended up having to hold him, with his toy and book he brought, as well as a few crayons and a never ending supply of fresh paper for him to drawn on. I'm sure you know this, but I am over 8 months pregnant. Not exactly comfortable. But at that point I was willing to do just about anything to get him to calm down so my friend could be heard over the din and I could help in some small way. Crazy times.
Last night, as I sat steaming over my day, I couldn't help but laugh. My boy is usually such a gentleman, especially in public. I'm sure he's either over-tired or coming down with something. In the moment I was swept up in the thought that he should know better than to act that way. In my late night reflection, I wondered if this is how I look to God? Are there times when I should know better, that I cry out to God in frustration and anger for things I don't really need? Am I a spiritual toddler, screaming in anger, telling God I don't love Him anymore because I can't have MY way, even if MY way isn't good for me? The difference is that while my patience was wearing mighty thin with my boy yesterday, God is endlessly patient with me. He sees me ignoring my blessings and crying out in my anger, but He still smiles at my littleness. He wants me to be better, to act my age (or spiritual age in this case) and make the time to listen to His voice rather than my own for a minute. He carries me through my weakness and then teaches me how to be strong. All I can hope to do as a Mama is to try and imitate God's fatherly love for me when my kids push my buttons, and hope that when I'm the one throwing a tantrum, that I learn to quiet my heart so I can hear Him whispering comfort and truth in my ear.
We settled down in our regular weekday pew for Mass (yes, we have a regular spot). Our friend showed up and the three oldest kids stayed with her the whole time, happily cuddling and trying to kid with her. She and her husband are just like family. They're actually going to be baby boy's Godparents. We're so lucky to have them joining our family officially. But I digress. The kids were generally speaking awesome during Mass, excluding one outburst from the oldest boy who seems to believe that he can't pass through the line for Communion without getting a blessing from our parish priest, even if we're in another line. Huge drama if he doesn't get his blessing, regardless of how much I explain it's not appropriate to scream over a blessing and that he can get one AFTER Mass. Ugh. Anyway.... So Mass went very well all things considered.
After Mass was over we made our way to the room where we were giving the presentation. I set up a movie on Netflix, one I knew the kids would LOVE. I then snuck out to the reception and got a plate full of sweet and treats. Enough to make a lunch for my brood. Feeling like one of those Moms who can have it all, I get ready to help give the presentation about Twitter. A good number of people come in and take a seat and we get ready to start. And then the action really starts. Out of nowhere, my 4 year old boy loses it. Completely. For reasons that are completely obvious to him but ridiculous to me. He hasn't thrown a tantrum of that magnitude in half a year. It was epic. There was tears, screeching, screaming and begging. I had no place to put him in time out to cool off and his voice was so loud in the relatively small room. After lots of struggles I finally got him to quiet down. How, you ask? I ended up having to hold him, with his toy and book he brought, as well as a few crayons and a never ending supply of fresh paper for him to drawn on. I'm sure you know this, but I am over 8 months pregnant. Not exactly comfortable. But at that point I was willing to do just about anything to get him to calm down so my friend could be heard over the din and I could help in some small way. Crazy times.
Last night, as I sat steaming over my day, I couldn't help but laugh. My boy is usually such a gentleman, especially in public. I'm sure he's either over-tired or coming down with something. In the moment I was swept up in the thought that he should know better than to act that way. In my late night reflection, I wondered if this is how I look to God? Are there times when I should know better, that I cry out to God in frustration and anger for things I don't really need? Am I a spiritual toddler, screaming in anger, telling God I don't love Him anymore because I can't have MY way, even if MY way isn't good for me? The difference is that while my patience was wearing mighty thin with my boy yesterday, God is endlessly patient with me. He sees me ignoring my blessings and crying out in my anger, but He still smiles at my littleness. He wants me to be better, to act my age (or spiritual age in this case) and make the time to listen to His voice rather than my own for a minute. He carries me through my weakness and then teaches me how to be strong. All I can hope to do as a Mama is to try and imitate God's fatherly love for me when my kids push my buttons, and hope that when I'm the one throwing a tantrum, that I learn to quiet my heart so I can hear Him whispering comfort and truth in my ear.
Saturday, 2 March 2013
"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.
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.
Monday, 18 February 2013
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.
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.
Community in the Body of Christ
As we move forward in the Evangelization and Re-Evangelization of all people, part of the focus has been to change the focus of our Church's activities from filling an hour (or less) to fulfilling the hunger of the soul. For too long we have depended on a Christian culture to fill our pews, but once people were there all too often we simply filled their hour without filling their hearts. Our religious education programs came to the young with great intentions and trutful doctrine, but rarely achieved the level of evangelization possible as the hearts they reached out to were not fertile soil. Now we are left with several generations of people who barely know the basic fundamentals of their faith, have never experienced Christ in their lives, and who have no qualms ignoring the ethical and moral code of the Church.
With so many Catholic either only attending on Easter and Christmas (plus weddings, funerals and baptisms), we don't have time to preach even the most basic message of the Gospel, let alone the richness of its implications. Without the miracle of the Eucharist in the context of our beautiful and rich Sunday liturgy, how can we expect our flock's hearts to be a fertile soil in which to plant the seeds of truth? The competing message from society, not to mention the 24/7 news media is present every moment of the day. As a Church we're lucky if we see people for an hour once a week. If know we are seeing people once a week or even once a month, the Mass is our only chance to reach out to people. At my parish, the level of care and devotion putting into making the Mass rich and engaging without sacrificing the dignity of the liturgy is impressive and worthy of praise. Our pastor gives incredible homilies, full of passion and truth, but does so in a way that engages both the churched and the un-churched. Every weekend I get the pleasure of being challenged by his clear and truthful message. He doesn't pander to anyone. He tells it like it is but in such a way that it gives his message more traction in the hearts of even the most obstinate. Besides the pastor, we are blessed with passionate ministry leaders who represent the best of our love of tradition while using a fresh voice to express it. A fine example is our 9am music ministry. We have a praise and worship band who sing authentic praise the God, but without the shallowness we sometimes experience from that style. They are as comfortable leading us in English as they are in Latin and Greek, singing a new song along with the songs gifted us by our millenia old tradition. By the time we reach the true pinnacle of the Mass, the Eucharist, our hearts are expanded, ready to be stretched and challenged even more by the real presence of Christ in His Body and Blood. As a faithful lover of the weekday Mass at our parish, whose austerity can be excused as it feeds the hunger of those who crave to always be near to the Eucharist and to be ever consumed by Christ as they consume Him, I can say in all honesty that even our beautiful weekday Mass can't compare to our Sunday celebration. For me, weekday Mass is there to sustain me, whereas Sunday Mass is there to fill me to overflowing, to build me up, to form me, and to bring me close to the full community of the Church universal. On Sunday, unlike any other day of the week, the worldwide Church joins together in harmony with the eternal celebration of Heaven. From our earthly perspective, it is the one day of the week that the Body of Christ is the most complete as the most of us are together through the Eucharist at once. It is the day that I feel the closest to my earthly and my Heavenly family. I feel the enormity of the faithful as I become my small part in the Body of Christ. I am drawn beyond my own weak personal faith into an experience of Heaven, which will be an eternal communion of the faithful.
I think the first answer to our problem of drawing people closer to Christ would be to first draw them closer to His Church. It is impossible to ignore the presence of Christ in His Body when we give our hearts over to Him at the Sunday Mass. A people who have their hunger fed at Sunday Mass become a people open to being formed by the Spirit to accept the full truth of the Gospel. While God speaks to us always in the silence of our hearts, He becomes present in the community of the faithful, through our presence and through His Most Holy Eucharist. We approach Him as individuals, but He draws us into Him and gives us Himself through our community. The authentic message of Christ is not to self-determine our beliefs in a vacuum, but to be attentive to the truths He has already revealed with clarity through the Gospel. He undeniably calls us to community, as we are reminded that "Wherever two or three of you are gathered in My name, I am there". Once our hearts become seeped in the unique joy and love we find through our community, then we will crave to know more and better the God who we meet at Mass. All the education and knowledge in the world will fail to fill us if we aren't first set ablaze with a passion for God and His Church, but once we have that passion, we will forever crave to know Him more and to love Him more.
With so many Catholic either only attending on Easter and Christmas (plus weddings, funerals and baptisms), we don't have time to preach even the most basic message of the Gospel, let alone the richness of its implications. Without the miracle of the Eucharist in the context of our beautiful and rich Sunday liturgy, how can we expect our flock's hearts to be a fertile soil in which to plant the seeds of truth? The competing message from society, not to mention the 24/7 news media is present every moment of the day. As a Church we're lucky if we see people for an hour once a week. If know we are seeing people once a week or even once a month, the Mass is our only chance to reach out to people. At my parish, the level of care and devotion putting into making the Mass rich and engaging without sacrificing the dignity of the liturgy is impressive and worthy of praise. Our pastor gives incredible homilies, full of passion and truth, but does so in a way that engages both the churched and the un-churched. Every weekend I get the pleasure of being challenged by his clear and truthful message. He doesn't pander to anyone. He tells it like it is but in such a way that it gives his message more traction in the hearts of even the most obstinate. Besides the pastor, we are blessed with passionate ministry leaders who represent the best of our love of tradition while using a fresh voice to express it. A fine example is our 9am music ministry. We have a praise and worship band who sing authentic praise the God, but without the shallowness we sometimes experience from that style. They are as comfortable leading us in English as they are in Latin and Greek, singing a new song along with the songs gifted us by our millenia old tradition. By the time we reach the true pinnacle of the Mass, the Eucharist, our hearts are expanded, ready to be stretched and challenged even more by the real presence of Christ in His Body and Blood. As a faithful lover of the weekday Mass at our parish, whose austerity can be excused as it feeds the hunger of those who crave to always be near to the Eucharist and to be ever consumed by Christ as they consume Him, I can say in all honesty that even our beautiful weekday Mass can't compare to our Sunday celebration. For me, weekday Mass is there to sustain me, whereas Sunday Mass is there to fill me to overflowing, to build me up, to form me, and to bring me close to the full community of the Church universal. On Sunday, unlike any other day of the week, the worldwide Church joins together in harmony with the eternal celebration of Heaven. From our earthly perspective, it is the one day of the week that the Body of Christ is the most complete as the most of us are together through the Eucharist at once. It is the day that I feel the closest to my earthly and my Heavenly family. I feel the enormity of the faithful as I become my small part in the Body of Christ. I am drawn beyond my own weak personal faith into an experience of Heaven, which will be an eternal communion of the faithful.
I think the first answer to our problem of drawing people closer to Christ would be to first draw them closer to His Church. It is impossible to ignore the presence of Christ in His Body when we give our hearts over to Him at the Sunday Mass. A people who have their hunger fed at Sunday Mass become a people open to being formed by the Spirit to accept the full truth of the Gospel. While God speaks to us always in the silence of our hearts, He becomes present in the community of the faithful, through our presence and through His Most Holy Eucharist. We approach Him as individuals, but He draws us into Him and gives us Himself through our community. The authentic message of Christ is not to self-determine our beliefs in a vacuum, but to be attentive to the truths He has already revealed with clarity through the Gospel. He undeniably calls us to community, as we are reminded that "Wherever two or three of you are gathered in My name, I am there". Once our hearts become seeped in the unique joy and love we find through our community, then we will crave to know more and better the God who we meet at Mass. All the education and knowledge in the world will fail to fill us if we aren't first set ablaze with a passion for God and His Church, but once we have that passion, we will forever crave to know Him more and to love Him more.
Wednesday, 13 February 2013
Lent With Kids
For 5 long years I've struggled with how to do Lent with kids. I didn't want to confuse or overburden them with the idea of fasting when they were so young and didn't fully understand. I felt like I would simply be taking something away, without them being able to gain the spiritual fruits of their sacrifices. After watching them travel through Advent this time I realized I was looking at things all wrong. During Advent we treated that time of preparation as a gift and the kids ate it up. Instead of waking up one day and having it be Christmas, we had some build-up. While presents were a big deal in their minds, it was such a joy to see them make a space in their hearts for the Christ-child. When the congregation rang out the words of the Angels, "Glory to God in the highest!", the kids, after an entire Advent of preparing, were so full of joy I'm sure they out sang (or out shouted??) the choir.
So why can't we do that with Lent? Why can't we use these 40 days of Lent to make that space in their hearts a little bigger, a little deeper, a little broader? I remember last year on Good Friday we took the kids up to reverence the Cross. The three oldest had so much tenderness for Jesus. They asked me when we got back in the pew if we were kissing Jesus to make His boo-boos all better. My daughter, after I explained the crucifix was an image to remind us of how much Jesus loves us, said she wishes she could hug Jesus and kiss all His boo-boos better for real. They have hearts of such deep compassion and love for Christ, even if they don't understand all the theological realities yet.
After some discussion and prayer with my husband, we came upon an obvious idea for a fast for the kids, and honestly for me too. We decided to propose to the kids that they give up TV Monday to Saturday during Lent. It didn't take long for the three oldest, our real TV fiends, to jump on the idea. We had experimented with keeping the TV off a few weeks ago without anyone getting killed or even maimed. Because of that recent experience they knew that no TV didn't mean no fun. It meant more time to ask Mommy 2 million question, do art projects, lots of music and games, and play using their imagination in freedom instead of being weighed down by suggested concepts from their favourite shows. In addition to having the TV off, I'm going to make sure we take part of each day to pray together and to talk about what Easter is all about so that when we reach Easter Sunday they'll sing with their loudest voice their thanks and praise to Jesus, their friend and saviour. That will be a gift worth every moment of sacrifice and extra preparation I can muster for them. I'm sure there are days when I'm be tempted to let them tune in and tune out, but hopefully I'll be able to pray through it and instead tune them into the Spirit that is whispering mercy and hope in their tiny hearts.
My husband and I, besides giving up some of the usual suspects (fast food being a sore spot for our bodies, souls and budget), will be adding on special time for prayer together as a couple. We hope to join a novena for Pope Benedict XVI as he passes quietly into a life of prayer and contemplation, and for his successor, who will be passing from relative anonymity to become a faithful shepherd to over a billion Catholics. We also hope to complete a dedication to Christ through the Blessed Virgin Mary. My sincere hope is that our meagre efforts will bring us closer as a couple and a family, and that we will find ourselves closer to Christ as we weep at the foot of the Cross, wait in vigil by the tomb, and celebrate again the Resurrection. Tonight, let the imposition of the ashes on our foreheads be a reminder that we owe our life and breath to God, and let it be the beginning of our journey as a family to come closer to the heart of Christ.
So why can't we do that with Lent? Why can't we use these 40 days of Lent to make that space in their hearts a little bigger, a little deeper, a little broader? I remember last year on Good Friday we took the kids up to reverence the Cross. The three oldest had so much tenderness for Jesus. They asked me when we got back in the pew if we were kissing Jesus to make His boo-boos all better. My daughter, after I explained the crucifix was an image to remind us of how much Jesus loves us, said she wishes she could hug Jesus and kiss all His boo-boos better for real. They have hearts of such deep compassion and love for Christ, even if they don't understand all the theological realities yet.
After some discussion and prayer with my husband, we came upon an obvious idea for a fast for the kids, and honestly for me too. We decided to propose to the kids that they give up TV Monday to Saturday during Lent. It didn't take long for the three oldest, our real TV fiends, to jump on the idea. We had experimented with keeping the TV off a few weeks ago without anyone getting killed or even maimed. Because of that recent experience they knew that no TV didn't mean no fun. It meant more time to ask Mommy 2 million question, do art projects, lots of music and games, and play using their imagination in freedom instead of being weighed down by suggested concepts from their favourite shows. In addition to having the TV off, I'm going to make sure we take part of each day to pray together and to talk about what Easter is all about so that when we reach Easter Sunday they'll sing with their loudest voice their thanks and praise to Jesus, their friend and saviour. That will be a gift worth every moment of sacrifice and extra preparation I can muster for them. I'm sure there are days when I'm be tempted to let them tune in and tune out, but hopefully I'll be able to pray through it and instead tune them into the Spirit that is whispering mercy and hope in their tiny hearts.
My husband and I, besides giving up some of the usual suspects (fast food being a sore spot for our bodies, souls and budget), will be adding on special time for prayer together as a couple. We hope to join a novena for Pope Benedict XVI as he passes quietly into a life of prayer and contemplation, and for his successor, who will be passing from relative anonymity to become a faithful shepherd to over a billion Catholics. We also hope to complete a dedication to Christ through the Blessed Virgin Mary. My sincere hope is that our meagre efforts will bring us closer as a couple and a family, and that we will find ourselves closer to Christ as we weep at the foot of the Cross, wait in vigil by the tomb, and celebrate again the Resurrection. Tonight, let the imposition of the ashes on our foreheads be a reminder that we owe our life and breath to God, and let it be the beginning of our journey as a family to come closer to the heart of Christ.
Tuesday, 5 February 2013
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.
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.
Monday, 17 December 2012
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.
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.
Friday, 7 December 2012
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.
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.
Saturday, 3 November 2012
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.
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.
Monday, 29 October 2012
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.
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.
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