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.
Showing posts with label Pope. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Pope. Show all posts
Saturday, 2 March 2013
Wednesday, 27 February 2013
Pope Benedict & Motherhood
I realize that putting a celibate man's name next to the word motherhood might seem a little dissonant at first, but hear me out. Watching the way Benedict is ending his reign as Pope has left me reflecting on the idea of vocations. At the end of the day, all vocations are the same at their core, they just have different outward expresses and challenges. For all of us, be we married, single, priests, religious, or even the Pope himself, our vocation is the deepest expression of our love for God lived out in the manner God has called us to live that love. Each vocation gives us opportunities for service, but comes with its own challenges. Each vocation requires us to give up some worldly kind of freedom for the sake of deep spiritual and emotional rewards. Each vocation within a specific outward vocation has its own nuances. Some priests are called to be Pastors, some teachers, others Bishops or even Pope, just to name a few. Even in the vocation of marriage there are connected vocations, such as whether we work or stay home, are blessed with children or not, etc. Although our specific vocations may differ, we have so much to learn from each other in how we deal with our challenges and flourish in our joys.
So as I sat, children all around me at a soul crushing 5:45am listening to the Pope share his final words of wisdom, I struggled to hear in his words some hope and guidance. My youngest daughter, who was the reason all the other kids were awake at that unseemly hour, was screeching in her exhausted rage as I leaned forward, feeling urgently the need to be part of this historical moment, but also to absorb as much parting wisdom from our dear Pope as I could. While I may have missed the bulk of what he said (and thank God for the modern age of the internet, I was able to read it later), what I did catch gave me a glimmer of hope in the midst of the child drama.
At times in our vocation, God is going to call us, invite us to cast our nets into the deep, to do something we believe so totally beyond our ability that we shrink in fear. As you may know, Pope Benedict, then Cardinal Ratzinger, was very reluctant to accept his election to the Papacy. He is a quiet man, very private, who was for many years before John Paul II passed away trying to retire, but JPII wouldn't accept his resignation. God had a plan bigger for him that he sought out or expected. In the end, the universal Church is now giving thanks for nearly 8 years of devoted service, not to mention a lifetime of service before that. We give thanks for his always saying "Yes", even when his own inclinations would have lead him to retreat many years before he became our Peter.
So how does this relate to motherhood, or specifically my motherhood? It starts with my initial belief of what my vocation was. I had been for many years sure that God was calling me to the desert, to the quiet devotion of religious life, even a cloistered religious life. I found that life so incredibly attractive, especially when I could pair it with my love of reading and theological studies. But God had a different plan. First He brought me a husband (just in time might I add), a man who respects my love of a simpler life, makes way for me to continue my intellectual pursuits, and supports me entirely in my desire to serve in the Church in whatever capacity I'm able. God took my expectations of how I would use my gifts, and turned them on their ear. Then He gave us a child, then children, then lots of children. I have always loved children, but the idea of my being a mother was laughable to me. I was sure even as a teen that while I had an infinite capacity for love, I am not so great with all the details necessary to keep a tiny baby alive, and then nurture that person into adulthood. But here I am, with my fifth baby on the way. There are still days when I'm overwhelmed and the worry of how I'm going to be who these wonderful little people need me to be. At every step on my journey, I've had moments where I've looked to the Lord and said "Okay, enough Lord! Please, don't ask any more. This is harder than I thought", but at each moment God asked a little more, and gave me what I needed to manage this new challenge.
Watching Pope Benedict give his final catechises to the crowd, now at the end of his worldly vocation, going off to the desert of cloistered life I'd once craved, I saw a man who had given everything to God. He never held himself back, not even when his health and will were failing in the face of demands greater than he believed he could endure. But he survived it all. He has come through at the end, visible proof that while God may take us and challenge us, stretch us, and even bend us when we make ourselves pliable to His will, He will never break us. Our God is so gentle with us, giving us everything we need to find fulfilment and joy in the face of challenges that we think are greater than we can manage. If we fall upon the mercy of God and strive to have a deep relationship of prayer always as our guide and foundation, we will find daily reward in our vocation.
So I add to my heavy list of thanks for our dear Pope for one more day: Thank you, Pope Benedict, for reminding me that even when I'm afraid, I can always trust my life to God, knowing that He will carry me through the challenges. Thank you for your service. Thank you for your faith. Thank you for loving us.
So as I sat, children all around me at a soul crushing 5:45am listening to the Pope share his final words of wisdom, I struggled to hear in his words some hope and guidance. My youngest daughter, who was the reason all the other kids were awake at that unseemly hour, was screeching in her exhausted rage as I leaned forward, feeling urgently the need to be part of this historical moment, but also to absorb as much parting wisdom from our dear Pope as I could. While I may have missed the bulk of what he said (and thank God for the modern age of the internet, I was able to read it later), what I did catch gave me a glimmer of hope in the midst of the child drama.
At times in our vocation, God is going to call us, invite us to cast our nets into the deep, to do something we believe so totally beyond our ability that we shrink in fear. As you may know, Pope Benedict, then Cardinal Ratzinger, was very reluctant to accept his election to the Papacy. He is a quiet man, very private, who was for many years before John Paul II passed away trying to retire, but JPII wouldn't accept his resignation. God had a plan bigger for him that he sought out or expected. In the end, the universal Church is now giving thanks for nearly 8 years of devoted service, not to mention a lifetime of service before that. We give thanks for his always saying "Yes", even when his own inclinations would have lead him to retreat many years before he became our Peter.
So how does this relate to motherhood, or specifically my motherhood? It starts with my initial belief of what my vocation was. I had been for many years sure that God was calling me to the desert, to the quiet devotion of religious life, even a cloistered religious life. I found that life so incredibly attractive, especially when I could pair it with my love of reading and theological studies. But God had a different plan. First He brought me a husband (just in time might I add), a man who respects my love of a simpler life, makes way for me to continue my intellectual pursuits, and supports me entirely in my desire to serve in the Church in whatever capacity I'm able. God took my expectations of how I would use my gifts, and turned them on their ear. Then He gave us a child, then children, then lots of children. I have always loved children, but the idea of my being a mother was laughable to me. I was sure even as a teen that while I had an infinite capacity for love, I am not so great with all the details necessary to keep a tiny baby alive, and then nurture that person into adulthood. But here I am, with my fifth baby on the way. There are still days when I'm overwhelmed and the worry of how I'm going to be who these wonderful little people need me to be. At every step on my journey, I've had moments where I've looked to the Lord and said "Okay, enough Lord! Please, don't ask any more. This is harder than I thought", but at each moment God asked a little more, and gave me what I needed to manage this new challenge.
Watching Pope Benedict give his final catechises to the crowd, now at the end of his worldly vocation, going off to the desert of cloistered life I'd once craved, I saw a man who had given everything to God. He never held himself back, not even when his health and will were failing in the face of demands greater than he believed he could endure. But he survived it all. He has come through at the end, visible proof that while God may take us and challenge us, stretch us, and even bend us when we make ourselves pliable to His will, He will never break us. Our God is so gentle with us, giving us everything we need to find fulfilment and joy in the face of challenges that we think are greater than we can manage. If we fall upon the mercy of God and strive to have a deep relationship of prayer always as our guide and foundation, we will find daily reward in our vocation.
So I add to my heavy list of thanks for our dear Pope for one more day: Thank you, Pope Benedict, for reminding me that even when I'm afraid, I can always trust my life to God, knowing that He will carry me through the challenges. Thank you for your service. Thank you for your faith. Thank you for loving us.
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.
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.
Monday, 11 February 2013
Perspectives on the Papal Resignation
Just days ahead of Ash Wednesday, a surprise announcement has come out of the Vatican. To the shock of both clergy and Catholic faithful around the world, our dear Pope Benedict XVI, has announced his plans to abdicate the papacy on February 28th, 2013. It has been just shy of 600 years since a Pope has stepped down, making way for a new successor. Commonly, the Pope leaves office as he leaves this world.
As many will remember, the world watched as just over 8 years ago our beloved Pope John Paul II, a figure much loved and respected by Catholic and non-Catholics, gradually died before our very eyes from the complications of Parkinson's. His timely witness to the dignity of humanity even in death was at once heartbreaking and inspiring. As one of the millions of young people who saw John Paul II as a dear friend, watching his slow dignified decline through the lens of the media, I recall the deep respect he earned from me through his life and his death. When he finally passed into the hands of our Heavenly Father, my heart cried out "Well done, good and faithful servant!". My grief over the loss of a living Saint who had touched my own life in such a personal way was tempered by the knowledge that he was before the throne of God, being rewarded for his lifetime of suffering service.
When I heard the news today that Pope Benedict would be resigning, my brain ran through all the moments leading up to his election, from the death of his successor, the funeral Mass, the conclave and then the joy of seeing for the first time in my lifetime the white smoke floating over St. Peter's Basilica. Today I gladly have no grief in my heart as I had when Pope John Paul II passed away. We have before us a man who is not on death's door. Yes, he is frail at clearly at the beginning of the last decline before he finds his home in Heaven, but he leaves us with clear mind and sharp wits. I do feel lost knowing that in just over two weeks my Church will be without a spiritual leader, and that another successor of Peter who I have loved as family will be leaving us. I find great comfort that he will go to the life he has always wanted, a quiet life of prayer and writing. He is a man of incredible intellect with an easy and accessible style that can feel the soul without having to wade through too much jargon. I've enjoyed his books for nearly 15 years, and I look forward to reading the surely deeply spiritual works he will produce from his future life in a cloistered monastery. While he may not be acting as the successor of Peter anymore as of the end of this month, I know his legacy in the Church won't end as of March 1st. Beyond his own personal work, I think his huge legacy today has been the reminder that we have to always keep our hearts open to the will of God. This isn't about his frailty, his health, or his personal struggles. Today is about the fact that God has said that Benedict's mission in this world is now somewhere else. Just as John Paul II gave us the witness to the dignity of a natural death, Benedict leaves his role as Pontiff by giving us a witness to the fact that God always has a care and concern for us, and guides us on our path is we would remain open to his call. Jesus is reaching out to each of us with a plan for our ultimate good. I'm sure on the day of his election, then Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger was filled with deep humility and was surely even shocked that he was elected, but he prayerfully accepted knowing God would support him and guide him through his years in the Papacy. Now, we see the fruitful continuation of that life of abundant prayer, that God would release him to a life of quiet piety, by invited Benedict through the silent whisper in his heart to accept a new call, even a call that would shock and surprise the Church he leads.
So we see our Pope as he follow God's plan for him, to leave the difficult call of the Papacy to the fruitful desert of the cloister, led always by prayer and closeness to Christ through his personal devotion. And he leaves me with an abiding feeling of hope. The Holy Spirit is working with great vigour in the Church. Already in the hearts of the Cardinals I trust that the Holy Spirit is planting a spirit of openness, and recognition of who it is God is calling next to wear the heavy mantle of the Papacy. As the Cardinals sit locked in conclave within the beautiful Sistine Chapel, I will be glued to my TV full of prayers for their weighty task, but I will also be full of excitement and expectation to see where God is leading us now. I know I will be spending my Lent offering special devotion for the man who God will call and our Cardinals will elect. The media has their idea and their spin on who would be the "right" choice in the eyes of the world, but I delight in knowing that the choice isn't up to us, it is up to God, who will use the Cardinals as willing instruments of His will. I will be praying for whomever God chooses that he find solace in his faith, and strength in the confidence God will show in him.
To Pope Benedict, I say "well done, thou good and faithful servant" just as I did to Pope John Paul II. I remain filled with the deepest gratitude for his long life of service. In leaving the role as Pope, he draws the eyes of the world on our Church, giving us a chance to share a witness to the joy of our faith and our love of the Church. May God bless all of us within the Church to be as good teachers as Pope Benedict has been, to share with clarity the truth of our faith and to inspire others with our steadfast love of God.
As many will remember, the world watched as just over 8 years ago our beloved Pope John Paul II, a figure much loved and respected by Catholic and non-Catholics, gradually died before our very eyes from the complications of Parkinson's. His timely witness to the dignity of humanity even in death was at once heartbreaking and inspiring. As one of the millions of young people who saw John Paul II as a dear friend, watching his slow dignified decline through the lens of the media, I recall the deep respect he earned from me through his life and his death. When he finally passed into the hands of our Heavenly Father, my heart cried out "Well done, good and faithful servant!". My grief over the loss of a living Saint who had touched my own life in such a personal way was tempered by the knowledge that he was before the throne of God, being rewarded for his lifetime of suffering service.
When I heard the news today that Pope Benedict would be resigning, my brain ran through all the moments leading up to his election, from the death of his successor, the funeral Mass, the conclave and then the joy of seeing for the first time in my lifetime the white smoke floating over St. Peter's Basilica. Today I gladly have no grief in my heart as I had when Pope John Paul II passed away. We have before us a man who is not on death's door. Yes, he is frail at clearly at the beginning of the last decline before he finds his home in Heaven, but he leaves us with clear mind and sharp wits. I do feel lost knowing that in just over two weeks my Church will be without a spiritual leader, and that another successor of Peter who I have loved as family will be leaving us. I find great comfort that he will go to the life he has always wanted, a quiet life of prayer and writing. He is a man of incredible intellect with an easy and accessible style that can feel the soul without having to wade through too much jargon. I've enjoyed his books for nearly 15 years, and I look forward to reading the surely deeply spiritual works he will produce from his future life in a cloistered monastery. While he may not be acting as the successor of Peter anymore as of the end of this month, I know his legacy in the Church won't end as of March 1st. Beyond his own personal work, I think his huge legacy today has been the reminder that we have to always keep our hearts open to the will of God. This isn't about his frailty, his health, or his personal struggles. Today is about the fact that God has said that Benedict's mission in this world is now somewhere else. Just as John Paul II gave us the witness to the dignity of a natural death, Benedict leaves his role as Pontiff by giving us a witness to the fact that God always has a care and concern for us, and guides us on our path is we would remain open to his call. Jesus is reaching out to each of us with a plan for our ultimate good. I'm sure on the day of his election, then Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger was filled with deep humility and was surely even shocked that he was elected, but he prayerfully accepted knowing God would support him and guide him through his years in the Papacy. Now, we see the fruitful continuation of that life of abundant prayer, that God would release him to a life of quiet piety, by invited Benedict through the silent whisper in his heart to accept a new call, even a call that would shock and surprise the Church he leads.
So we see our Pope as he follow God's plan for him, to leave the difficult call of the Papacy to the fruitful desert of the cloister, led always by prayer and closeness to Christ through his personal devotion. And he leaves me with an abiding feeling of hope. The Holy Spirit is working with great vigour in the Church. Already in the hearts of the Cardinals I trust that the Holy Spirit is planting a spirit of openness, and recognition of who it is God is calling next to wear the heavy mantle of the Papacy. As the Cardinals sit locked in conclave within the beautiful Sistine Chapel, I will be glued to my TV full of prayers for their weighty task, but I will also be full of excitement and expectation to see where God is leading us now. I know I will be spending my Lent offering special devotion for the man who God will call and our Cardinals will elect. The media has their idea and their spin on who would be the "right" choice in the eyes of the world, but I delight in knowing that the choice isn't up to us, it is up to God, who will use the Cardinals as willing instruments of His will. I will be praying for whomever God chooses that he find solace in his faith, and strength in the confidence God will show in him.
To Pope Benedict, I say "well done, thou good and faithful servant" just as I did to Pope John Paul II. I remain filled with the deepest gratitude for his long life of service. In leaving the role as Pope, he draws the eyes of the world on our Church, giving us a chance to share a witness to the joy of our faith and our love of the Church. May God bless all of us within the Church to be as good teachers as Pope Benedict has been, to share with clarity the truth of our faith and to inspire others with our steadfast love of God.
Wednesday, 23 January 2013
Baby 5: Week 23
How Far Along: 23 Weeks and 3 days (16 weeks and 4 days to go! I'm quite behind this week! Oops!)
How I'm Feeling: The cold is really bugging me these days. I'm finding my skin especially dry these days so the frosty chill of a Canadian winter is wreaking havoc on my skin (not to mention my hair, but that's not exactly a crowning glory of mine at the best of times, so mehn). I've also had some itchiness where my stretchmarks are getting their own stretchmarks. Laugh all you want friends, but by the fifth baby the once moderate length and width of my first stretchmarks (which already look like a young Spiderman's elementary school project) have been far eclipsed by the supernova of stretchmarks that come with each new pregnancy. I wonder if Michelle Duggar has any unstretched skin left on her stomach after so many pregnancies... But I digress. On the up side, with only moderate amounts of caffeine, I am much more alert and full of energy. I know the kids are appreciating this upswing of energy. I'm sure the two oldest are very wary by now of this brief spurt of energy, as at least the oldest will remember the down swing brought on by third trimester sleepiness. Enjoy it while you can, kiddos. Daily art projects and monster truck dinky races for all!
How I'm Feeling: The cold is really bugging me these days. I'm finding my skin especially dry these days so the frosty chill of a Canadian winter is wreaking havoc on my skin (not to mention my hair, but that's not exactly a crowning glory of mine at the best of times, so mehn). I've also had some itchiness where my stretchmarks are getting their own stretchmarks. Laugh all you want friends, but by the fifth baby the once moderate length and width of my first stretchmarks (which already look like a young Spiderman's elementary school project) have been far eclipsed by the supernova of stretchmarks that come with each new pregnancy. I wonder if Michelle Duggar has any unstretched skin left on her stomach after so many pregnancies... But I digress. On the up side, with only moderate amounts of caffeine, I am much more alert and full of energy. I know the kids are appreciating this upswing of energy. I'm sure the two oldest are very wary by now of this brief spurt of energy, as at least the oldest will remember the down swing brought on by third trimester sleepiness. Enjoy it while you can, kiddos. Daily art projects and monster truck dinky races for all!
What I'm Thinking: I've been having lots of wacky and funny pregnancy dreams lately, which have been giving me a laugh during the day. I'm not sure I can even explain half of them as they make no sense to me anyway. Last night I dreamt that I took a pilgrimage to Rome (Rome=Home, as my German friend often reminds me) with my family. We were there to have the Pope baptise this new baby (who was, by the way, born but had neither name nor gender). Apparently in my dreams I have access to the Pope, which is pretty cool and random. For a somewhat normal pretext (especially considering my parish priest is currently in the Holy City, and tweeted some great pictures from St. Peter's square), my dream quickly descended into wacky land. Let's just say it involved one of those wacky British sitcom style chase scenes where people are running out of different rooms in a long hallway (which was, by the way, the Papal Apartments in my dream). Swiss guards, toddlers, a stray donkey. You know, the usual. So yeah, pregnancy brain is hilarious when I'm asleep.
What I've Done This Week: This week was our Parish's Stewardship of Talent Fair, so I was pretty busy with getting ready for that. We also celebrated my wonderful husband's 30th birthday. All of this means that it looks like a series of bombs have gone off in my house. It was totally worth it for the sake of all the fun we had! We also got to meet my friend's 2 week old baby boy. He was totally adorable. It's a good thing I'm already pregnant, because for real my ovaries were clenching with new baby love!
What I Hope To Do Next Week: I'm kind of in survival mode right now. If I achieve anything, I will give myself a high five. We have a doctor's appointment on Friday and we'll hear the results of our 20 week ultrasound. That we haven't got an ominous phone call before now means that everything is fine, but I will be relieved when we hear all the details. We also have the chance to find out our baby's gender. We've never had the option to find out for free before, so we will see what we decide!
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.
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