Reconciled

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

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

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

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

Across the Divide

Tonight I had the great pleasure of attending a screening of the Salt and Light movie called Across the Divide. I can't say enough to really summarise it (you really ought to see it if you can), but it features the students and staff of Bethlehem University and its unique place in the middle of the conflict between Palestine and Israel. This documentary was educational, inspiring, and difficult. At the end of the documentary, as well as the discussion panel that followed, I was left with one overwhelming thought: The conflict in the Middle East will not be resolved by some sort of deus ex machina like in a play, it will be resolved by educating the youth and raising them up to be the leaders of their generation who have a thirst for peace.

During the question period, a woman asked what exactly the makers of the movie were doing to help resolve the conflict. The truth of the matter is that as a Church we can speak of peace ad justice, but we can't bring the people who really need to hear our message to the table. We also can't become another side in the conflict, waging a war with guns, bombs, and foot soldiers. Even if we had the manpower, the resources, and the skill to win a physical war, we as a Church are not called to that mission. As Jesus was in the garden about to be taken away to be tried and eventually crucified, Peter struck one of the soldiers with his sword. Rather than encouraging Peter to fight bravely for his faith by any means necessary, Jesus rebuked him and said that those who live by the sword die by the sword. Jesus didn't come to be a warrior, He came to be the Prince of Peace, and peace isn't found at the end of a sword.

As we read back through the Scriptures, we read of the longing for the Messiah, who will come and free God's people from slavery and oppression. It's understandable that over the ages the image of the Messiah became one of a warrior: Moses leading the Israelites out of Egypt, Joshua and the Army bringing down the walls of Jericho, David and Goliath, and the list goes on... Our God is a God of action. He's changing regimes, taking down walls, freeing slaves. So then Jesus comes on the scene. Contrary to all expectations, He's not going to lead the Zealots to take out the Romans. At best He turns over the tables at the Temple and curses a fig tree. When questioned about paying taxes, He says to give to Caesar what is Caesar's and to God what is God's. Insofar as a political, warrior Messiah is concerned, Jesus is an outright disappointment.

The truth of the matter is that Jesus didn't come to fix the complex political situation of the time. That isn't to say that He didn't come to wage a war, because He did. He came to wage a war within our own hearts and minds. He is fighting to change us, to make us more like Him, so that we can be His hands and feet to the rest of the world. In that light, we can look at the work of Bethlehem University as an essential work for peace in the Middle East. You might wonder how a University in the midst of so much turmoil can be an agent for peace. I think the most impressive aspect of this University's curriculum is that they require all of the student population, (which is 2/3rds Muslim and 1/3rd Christian) to take a course together on both the Christian and Muslim faiths as taught by a priest and an imam. In that setting both the Muslim and the Christian students get to learn, without propaganda or misunderstandings bred by lack of understanding, the fundamental aspects of each other's faith traditions. That knowledge, as well as the friendships they develop, makes it possible to remove the "us and them" mentality that is essential to any conflict.

One student at a time Bethlehem University is helping to raise up a new generation of young people armed with the understanding that the peace is possible. While they watch their leaders struggle, they have the memory of the peace that they lived on their campus. War found its way to their doorstep and beyond. There are holes in the walls of one of their buildings from direct missile hits. But within the minds of the students who learned alongside each other, the University is at its heart an oasis of peace. Just like Christ, they will overturn a few tables, but at the end of the day it will be their voices speaking an authentic message of peace and true justice that I hope will spread as they stand up to become the leaders of their generation. It may be hard to see the holiness in the Holy Land these days, but the Prince of Peace became flesh in Bethlehem, and out of the University founded in that Ancient town can come peace that will still speak to our hearts and minds today, as it is entrusted to these young people.