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.

Easter Without the Bunny

Every year since we've had kids we've tried to find a way to balance Easter with it's fictional side kick, the Easter Bunny. We're not so big on loading the kids up on candy, and aren't entirely keen on having to have what is essentially another opportunity to drain our pocketbook for toys our kids will forget about in a matter of minutes. We have a hard enough time with the seemingly unavoidable consumerism that has taken over Christmas, to willingly participate in the same misguided excess at Easter seems too much. So when push came to shove this year, we simply opted out of the Bunny of it all, and dove more deeply into the real reason for celebration, the death and resurrection of Jesus. And you know what? The kids didn't notice. They didn't complain. They didn't ask where their baskets were. We had lots of special family gatherings, ate more than our fair share of desserts and enjoyed each other. A little bit of chocolate found its way into their hands, which I had no problem with at all, as it came as the loving gift of family and not at the hand of a bunny on steroids.

So if we didn't have the Bunny, what did we do instead? After a long, TV free Lent (excluding joyful breaks for Papal election fun, a few very special feast days and Sundays), we watched a movie or two. The kids were overjoyed with the idea, although often they would just wander away from the TV to play. Go figure. We read lots of books. We enjoyed their Daddy's first 4 day weekend since they were born (excepting of course the birth of children). We ate home made hot cross buns (not exactly the best buns ever made, but the kids LOVED them. There's no accounting for taste). We went out for a big lunch at both our parents' places (ham and turkey!) and had our own quiet ham dinner. We talked a lot, played even more, and delighted in wearing our new Easter clothes. Each of the kids got to feel their baby brother kicking them through my belly! And that's just what happened at home.

The big thing that we did this weekend was celebrate Jesus and His gift to us! On Friday, we went to the Solemn Good Friday Liturgy, which was a few hours long. The two young ones fell asleep (baby girl on me, and little boy on our new baby boy's Godmother), but woke up in time to venerate the Cross. Little boy knelt and lovingly kissed the Cross with such complete faith I could barely hold back my tears. Big brother and sister also venerated the Cross with the same child-like faith. They've each heard of the Passion, death and Resurrection of Jesus, so they drank in the liturgy. We were blessed to have a sign language interpreter for our hearing impaired parishioners, and big girl was enraptured with her facial expressions and hand gestures. During the Psalm, which has a repeated refrain for the congregation, she attempted to imitate with some little success the complex sign language.

On Saturday night, I attended the Vigil Mass while the kids stayed home with their Dad. If I didn't have the pee every few minutes, I doubt I would have noticed that it lasted a marathon 3.5 hours! As I sat and listened to the history of salvation through the 9 readings and 7 psalms, I felt my heart drawn up in gratitude. I felt myself at each reading echoing the beautiful Hebrew phrase "Dayenu", it would have been enough, and with each new reading and then the sacrifice of the Mass I was reminded that God always goes beyond enough with His children. It made me want to be a better Mom, who doesn't allow "enough" to be my measure for how I show my love to my children.

On Sunday, we woke up bright and early. I had a dessert to get ready for our family lunch at the in-laws, which I managed in no time. Once the kids got up, I quickly got the kids dressed in their finery. The girls each had new dresses, and the boys got one more use out of their adorable dress suits (sadly biggest boy has outgrown his now). My husband and I did our best to look even half as nice as they did. He succeeded handily in his handsome grey pinstripe suit (he wore the dress pants, a nice shirt and the vest and he looked like a million bucks). As I'm getting to the point where I'm too pregnant for most of my fancier clothes, I opted for some dress pants and a nice shirt. Ideal for kid wrangling. Mass was wonderful! We had three infant baptisms, amazing praise music, and our usual high quality homily from our Pastor. The kids were filled with joy, and even baby girl got in on shouting ALLELUIA! All their talk revolved around gratitude, joy, and Jesus.

It was exactly what Easter should have been about. And no talk of bunnies. Or chickens. Or chocolate eggs. Or what present they were getting. We sat back and let the Church lead us through Easter, with faith, tradition, and gratitude. Without have to force them, our kids gladly kept their eyes on the Cross and joined with Mary in her awe over the empty tomb. The Easter Bunny is fine, and mostly harmless, but I'm glad we didn't put the effort into what would only have been a distraction for our kids.

Scandalous Gift of Gratitude

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

Community for Children

I grew up going to a Church that had a crying room. I have more than a few memories of my parents sneaking us to the little side room that was supposed to be sound proof, but really only dulled our screams a little. With the large glass window separating us from the congregation, anyone who was so inclined could still see my two older brothers brawling (because I was clearly perfect, the trip to the crying room rarely had anything to do with me) while my Mother's face did a fairly good impersonation of a teapot coming to a boil. Looking back, I'm pretty impressed my parents kept bringing us to Church. The crying room at my Church also had a little box of toys, which seemed a helpful tool to distract the toddler crowd, but when you had more than one little kid in the room, caused Mass to become the scene of an impromptu playdate, arguing over toys included.

When we got married and had our first child, one of the things we looked for in a Church was somewhere with a crying room, because I didn't like the idea of our baby disturbing anyone else's prayerful experience of Mass. So we tucked ourselves into the crying room every time she so much as squawked, making the awkward and I'm sure disruptive trek to the back with our overstuffed diaper bag, stroller and big carseat. (I laugh at all the gear I brought to Mass in retrospect. Nowadays I bring my diminutive purse with one solitary cloth prefold and a facecloth). I was still fighting my way through breastfeeding, so I liked the added protection of a separate room while I struggled with getting her to latch under a big heavy blanket (I had yet to discover nursing covers). The crying room was my own security blanket that I held on to, even later one when she was bottle fed and was very calm through the hour or so of Mass. I remember so clearly that one day as my husband and I left Mass, we realized that neither of us had heard the readings or the homily, and had only been a part of the congregation itself when we lined up to receive the Eucharist. The crying room had made it easy to let our attention wander, to get distracted by the goings on of all the other families (for better or for worse) and I for one had taken to chatting with the other frazzled mothers finding refuge in the crying room with us. We had created our own little community in the crying room, but it was nothing more than a playgroup. We had lost the point of why we were at Mass in the first place.

As we wandered from Church to Church after that, we found ourselves gradually edging our way into the community. If a Church didn't have a crying room, we'd sit at the very back so we could make a quick escape if one of the kids started acting wild. As our kids started getting used to the rhythm of Mass, which by the way got easier when the newest babies were right in the community from day one (well, day two, we had to be released from the hospital first), we starting slowly picking our pew further towards the front. When we joined our new parish community, we spent a few Masses at the back before we took the bold move to sit in one of the front pews (still conveniently located by the door to the hallway where the bathrooms are, because potty training waits for no one). At first it was hair raising for my husband and I. I couldn't help but feel like everyone was watching, and was very aware of the echo each little squeal from our kids made. Turns out, those watching eyes weren't judging. They were smiling with joy. Who doesn't love seeing a young family at Mass? And as for the noise, it turns out that even if everyone could hear the random things my kids would shout, the worst we'd get would be a chuckle from a parent who had graduated from this stage of parenthood.

As the months have passed, other families have started to sit around us, with their toddlers and babies. To some extent I think there's safety in numbers. When a kid loses their cool, there are so many of them in our part of the Church that no one besides us can tell who it is. Unlike the little community we made in the crying room almost 5 years ago, we are all sitting together trying to enjoy Mass, singing our hearts out, pointing our children to the action on the altar, and growing in faith together. Sure, there are times when the kids are goofing at each other or all the babies (and a few toddlers) start crying all at once, but instead of running away from the community of the Mass, we have solidarity as our kids become their own choir. We exchange our desperate looks, soothe them, soothe each other, and get back to the business of loving Jesus and giving that witness of love and devotion to our kids. Our kids are part of the community as much as we are, and while they may never remember when they joined the community, I pray they'll always feel safe and secure that they belong and that they are wanted. I know as a parent I've come a long way to realize that the kids weren't bothering anyone, and that we don't need to separate ourselves from the community, and that doing that was a disservice to us as parents, our children, and the great community who love seeing kids at Mass too. After all, Jesus said "let the little children come", He didn't say they had to be quiet once they got there, or that if they cried they should be put to the side in a little windowed room. He just say, let them come. The great commandment for us as parents is to bring them to Jesus and then teach them to love Him.

Selling the Faith

So often as a Church we find ourselves struggling to figure out how to engage the people and either keep them or bring them back to Church. Everyone has an idea of how to modernize, tweak, or dress up our faith to make it more attractive. I heard on a radio show yesterday that an older man was even suggesting we abolish the Sacrament of Reconciliation as it was pushing the teenagers away. For those who have watched their congregation sizes gradually diminishing, it doesn't seem so far fetched that whatever we did to scare people away can be reversed, before we've disappeared entirely. And if we can't even get them in our pews, how are we going to sell them on the idea of vocations to priesthood and religious life?

I think the problem starts with the fact that the actual premise of why our numbers are dwindling is flawed. The idea that suddenly what had been doing before was not working because after nearly two thousand years we weren't hip or modern enough doesn't quite cut it. The reality of the matter is that the numbers in the pews of all ages started to drop when our society quietly shifted from an overtly Christian culture to something unmistakably more secular. Sure, there are some relics leftover to remind us of the sway Christianity once held on our nation, but they are there more for historical significance than spiritual feeling. Our pews, and in fact entire Churches, emptied out not with the young, but with their parents. Their parents had already lost the faith (or never had it) long before they forgot to bother to give Church a try. If these kids have been in Church, it was to get a few Sacraments and even then often out of habit because that's what one does. The Church itself hasn't changed, it's the culture that changed around us. The real problem is that for too long the Church has been happy to rely on the culture to fill our pews and to give Sacraments out realizing that many of these past two generations may never return for weekly Mass after they've got what they wanted from us.

So what should we do? Should we revolutionize our Church? Play pop music during Mass, let priests marry, ordain women priests, tell our nuns and monks to ditch their habits, change our tune on issues of sexual morality from artificial birth control, to premarital sex, to abortion, and follow the current movement of culture to become more relevant? That seems to be the siren call of some from within the Church and also from those who stand on the outside. After all, if practically all the other mainstream denominations have given up the ghost (and dare I say the Holy Spirit) on these issues, why shouldn't we? We clearly can't be complacent anymore, but the question remains as to what's the best action. In our think outside the box culture, changes of this nature seem the obvious choice from the outside, but if we look at our sister denominations, I think it's easy to see that all these changes, while temporarily very popular, aren't bringing sustainable growth. Those other denominations are struggling to stay relevant to the culture, but are still facing the same problems of dwindling numbers.

Change to match a culture so clearly at odds with our faith simply isn't worth it. In my view, too much would be lost for too little gain. It's still clear to me that there is some change needed, and it starts with Christ. Christianity is not a product to be packaged and sold to the masses. When we treat it like the next best thing that can be modified to make it more attractive, we see quickly that people will come through our doors, but won't stay for long. Christianity is not meant to be consumed, it is meant to consume us. Our faith is meant to be a life-changing gift. If we try to bend and stretch Christianity to suit us, like a branch, it will bend for so long and then snap, leaving us broken and bruised with no real truth and comfort to rely on. We need to stop being so busy trying to change Christ and His Gospel, and start letting Him change us. Once we're changed, our faith will shine out of us in a way that will make us a magnet to those living in darkness.

So perhaps the radical thing needed is not to change in all things but name, but to embrace the true core of Christianity: to be a follower of Christ. I'm not talking about superficial adherence to custom and blind acceptance of doctrine. I'm talking about passionate love for our Saviour, and a thirst to know everything we can about the faith and richness of tradition He has given to us through the Church. Souls aren't saved by the habit of attendance, they're saved by truly embracing Christ and falling so in love with Him that coming to the community of Church is the pinnacle of the week (or day). We can't sit idly by with our cool respect for our few passionate members. It's time for us to become a community of true Saints, striving in our weakness to give everything to God. If our faith and lives become authentic, then our faith will attract people. If we love our Church community, then when we invite people we can do so knowing that we aren't trying to yoke them with a heavy burden, but inviting them to accept a gift beyond compare. That's the kind of relevance we should be seeking, a relevance that speaks to hearts and minds, not to an increasingly alien culture.

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.

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.

Baby 5: Week 22

How Far Along: 22 Weeks (18 weeks to go!)

How I'm Feeling: I'm much better than I was last week. I'm starting to really notice the baby moving all the time. If I sit very still, and the baby kicks very hard, my husband has been able to feel a few flutters too! I'm also starting to feel a little overinflated in the front, which is fun. I keep forgetting I have a bit of a belly and have started knocking my gut into things. It's also getting a little tougher to lean over the sink to do dishes. Small sacrifices!

What I'm Thinking: I've been really wrapped up in how blessed our family is this week. Already people have started to ask if I'll have help when the new baby arrives. I wonder if they mean an older relative, or if I'll hire a Nanny. Either way, the answer is no. Excluding a day or so after the baby is born, this Mama will be flying solo right from the start. Like I have for pretty much every baby (okay, my Mom stayed off work for a week to help me when our oldest was born, but she used that time to stay in her own bed and nap. Sorry Mom, I love you, but that's not helpful at all. haha). I figure the faster I get into the thick of things, the easier it will be. I love the shock when I say that it'll be just me at home all day. I guess my perspective is that if I didn't feel up to the work of all these kids, I would have stopped getting pregnant a few kids ago. So far so good! Sure, there are days I want to hide in my bedroom eating cheetos under the covers while nursing a cup of coffee, but I make it through!
 

What I've Done This Week:  We took down our tree and other Christmas decorations this week. The kids took the ornaments off the tree and helped me box them, then helped me take apart our artificial tree (I'm allergic to most real trees when in confined spaces, please don't judge. haha). I also spent a few days making lots of phone calls for the parish Welcome Committee. What a fun gig! I love chatting up the new families registering in our parish! I only get the young families with small kids, and I've had 6 in the past month. We must be doing something right the way people are flocking to us! I also dropped off quite a few meals to our friends who had their new baby boy last week. What a great feel to finally be able to return the favour they gave us of many cooked meals when our youngest was born, as well as organising it so other friends gave us cooked meals too.
 

What I Hope To Do Next Week: I still have some tidying to do around the house now that Christmas is officially over. I have my fingers in a few other pies as well, so besides just growing a baby and keeping 4 little ones happy, I'll be a busy woman!

Taste of Heaven

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

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

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

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

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

Church of Entitlement

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

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

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

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

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

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.

Misdiagnosis

In case you hadn't heard, my husband had major abdominal surgery today. For the past week or so I have been haunted by the idea of the what ifs for this surgery. He also has a condition named gastroparesis which is a kind of paralysis of the stomach. That means that he is more likely to vomit and asphyxiate under general anaesthesia. Not really a good feeling having this knowledge while my husband is in surgery and I'm at home with four young children. So, I've been freaking out. Maybe a lot. But I haven't JUST be freaking out. I promise! I have been praying up a storm for him and for the doctors who would be operating on him.

This morning when the sun had barely risen my father came to whisk him off to the hospital, leaving me in a very quiet house. The kids were still sleeping so I was left with my thoughts. Just as the thoughts were taking a dark turn my phone rang. Clearly God was whispering in my Dad's ear because he was calling to invite me to Mass this morning. So, while my husband was in surgery, being carefully sliced open by the surgeons, we were walking to Church in the early heat of the day. The sunshine and delicious breeze were a beautiful distraction for both myself and the kids. When we got to Church we had the pleasure of praying for him, and hearing a beautiful homily all about how having faith in God doesn't always mean we trust Him, and that we should seek to place our trust in God with great abandon. It was without a doubt exactly what I needed to hear.

Not too long after we got home the phone rang and my heart skipped a beat. As I walked the few steps to the phone my heart was pounding and my brain traced through the series of possibilities waiting on the other end of the line. To my endless joy, we got the good news that not only had the surgery gone well, but that my husband was coming home a full two hours earlier than expected. When we greeted him at the door the kids were practically bouncing off the walls, and I have to add that I was tempted to join them I was so full of gratitude. I realise I totally blew this surgery out of proportion, but I think it's only natural when someone we love so deeply is ill and facing even a small percentage of death, we act as though it's already happened. Luckily God worked through the hands of the surgical staff and anaesthesiologist and he's back home, safe and relatively sound. He has many weeks of recovery ahead, but that's far better than the alternative.

Once he was through the door and I'd put the kids down for a much needed nap, my husband gave me the run down of what the surgeon had told him post-op. We both fully expected some explanation of the mesh used to repair his hernia, as well as the magnitude of the hernia. As it turns out, the reason his surgery had taken so long (and the recovery so little) time was that when the doctor cut him open, he couldn't find a hernia. Rather than using a scope as he had hoped, the doctor ended up having to cut a larger incision to explore the area in hopes of finding the hernia. The doctor was clearly confused as he himself, as well as no less than three other doctors, had diagnosed an advanced hernia in the area he was looking. My husband's description of his symptoms were also concurrent with the symptoms of an inguinal hernia that had reached an advanced stage. And yet there was the doctor, cutting him open a little more and a little more trying to find this mystery hernia. Eventually he found the cause of all my husband's pain: a little ball of fat that had been there long enough for the nerve and muscle to encircle it. (The idea of my very slim husband with a ball of fat anywhere on his body is kind of hilarious to me!) The ball of fat had been pushing against a nerve center causing intense pain below and above its location. This tiny, seemingly insignificant ball of fat has been causing my sweet husband chronic pain since before we met. I can think of so many unexplained symptoms that lead back to this one problem. For the first time in many years he is regaining some feeling in his right thigh, which has been gradually going numb from his upper thigh down toward his knee. This is important because the fat ball is located at the spot where the leg started to go numb. Not to mention all this business with his digestive tract! They told him early this year that the nerves in his stomach had gone numb, thus the diagnosis of gastroparesis. Everything is finally starting to make sense.

I firmly believe that if my husband hadn't been diagnosed with a hernia, and his pain hadn't been so severe as to implicated a dangerously incarcerated or strangulated bowel, he never would have seen a surgeon so soon. Now, it is my hope that once he's recovered in six weeks, his quality of life will increase dramatically. I can't help but feel excited because I know that when he's back to full strength he'll be able to be the father he wants to be without worrying he'll get hurt. With that in mind, and with the blessing of the misdiagnosis that still led to the proper surgery so quickly, we cuddle up as a family around his chair tonight and said our prayers of thanksgiving. I don't doubt God's hand is in all of this, and it gives my heart so much consolation to know that God is watching over our little family with special care. Today more than ever I will whisper the prayer:

Jesus, I trust in You!

Raising Saints

I wrote a post a little while ago about the growing faith of my three oldest children. Knowing that they're our kids, my husband and I are rarely shocked by the sweet and faithful kids our things say. The truth of the matter is that their lives are deeply soaked in the stories of their faith, and everyday problems and duties are framed in light of service. (Or at least we're trying). Even now, the three oldest kids are watching the biographical film Therese, about one of my favourite Saints, St. Therese de Lisieux. They haven't yet asked to watch any of their other favourites, mostly from the Disney catalogue. My oldest daughter is especially in love with this movie, and keeps putting blankets on her head like a veil. The life of her faith, and that of her younger brothers, is growing before my eyes. We've started going to daily mass as we can, and I see through my own struggle to keep 4 little ones even mildly calm that somehow, some of this is getting through the fog of princesses and cowboys to have a firm place in their hearts.
This weekend was the first time my Dad was the Deacon at our regular Mass. He was ordained to the diaconate on the 8th at our Basilica, and even though it was a day of great spiritual joy, the Mass was later in the evening and the kids were tired and very cranky. A few days after his ordination, my eldest son was having a rough night, so I came in and cuddled with him in his bed for a few minutes in hopes of helping him relax. He and I got to talking, and something we ended up talking about Heaven. He really liked this idea and wanted to know what Heaven was. I told him that it was the place where we go when we die so we can be with Jesus. We talked about the fact that the people we loved who had died were in Heaven with Jesus. When I asked him what he thought Heaven was like, part of me expected him to say that it was like being on the playground all day or something sweet and childlike. To my surprise, he said: "Like Church for Poppi's ordination. (A pretty big word for a 3 year old!) We would have Jesus and our family. We would be happy. And we would eat cake and I would smile." This really warmed my heart. Of all the kids, he had been the wildest during the ordination, but through all his tiredness and crankiness, he had seen our time at the "big church" as something special, beautiful, and worth experiencing again. It was wonderful to see too that he felt Jesus was an important part of his Poppi's ordination.

Fast forward to this past weekend, we're sitting together, all in a good mood (shocking I know), attending my Dad's first Mass as a Deacon at our regular Sunday morning Mass. Even though I knew they didn't quite understand what Poppi was up to in the Sanctuary in that big green cape (aka dalmatic, haha), their eyes were on all the action more than ever before. While they were preparing the wine and bread to be consecrated, our oldest girl was watching intently. She turned and asked me what her Poppi was doing. I did my best to explain that he was helping prepare the wine and bread so that God could make it into his Body and Blood. She nodded sagely, noting that when Jesus was crucified he bled and it was sad. A few moments later, when the priest elevated the cup and recalled the words of Christ that before us was His blood given for us and our salvation, my sweet little 4 year old daughter turned to me in all earnestness and whispered: "Mommy, look at the cross. Look how Jesus is bleeding into the cup!" She then turned and stared intensely at the crucifix at the back of Sanctuary, which from her perspective was right above the uplifted chalice. I felt a shiver go through my whole body  and tears spring to my eyes. I wished in that moment I could see so clearly what she was seeing, that my faith was as innocent and fearless as hers. I know that if I saw what it was she was seeing, I might be nervous to share it with anyone, but with her childlike faith, she assumed this was normal, and needed to be shared. The rest of the Mass went on as normal, which its share of giggling, pushing, smiles and tears, but I was struck by the depth of her words. Even now I'm still in shock at what she said.

I know as my children get older, they faith will grow in some ways, and possibly wither in other ways. They will be taught by others to suppress their innocent belief in favour of greater understanding. In some ways, it will be wonderful to watch them grow in knowledge about the facts of their faith, but I pray that they will be the lucky ones who will be able to maintain their complete trust, innocence, and vision.

A Question of Faith

This past little while, I've tried to get into the habit of taking the kids to daily Mass. It started out as a mere whim that we should go before attending the parent and tots group that meets on Monday in the basement of the Church. Before I had kids, I used to go to Mass every day if I could. Not out of some expectation or desire to look holy, but because I honestly find so much strength and beauty in Mass, and want to have that deep feeling of what my true foundation is not just Sunday, but every day that I can muster it. Taking kids can be kind of crazy, especially if you're alone with 4 little ones who seem to be auditioning for a part in a "Where the Wild Things Are" play or something.

One day last week when we went, I had what can be described as a challenging experience. I literally had 2 kids rolling in the aisles. And not with laughter. With impossibly loud tears. We were a true spectacle. I was, of course, flustered, flabbergasted, and simply done with it. We had to spend the bulk of Mass in the Foyer, watching through the glass all the action in the Sanctuary. For all the intense wildness that was my kids, when it was time to get in line for Communion, they calmed (slightly) and we managed to walk to the front so I could received the Eucharist. It was in that moment that I remembered why I come to Mass at all: To receive the body and blood of my Saviour, under the simple appearance of wine and little circles of unleavened bread. This little oasis of peace and grace and mystery helped me fumble my way through helping my kids calm down enough to make our way through the end of Mass.

On the walk home, we were stopped by a woman remarking upon the number of my kids. The usual "your hands are full" sorts of comments, followed by how good (and good looking) they are. She asked us where we were coming from and I simply said from church. One thing led to another, and this very kind woman revealed to me that she had been to visit our church for her grandson's first Communion. She was obviously moved by his excitement, but felt fundamentally that she was unnecessarily excluded from our Communion, and that that wasn't precisely fair. Assuming I didn't know, she went on to lecture me about the fact that the reason she couldn't receive the Eucharist was due to the fact that she wasn't Catholic, and didn't believe that our Sacrament was the true Body and Blood of Christ. Explaining that I was aware of this point of faith, I thanked her for her being respectful enough not to "sneak up" and receive as had been suggested by one of her friends there with her. I told her for the same reason I would not seek to receive Communion at her Church if I had an opportunity to attend a service. (I've attended services at many different denominations, and am always so pleased to praise Christ with other fellow believers.) She went on to tell me that her friend, who is a parishioner at my parish, told her that very few if any Catholics really believe that our Sacrament is truly the Body and Blood of Christ, and that we, like many other Christians, simply believe it to be a symbol. I was floored. Confused. I felt my mouth go dry and tears well up in my eyes (luckily I was wearing sunglasses). I managed to explain to her that while that may be true of some, it certainly wasn't true for me and many of my dear friends. I am entirely convicted that the Sacrament that I seek out every Sunday (and any other day I can wrangle 4 kids to go to daily Mass) is indeed Jesus, and not a symbol. Now it was her turn to be shocked. She clearly believed that I was a rare case. I was so overwhelmed by this moment as an opportunity to witness, but something really struck me as odd about the situation.

As I walked away from this incredible conversation, I couldn't help but wonder what had really bothered me about this conversation. I felt so much grace that I could represent my faith with kindness and conviction, and that both of us left with promises of prayers for each other.I think I've figured out what bothered me. It wasn't the woman, who was very kind and open with me. I'm sure many people wonder whether Catholics truly believe in transubstantiation, and I'm sure there are many Catholics that struggle with this mystery of mercy, but it pains me that people would say that Catholics in general outright don't believe. It makes me wonder where the failure lies. Is it in our lack of formation? Or that we fear to speak up lest we be ridiculed? Or that we don't feel like we need to speak up as it isn't important? Whatever the reason, I understood in that moment more than ever why we need a new evangelisation. We need to learn again what our Faith means, what it means to us. We need to be challenged to unafraid to believe with our whole hearts and souls, even if what we believe seems foolish to others.

I reflected on the mystery of the Eucharist, and was left with a feeling of deeper conviction. If God could humble Himself enough to become incarnate in human flesh, why couldn't He choose to incarnate His flesh and blood again in the appearance of bread and wine? In Isaiah 53:2, the prophet describes Jesus: "He had no beauty or majesty to attract us to him, nothing in his appearance that we should desire him." (NIV) God didn't desire that we should seek Him out because He was beautiful, but rather that His Godliness should attract us. This same magnificent mystery draws me to the Eucharist. Again we see God before our very eyes if we are able to see beyond the outward appearance.