This week my husband and I got the inspiration to try and get a Pro-Life Holy Hour started in our parish. We basically want to get together once a month to pray before the Blessed Sacrament with music, the rosary, and some led reflections for unborn children at risk for abortion, as well as for their parents. When I shared this idea with our Parish Ministries Counsellor, she recommended I get in touch with a very involved member of our parish (who I already happen to know) who she thought could share some wisdom with us.
Long story short, this wonderful woman had lots of great wisdom. Ideas for getting our own Pro-Life Committee in our parish, and the things big and small we can do to share the message of the sanctity of Life. I have always been Pro-Life (ask my best friend growing up! Oh the debates we used to have!) and am myself the daughter of a woman who has chosen Life over her own health. When she was pregnant with me, my mother was told by her doctor that the pregnancy and particular delivery would be such a great risk, that she should abort the pregnancy. My mother refused, my father supported her whole heartedly, and around 9 months later I was born via a c-section. The doctors scrambled in teams to take care of both of us. It was touch and go for both of us. 30 years later I am pleased to say both my mother and I are in good health. By all rights I shouldn't be here, but because of my mother's courage in the face of the possibility of her own death here I am, the mother of 4 children of my own that I get to share with her. With that in mind, I have always felt called to speak up for the unborn with the courageouness of my mother's faith, witnessed to save my own life 30 years ago.
As I was speaking to the woman from our parish on the phone about ideas for the Pro-Life movement in our parish, I had my mother's faith and gift of my life to me very much on my heart. So, when my contact mentioned the idea of Spiritual Adoption to me, my heart leapt. Spiritual adoption is so simple: You choose to spiritually adopt a baby boy or girl at risk for abortion (not a baby you actually know) and for 9 months you pray a special prayer each day for your little adopted baby. When the 9 months are up, you then proceed to say a prayer of thanksgiving every day for the next 3 months. That makes up a full year of daily prayer for a child whose life hangs in the balance of someone else's choice. I have never been faced with the choice to choose between myself and my children, but I can make the choice here, today, to take totally on faith that I can give a little bit of myself every day to shower love and prayers on a baby who needs my motherly support. Another aspect is that you can name your baby. Oftentimes people who spiritually adopt a child choose to honour a family member who has passed or a favourite Saint. You can also choose when you start praying for a child to have it line up with a special birthday or holiday. The best part is that you can choose a new child every year. The woman I was speaking to on the phone has spiritually adopted 17 babies and could rattle off each of their names as easily as she could the names of her 7 birth children. While she doesn't have actual proof that her prayers have made a difference, I know she feels in her heart that each of those babies represents a real child whose mother, by the grace of God, chose Life for her child when abortion may have seemed better in the moment.
For any of you who feel called to Spiritual Adoption, here is the prayer written by Bishop Fulton Sheen:
Jesus, Mary and Joseph, I love you very much. I beg you to spare the life of the unborn child that I have spiritually adopted, who is in danger of abortion.
Showing posts with label evangelisation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label evangelisation. Show all posts
Saturday, 30 June 2012
Monday, 28 May 2012
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.
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.
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