Ah, the most dreaded question any young woman around my age and into her twenties will hear. Normally you get it from grandma and grandpa, who were betrothed to each other at the age of six and can't seem to understand why a girl as pretty as you cannot get her hands on a man. It's nerve wracking, and nobody wants to hear it, mostly because it ends up turning into a discussion of how to improve your "flaws" so that you can become a juicy, man-attracting steak. Needless to say, this doesn't help the self-esteem any, and it's also not how a young woman wants to view herself. For all the garbage it gave us, the feminist movement has allowed women to be a little more assertive about being who they are.
I (thankfully) have not been asked the dreaded question yet. My parents know there aren't any boys in my life, and whether or not they have passed this information along to the rest of the family, they haven't asked either. This is wonderful for me, because I don't feel any pressure from my family to "complete" myself or my life with the presence of a boyfriend. We all know I'm a smart cookie, and that I would be fine either way, so it's not imperative that I go and get me a husband right now (all discernment issues aside).
Even more thankfully, none of my friends has asked why I don't have a boyfriend. I mean, they're right there all the time, so if I was either doing something wrong or just plain not finding anyone, they'd already know. However, they have recently become aware of the struggles I had on retreat this past weekend, so they're possibly joining me in the realization that now might not be the best time in the world for me to be involved with a guy.
But, good and faithful readers, let me answer the question for you. It's longer and more complex than most people imagine, as I suppose it must be for many young women. I also hope it will shed some light on what we as women should be on the look out for, should a stalwart, upright young man ever happen upon us in our ivory towers of life in the real world as a young woman. You didn't really think I was going to go all Disney princess on you there, did you?
I don't have a boyfriend partly because of internal struggles, and partly because of my faith. The internal struggles just started this weekend, when in a retreat activity I had confront a huge insecurity I have about love. I have a hard time accepting love because I don't believe that others can love me unconditionally, and because I don't believe it about people, I don't really believe it about God, either. Intellectually I know God loves every one of His children unconditionally, but I cannot allow myself to feel it because I'm afraid that God's love for me will prove to be conditional, as has been my experience in the past. I know that I need to learn to accept and believe in God's unconditional love for me before I can truly learn to love myself or even think about letting someone in to love me romantically. I'm working this through with the help of my spiritual director (and the Big G Himself), and I know that this is something in which I need to grow closer to God, and I am willing to forsake the possibility of romance for now to do it.
The other reason I don't have a boyfriend is because my Catholic faith empowers me to ask a lot more of a man than a lot of women do. I want to be able to expect a lot from any man I date, and that has necessarily narrowed the field in college. I want the respect due me as a daughter of God, and I want to give a man the respect due him as God's son. I want him to be worthy of my estimation for encouraging me in my faith, and I want to be able to encourage him to seek God in the same way I am. I want to know that he and I are united in love with each other and with Christ, and I don't want any man who will try or even propose to lead me away from God or my faith. I don't want a guy who is more interested in self-gratification than in helping me guard both of our purity, or who is apathetic about the things that matter to me. I don't want a man who will encourage me to treat my faith as a quaint relic of the past which is only good for the occasional trip to the soup kitchen, or who believes that himself. Also, I just don't do well with people who aren't intellectual and don't have plans for themselves beyond getting totally trashed this weekend.
I don't have a boyfriend right now because I choose not to, and though most of my friends aren't necessarily single by choice, we're all looking for the same thing. We want to be solid with ourselves and with Christ before we look for a guy, and if we have issues (and lots of young women do), we want to work them out before giving our all in a romantic relationship. It's tough to do, especially if you feel desperate to be loved, but the rewards both spiritually and temporally are so much greater than the short term buzz of a college fling, and you wind up on much better footing with yourself and God. I hope to be able to encourage all my sisters to look after yourselves first, and try to grow in faith and love of God, and He will bring you the perfect guy, the one He destined you for out of His great love for you.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Monday, October 24, 2011
Thy Will Be Done
Well, I'm back from retreat now, and as I hoped, it has definitely given me some fruit for new blog posts, but not exactly in the way I hoped. I was kind of hoping for happiness and peace and confirmation this weekend, and I got none of that. I could barely even sense God at all. I feel horrible about that because everyone else seemed to have such a wonderful time, gain insights into their faith, grow in love, and there I was, doing more or less squat. And I won't lie, it's actually been kind of painful, and I really wish that I didn't have to deal with what came up this weekend, but God has His own reasons for asking me to do it now, I'm sure.
Going into this retreat, I knew I'd been struggling, and I felt worn out physically and spiritually. I was so glad to be able to leave D.C. for a couple of days, try to unwind, and reorient myself with God. A bunch of friends were going on retreat as well, and so were a couple of new girls we were excited to meet. We got to the house, dropped our stuff, had Mass, and right away something wasn't right. I chalked it up to tiredness and went to bed expecting the healing and fun to start the next morning. The next morning was lovely (and a little chilly!), and we got started pretty quickly with all of the usual retreat fare: breakfast, Mass, talks, etc.
Everything was going alright until Confession, when I made my way down into the basement and was asked if I had noticed all of what I was saying since starting the retreat. I hadn't, and our chaplain chided me that I was looking to take care of people and things outside myself, and not checking in to what was going on for me. I knew it was true, and during the second talk of the day, I made more of an effort to be mentally present. It was during this talk, the talk about how loved and beautiful we were, that some very painful things I had buried were brought to the surface. I was unable to even look at myself in the hand mirror we'd all been given, and I desperately wished I could just re-bury everything I had just been forced to acknowledge.
During Adoration, I couldn't feel Jesus' presence, in spite of the fact that He couldn't have been more than five feet away from me at any point. I was distracted and barely able to pray even a simple prayer, and when Benediction came around I started to cry openly, and I felt lost, alone, and hurt. That night was calmer, and I went to bed earlier, hoping I could just forget what had happened to me. No such luck, though, and so I'm (thankfully) going in for spiritual direction tomorrow (Praise. God.). The only silver lining I've been able to see on this weekend is that I've managed (vaguely) to isolate a couple of the issues I think I might be having.
I can't broach the topic of most of them here and now, but the foremost issue is that I think God might be asking me to take off a mask. Now, lots of young women wear masks, it's how we get through a great deal of what we get through, but this mask is an elemental part of me, or so it seems. It's one of the masks that gets created early on in life, and when you're younger it's easier to take off though usually you don't. Once you get older, the mask gets woven into who you are, and taking it off becomes a painful and sometimes impossible task. I'm sure I haven't gotten to the impossible stage yet, but I know that it is already painful to have been asked to take the mask off, and that it will only become more so as time goes on.
This retreat is strangely reminiscent of the FOCUS Conference in January, and with that in mind, I mad the same prayer last night that I made when we came back then. I asked God just for the strength to accept His will, and to do it. I would like to know why this is happening, and why now, but I am content not to know that for now, and only to be able to do God's will. Knowledge of everything isn't necessary, I just want to survive first, then figure out the particulars. I don't know how I'm going to do this, I don't know why it's happening, all I know is that it hurts and I want to follow God to the solution. Please pray for me in this struggle, I'd really appreciate it!
Going into this retreat, I knew I'd been struggling, and I felt worn out physically and spiritually. I was so glad to be able to leave D.C. for a couple of days, try to unwind, and reorient myself with God. A bunch of friends were going on retreat as well, and so were a couple of new girls we were excited to meet. We got to the house, dropped our stuff, had Mass, and right away something wasn't right. I chalked it up to tiredness and went to bed expecting the healing and fun to start the next morning. The next morning was lovely (and a little chilly!), and we got started pretty quickly with all of the usual retreat fare: breakfast, Mass, talks, etc.
Everything was going alright until Confession, when I made my way down into the basement and was asked if I had noticed all of what I was saying since starting the retreat. I hadn't, and our chaplain chided me that I was looking to take care of people and things outside myself, and not checking in to what was going on for me. I knew it was true, and during the second talk of the day, I made more of an effort to be mentally present. It was during this talk, the talk about how loved and beautiful we were, that some very painful things I had buried were brought to the surface. I was unable to even look at myself in the hand mirror we'd all been given, and I desperately wished I could just re-bury everything I had just been forced to acknowledge.
During Adoration, I couldn't feel Jesus' presence, in spite of the fact that He couldn't have been more than five feet away from me at any point. I was distracted and barely able to pray even a simple prayer, and when Benediction came around I started to cry openly, and I felt lost, alone, and hurt. That night was calmer, and I went to bed earlier, hoping I could just forget what had happened to me. No such luck, though, and so I'm (thankfully) going in for spiritual direction tomorrow (Praise. God.). The only silver lining I've been able to see on this weekend is that I've managed (vaguely) to isolate a couple of the issues I think I might be having.
I can't broach the topic of most of them here and now, but the foremost issue is that I think God might be asking me to take off a mask. Now, lots of young women wear masks, it's how we get through a great deal of what we get through, but this mask is an elemental part of me, or so it seems. It's one of the masks that gets created early on in life, and when you're younger it's easier to take off though usually you don't. Once you get older, the mask gets woven into who you are, and taking it off becomes a painful and sometimes impossible task. I'm sure I haven't gotten to the impossible stage yet, but I know that it is already painful to have been asked to take the mask off, and that it will only become more so as time goes on.
This retreat is strangely reminiscent of the FOCUS Conference in January, and with that in mind, I mad the same prayer last night that I made when we came back then. I asked God just for the strength to accept His will, and to do it. I would like to know why this is happening, and why now, but I am content not to know that for now, and only to be able to do God's will. Knowledge of everything isn't necessary, I just want to survive first, then figure out the particulars. I don't know how I'm going to do this, I don't know why it's happening, all I know is that it hurts and I want to follow God to the solution. Please pray for me in this struggle, I'd really appreciate it!
Friday, October 21, 2011
Those Who Never Stop Trying
I've been having some writer's block this week, and I've been desperately trying to come up with anything to post about, and it's not working. At all. This week has produced nothing in my head except a lot of fluff and cobwebs. I'm going on retreat this weekend, so hopefully that will clear everything out and give me fodder for new posts, but until then, I want to talk a little about an idea I've had for a small reflection series. Maybe this idea is God's way of telling me to stop talking about myself for once, and to look to other people for their valuable contributions.
A couple of weeks ago, I came up with the idea of telling the stories of some of my close friends here at school, mostly because I've already regaled too many people with my own story, especially here. It was also partly because I've been hearing more and more of their stories, and they're so beautiful and unique that I want to be able to share them with others (with their permission, of course). The idea was brought up, and three of them consented, though I hope to add a couple more friends to the list before I start writing the series. I want to be able to tell their stores, and then to talk about them a tiny bit from the point of view of a friend, because some of them have amazingly inspirational stories.
I suppose I want this to be an exercise in appreciation, now that I think about it. I want whoever reads these posts about my friends to see how many very ordinary, inspiring people of faith there are all around us. I often seem to take my friends' faith for granted because I live in a bit of a bubble, but I want to be able to expose how even normal people with regular lives and struggles can be good motivators and models for the rest of us. After all, the Church isn't a museum of saints, it's a hospital for sinners, and each one has a story which is worth telling. Each person I'd like to write about has his or her own worthwhile example to give, and I want it to be able to shine for everyone.
Hey, if the lives of the saints can be instructive, how much more the lives of sinners? You know what they say about saints? They're just sinners who never stopped trying.
A couple of weeks ago, I came up with the idea of telling the stories of some of my close friends here at school, mostly because I've already regaled too many people with my own story, especially here. It was also partly because I've been hearing more and more of their stories, and they're so beautiful and unique that I want to be able to share them with others (with their permission, of course). The idea was brought up, and three of them consented, though I hope to add a couple more friends to the list before I start writing the series. I want to be able to tell their stores, and then to talk about them a tiny bit from the point of view of a friend, because some of them have amazingly inspirational stories.
I suppose I want this to be an exercise in appreciation, now that I think about it. I want whoever reads these posts about my friends to see how many very ordinary, inspiring people of faith there are all around us. I often seem to take my friends' faith for granted because I live in a bit of a bubble, but I want to be able to expose how even normal people with regular lives and struggles can be good motivators and models for the rest of us. After all, the Church isn't a museum of saints, it's a hospital for sinners, and each one has a story which is worth telling. Each person I'd like to write about has his or her own worthwhile example to give, and I want it to be able to shine for everyone.
Hey, if the lives of the saints can be instructive, how much more the lives of sinners? You know what they say about saints? They're just sinners who never stopped trying.
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Love Your Enemies
This weekend at my university is Parent's Weekend, and if you've read some of my prior blog posts, you probably surmised that it wasn't going to be the most exciting weekend of my year. Update: so far, it's not. However, I must say that it got of to a rather fortuitous start last night, mostly because of some quick thinking on the part of a couple of friends, and the grace of God. My parents and I attended a performance of some of the highlights of Rodgers and Hammerstein's compositions at the Kennedy Center. As singers, we've all had to sing some of that vast body of music, and like so many others, we genuinely like it a lot. As the conductor of the National Symphony Orchestra remarked, Richard Rodgers had a rare gift of melody, and Oscar Hammerstein II could seamlessly weave lyrics that were witty and touching. Together they revolutionized musical theater in America, and they are one of the best known musical duos in our history.
One of the peculiar talents of Rodgers and Hammerstein was the ability to write songs that were cheery or amusing in shows that dealt with serious topics, such as racism, sexism, abuse, the Nazis, and so on. "Soliloquy" is a song about how the man singing it, Bill Bigelow, is going to train up his son to be a real man, before he panics and realizes that since "he" isn't even born yet, he could very easily be "she", and would need a whole new life plan. The show it's from, Carousel, deals with sexism and abuse among other things. "Whistle a Happy Tune" is a description of how the character singing it, Anna Leon-Owens, simply whistles a happy tune whenever she's afraid to fool people into thinking she isn't, and the result of this deception is that she's fooled out of her fear. The show it's from, The King and I, deals with interracial love and the clash of cultures, as well as the clash of tradition with modernity.
As I mentioned, my parents and I enjoyed the performance immensely. We only went because on this Parents' Weekend, the keynote performance is being given by Bill Maher, and political commentator and sometimes comedian whom I dislike. My mother had texted me a week or two ago to say that she hadn't been able to get tickets for his show, and that was a-OK with me, but then she called again on Monday to let me know that she had gotten them, so we could still go. I panicked, mostly because Bill Maher and his show had become a bone of contention over the summer, and I had no desire to sit through his performance hearing him bash religious folk (as he often does) as my parents laughed. My friends immediately suggested I look at what performances were happening on the Millennium Stage at the Kennedy Center, because there is a performance every night, and it just so happened that Messrs Rodgers and Hammerstein were on the bill for last night and tonight.
You may wonder why it is that I went to such pains to try to avoid seeing Bill Maher perform, and it boils down to his hatred of religion and religious people. He's one of the "new atheists", who is not content to say that he doesn't believe that God exists, but actually attacks religious people frequently. Among his many comments are that people of faith have "neurological disorders", Pope Benedict is a Nazi, and the Qur'an is a "hate-filled" book. A group at the school has raised its concerns with having Mr. Maher represent our campus at a family event, and word is going around that not even one show could be sold out this year, where in the past few years extra shows have had to be added, and often both performances were sold out. The student body is showing its displeasure with the university's choice this year, and I'm pleased for that. We're all for free speech, but that doesn't mean we have to listen if we don't like it.
However, last night's performance at the Kennedy Center forced me to see things in a new light. I sat there enjoying myself thoroughly, singing along with "Do Re Mi", and swaying to the Waltz from Cinderella, and afterwards I realized that Bill Maher probably couldn't do that. I'm not talking about his musical abilities, but about his ability to simply sit back and enjoy something for its own sake. I could enjoy the music last night simply because it was good music, Bill Maher puts on the appearance of only enjoying things for a reason. His pot? Sticking it to an uptight government. His reputation as a libertine? It gives all those uptight, sex-hating conservative folks the willies. Saying the inflammatory things he says? It pisses people off. Honestly, I wonder if he knows what happiness feels like.
I've come to realize that the only thing I should be feeling for Bill Maher as a person of faith is pity. Why should I be angry at him? He's not convincing anyone who isn't already convinced. Why should I hate him? He's another child of God in this very broken world. I feel sorry for Bill Maher because he has millions of dollars, widespread popularity, a TV show, a degree from an Ivy League university, and a hedonistic lifestyle that I'm sure many people envy, but he's not happy (or he does a really good job of hiding it).
In the Gospels, Jesus says, "But to you who hear I say, love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you." (Lk 6:27-28) What does it matter to us or to God if we love people who love us, or do good to those who will return the favor? Everyone does that, because it's easy. But perhaps in refusing to love our enemies, we overlook those who actually need our love the most. I say we let Bill Maher and the "new atheists" rant and rave about how Christians hate love and love killing, and how alarming it is that Mohammed is a popular name in the UK, etc, and instead of retaliating, we just pray that he may know peace and happiness. After all, Jesus also said, "Therefore I tell you, all that you ask for in prayer, believe that you will receive it and it shall be yours." (Mk 11:24)
One of the peculiar talents of Rodgers and Hammerstein was the ability to write songs that were cheery or amusing in shows that dealt with serious topics, such as racism, sexism, abuse, the Nazis, and so on. "Soliloquy" is a song about how the man singing it, Bill Bigelow, is going to train up his son to be a real man, before he panics and realizes that since "he" isn't even born yet, he could very easily be "she", and would need a whole new life plan. The show it's from, Carousel, deals with sexism and abuse among other things. "Whistle a Happy Tune" is a description of how the character singing it, Anna Leon-Owens, simply whistles a happy tune whenever she's afraid to fool people into thinking she isn't, and the result of this deception is that she's fooled out of her fear. The show it's from, The King and I, deals with interracial love and the clash of cultures, as well as the clash of tradition with modernity.
As I mentioned, my parents and I enjoyed the performance immensely. We only went because on this Parents' Weekend, the keynote performance is being given by Bill Maher, and political commentator and sometimes comedian whom I dislike. My mother had texted me a week or two ago to say that she hadn't been able to get tickets for his show, and that was a-OK with me, but then she called again on Monday to let me know that she had gotten them, so we could still go. I panicked, mostly because Bill Maher and his show had become a bone of contention over the summer, and I had no desire to sit through his performance hearing him bash religious folk (as he often does) as my parents laughed. My friends immediately suggested I look at what performances were happening on the Millennium Stage at the Kennedy Center, because there is a performance every night, and it just so happened that Messrs Rodgers and Hammerstein were on the bill for last night and tonight.
You may wonder why it is that I went to such pains to try to avoid seeing Bill Maher perform, and it boils down to his hatred of religion and religious people. He's one of the "new atheists", who is not content to say that he doesn't believe that God exists, but actually attacks religious people frequently. Among his many comments are that people of faith have "neurological disorders", Pope Benedict is a Nazi, and the Qur'an is a "hate-filled" book. A group at the school has raised its concerns with having Mr. Maher represent our campus at a family event, and word is going around that not even one show could be sold out this year, where in the past few years extra shows have had to be added, and often both performances were sold out. The student body is showing its displeasure with the university's choice this year, and I'm pleased for that. We're all for free speech, but that doesn't mean we have to listen if we don't like it.
However, last night's performance at the Kennedy Center forced me to see things in a new light. I sat there enjoying myself thoroughly, singing along with "Do Re Mi", and swaying to the Waltz from Cinderella, and afterwards I realized that Bill Maher probably couldn't do that. I'm not talking about his musical abilities, but about his ability to simply sit back and enjoy something for its own sake. I could enjoy the music last night simply because it was good music, Bill Maher puts on the appearance of only enjoying things for a reason. His pot? Sticking it to an uptight government. His reputation as a libertine? It gives all those uptight, sex-hating conservative folks the willies. Saying the inflammatory things he says? It pisses people off. Honestly, I wonder if he knows what happiness feels like.
I've come to realize that the only thing I should be feeling for Bill Maher as a person of faith is pity. Why should I be angry at him? He's not convincing anyone who isn't already convinced. Why should I hate him? He's another child of God in this very broken world. I feel sorry for Bill Maher because he has millions of dollars, widespread popularity, a TV show, a degree from an Ivy League university, and a hedonistic lifestyle that I'm sure many people envy, but he's not happy (or he does a really good job of hiding it).
In the Gospels, Jesus says, "But to you who hear I say, love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you." (Lk 6:27-28) What does it matter to us or to God if we love people who love us, or do good to those who will return the favor? Everyone does that, because it's easy. But perhaps in refusing to love our enemies, we overlook those who actually need our love the most. I say we let Bill Maher and the "new atheists" rant and rave about how Christians hate love and love killing, and how alarming it is that Mohammed is a popular name in the UK, etc, and instead of retaliating, we just pray that he may know peace and happiness. After all, Jesus also said, "Therefore I tell you, all that you ask for in prayer, believe that you will receive it and it shall be yours." (Mk 11:24)
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Holla If You Love Priests!
From today's title, I think you can guess that I really like priests. Seriously, though, I don't think I've met more than one priest I didn't like in my entire life. My reversion to the faith has certainly helped this a great deal, though I have to say that my idea of priests being ordinary men as well as being holier than the rest of us comes from my uncle, an Antiochan Orthodox (arch) priest.
(Uncle Joe, complete with funny hat, big, blingy archpriest cross, full cassock, and sweet beard)
Growing up Catholic, my parents were always involved in liturgical music, so one or both of them was used to being close to our parish priest. He came to our house for dinner sometimes, and I fell asleep on his couch in the rectory more than a few times as a small child. My parents were friends with a priest who was also an artist, and along with making us a lovely stained glass window for the dining room, he was over to Sunday dinner every six weeks or so, and always at holidays with his mother. Priests were never foreign to me as a child, though it wouldn't be until college that I really loved and appreciated them.
Last year, I was like much of the freshmen who frequented our school's Newman Center, in that I knew priests growing up, so our chaplain, though he was younger and much more full of life than most of our parish priests, wasn't a huge oddity. Because of the nature of my reversion (and the fact that I practically lived in the Newman Center), we became much closer to each other than I would naturally have been to any priest back home. He is now my spiritual director, and I regard our relationship as sort of a fraternal-filial one- he's not afraid to goof around and trade insults with me and have fun, but he's also not afraid to set me straight and watch out for me if I go off the rails a bit.
I've also met a number of great priests here in Washington, among them, the rector of the Cathedral of St. Matthew the Apostle (who has me etched in his memory as "the ninja freak"), several fantastic Dominicans, one who attended Princeton, and others who are brilliant, joyful, holy men. I will not hesitate to say that it has been a joy and honor to know and learn from them, and I look forward to getting to meet more priests, as I have already through connection to our chaplain.
Before I forget, I also have a special place in my heart for seminarians. I haven't the foggiest idea if there are any men in seminary for my diocese back home, though occasionally someone will tell me there are. Seminarians are sort of the best of both worlds for me, because though they are laymen (those not ordained to the deaconate yet), they also exemplify the joy, holiness, and intelligence of the priests they hope to be one day. I currently have four friends in seminary, and we're not bosom buddies, but I thoroughly enjoy their wisdom, wit and silliness, as well as the hope they represent for our Church and our generation. I sort of love seminarians generally, and regard a couple as the older brothers I wish I had (though I'm sure if I actually had siblings, I wouldn't be so quick to say it).
Priests are some of my favorite people in the world. They are ordinary men who live out a supernatural call, but manage to do so in a variety of truly amazing ways. They are spiritual fathers, spiritual directors, and so many other things all rolled into one. I don't think it will ever cease to amaze me how much priests are really, after the tradition of St. Ignatius Loyola, men for others.
And just for fun, here's a funny video of (hopeful) future priests in formation:
Saturday, October 8, 2011
Heaven on Earth
Do you know what the most fantastic thing about Catholicism is? Aside from everything, I mean. The single most stupendous thing about the Catholic faith is the Mass. The Mass is literally one of the most amazing things about my little Catholic life right now. I mean, even the saints were all over it. Padre Pio once said, "It would be easier for the world to survive without the sun than to do so without the Holy Mass." How awesome is that?? He's right, of course, because not only is the Mass the source and summit of our faith, it's also the greatest prayer we can ever offer.
One of the great things about the Mass is that it's the primary vehicle by which we learn Scripture. Protestants have an enormous focus in their faith on straight up reading the Bible, which is great, though it's part of why Catholics have a reputation for not knowing anything about the Bible, or for Catholicism being "unscriptural". The Mass is almost entirely scriptural, though. The parts of the Mass, you know, those parts that you occasionally sing with the cantor in between all the prayers during the Liturgy of the Eucharist, they're all taken right out of Revelation. What you say before receiving Communion ("Lord, I am not worthy to receive You..."), that's straight from the Gospel of Luke. The prayers of Consecration are also from the Gospels, as are the Church's teachings on the Eucharist, around which the whole Mass is centered. There's also that whole "readings" thing, and the Psalms, too.
What a lot of Catholics don't know about the way we do Scripture, specifically at Mass, is that the Lectionary (the book with all the readings in it) is organized specifically so that the readings all match up with each other. Usually the strongest connection is between the First Reading and the Gospel, because the Old Testament, from which the First Reading is drawn, foreshadows the life of Christ, and informs our reading and interpretation of the Gospels and Christ's teachings. Another advantage of the Catholic Scripture Approach is that we have the Magisterium and Tradition of the Church guiding our interpretation of the passages, and our priests are trained in both of those things so they know how to explain what the Holy Spirit has revealed to us in Scripture. Their homilies are meant to be vehicles through which they break down what God is saying through the Bible passages we hear at each Mass, and it also protects us as believers from acting on a gross misinterpretation of the Bible, a la Westboro Baptist Church.
The best thing about the Mass by far, though, is the Eucharist. It's Jesus. It just doesn't get any better than that. No other religion on earth has that type of communion with God. They all have omnipresent gods, but none of them actually eat and drink their gods' flesh and blood. Their gods didn't offer them their own lives to save them from eternal punishment. They didn't give their priests the power to drive out demons, forgive sins, and turn ordinary bread and wine into the life-giving flesh and blood by which the world is saved. Jesus did that with Catholicism, and each Mass is a recreation of those powers and that sacrifice, the glory of which cannot be conveyed by words, no matter how hard I try.
In short, the Mass is heaven on earth, as Pope John Paul II said. No matter what is going on in my life, what sort of troubles I'm having, the Mass is always the greatest source of comfort for me. Christ brought heaven to earth through His incarnation, and with the Mass, He raises earth to heaven. Most of the time we go to Mass, we forget how glorious it really is. The founder of the Fellowship Of Catholic University Students said at their conference last year that what we do at Mass, especially receiving Jesus in Communion, is so sublime that we should be floating through the whole thing, but so often we're barely even paying attention. There is nothing remotely like the Mass on all the earth, and it basically is a foretaste of the Beatific Vision in heaven, and we should all be aware of that.
The Mass is the most beautiful, awesome, glorious, amazing thing we will experience this side of heaven. Am I getting this across well enough? I know this is a lot of rambling, but I don't know any other way to express how truly blessed we are to have been given the Mass. It's amazing that we get to experience heaven now, and then we (hopefully) get to experience it for eternity. Who really appreciates that fully? Absolutely glorious. Love it.
One of the great things about the Mass is that it's the primary vehicle by which we learn Scripture. Protestants have an enormous focus in their faith on straight up reading the Bible, which is great, though it's part of why Catholics have a reputation for not knowing anything about the Bible, or for Catholicism being "unscriptural". The Mass is almost entirely scriptural, though. The parts of the Mass, you know, those parts that you occasionally sing with the cantor in between all the prayers during the Liturgy of the Eucharist, they're all taken right out of Revelation. What you say before receiving Communion ("Lord, I am not worthy to receive You..."), that's straight from the Gospel of Luke. The prayers of Consecration are also from the Gospels, as are the Church's teachings on the Eucharist, around which the whole Mass is centered. There's also that whole "readings" thing, and the Psalms, too.
What a lot of Catholics don't know about the way we do Scripture, specifically at Mass, is that the Lectionary (the book with all the readings in it) is organized specifically so that the readings all match up with each other. Usually the strongest connection is between the First Reading and the Gospel, because the Old Testament, from which the First Reading is drawn, foreshadows the life of Christ, and informs our reading and interpretation of the Gospels and Christ's teachings. Another advantage of the Catholic Scripture Approach is that we have the Magisterium and Tradition of the Church guiding our interpretation of the passages, and our priests are trained in both of those things so they know how to explain what the Holy Spirit has revealed to us in Scripture. Their homilies are meant to be vehicles through which they break down what God is saying through the Bible passages we hear at each Mass, and it also protects us as believers from acting on a gross misinterpretation of the Bible, a la Westboro Baptist Church.
The best thing about the Mass by far, though, is the Eucharist. It's Jesus. It just doesn't get any better than that. No other religion on earth has that type of communion with God. They all have omnipresent gods, but none of them actually eat and drink their gods' flesh and blood. Their gods didn't offer them their own lives to save them from eternal punishment. They didn't give their priests the power to drive out demons, forgive sins, and turn ordinary bread and wine into the life-giving flesh and blood by which the world is saved. Jesus did that with Catholicism, and each Mass is a recreation of those powers and that sacrifice, the glory of which cannot be conveyed by words, no matter how hard I try.
In short, the Mass is heaven on earth, as Pope John Paul II said. No matter what is going on in my life, what sort of troubles I'm having, the Mass is always the greatest source of comfort for me. Christ brought heaven to earth through His incarnation, and with the Mass, He raises earth to heaven. Most of the time we go to Mass, we forget how glorious it really is. The founder of the Fellowship Of Catholic University Students said at their conference last year that what we do at Mass, especially receiving Jesus in Communion, is so sublime that we should be floating through the whole thing, but so often we're barely even paying attention. There is nothing remotely like the Mass on all the earth, and it basically is a foretaste of the Beatific Vision in heaven, and we should all be aware of that.
The Mass is the most beautiful, awesome, glorious, amazing thing we will experience this side of heaven. Am I getting this across well enough? I know this is a lot of rambling, but I don't know any other way to express how truly blessed we are to have been given the Mass. It's amazing that we get to experience heaven now, and then we (hopefully) get to experience it for eternity. Who really appreciates that fully? Absolutely glorious. Love it.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Patience is Not a Virtue
Not strictly speaking, anyway. It's not one of the Cardinal Virtues (Prudence, Fortitude, Temperance, Justice), nor is it one of the Theological Virtues (Faith, Hope, Love). Since I was little, I've always heard people say "Patience is a virtue," and I would jokingly reply that I must not be virtuous, because I was never very patient. It wasn't until last year when a seminarian friend told me that patience isn't actually a virtue, but a Fruit of the Holy Spirit. But you know what? Patience should be a virtue. I would consider the vast majority of virtuous people I know to be patient, and I would consider it exceedingly difficult for an impatient person to be virtuous, since so many virtues require a lot of time and effort to attain and perfect.
The reason I bring this up is because I have been feeling very impatient lately. Somewhat with other people, but mostly with God. It's probably a proud thing to say that I'm getting impatient with the One who is perfect in every way, especially since I will never hope to even approach perfection, but I am. This stems a lot from envy of my friends, and situations they find themselves in now. I've talked quite a bit about emotional chastity lately, and how awful I am at it (I promise this will be the last post about it for a while!), and seeing a couple of my friends in relationships (or whatever they would prefer to have them called) is difficult. I'm happy for them to be happy, please believe it, but I also wish that I could be happy in the same way.
This is where the impatience with God comes in. I want to be able to be in a relationship this year because I want to discern next year, and I don't want to start discernment without having experienced a Christian relationship. I already feel like time is slipping, and because I'm working on school and prayer (though that could stand some improvement, for sure), I'm somewhat arrogantly tapping my foot at God as if to say, "Alright Lord, I had three goals for this year, and I'm already working on two of them, so could you please just help me out with the third already?" It would probably frustrate my spiritual director to read this, since his revision of that goal was for me to reach out and become more social, rather than be overly concerned with dating, but the foolish desires of a young woman's heart are not always so easily shaken (I'm sorry, Father!).
I'm currently finishing up Jason and Crystalina Evert's How to Find Your Soulmate Without Losing Your Soul, and the hardest part of the book for me is the end. That's where they talk about being patient, running after Christ, and enjoying your season of singlehood, and as much as I agree with what they're saying in my head, my heart is less on board with the whole "enjoying singlehood" bit. One of the strengths of the book is that the Everts don't pull punches. They don't try to sugarcoat the hard stuff, so when it comes to enjoying singlehood, they really just say "Go out and become your own woman. Don't wait for some guy to come around and complete you, go out and do the things you always wanted to before you settle down and have other things to do." There are lots of things I want to do now, like picking German back up, going to the Holocaust Museum, cooking recipes from a cookbook with my friends, but I'm afraid I'm not patient enough to go about doing all the things I want to do, because I'm too fixed on getting my way with God.
Quite frankly, this all is embarrassing to admit, but it's a prime example of not guarding my heart, not just against silly feminine whims, but against pains and desires that are not of God. Right now in my life, God should be more than enough for me, but I'm not letting Him be. I'm trying to block out His plan for me, which doesn't include romance just yet, to try to get what I want. Lucifer did that too, once, and we can see how well that all worked out for him. I guess this issue is more about reconquering myself for God than anything. I have to trust in His timing, rely on His wisdom, and allow Him to be enough for me always, so that whether I ever experience romance or not, I'm never discontent with what I have, which, after all, is more than enough for forever.
The reason I bring this up is because I have been feeling very impatient lately. Somewhat with other people, but mostly with God. It's probably a proud thing to say that I'm getting impatient with the One who is perfect in every way, especially since I will never hope to even approach perfection, but I am. This stems a lot from envy of my friends, and situations they find themselves in now. I've talked quite a bit about emotional chastity lately, and how awful I am at it (I promise this will be the last post about it for a while!), and seeing a couple of my friends in relationships (or whatever they would prefer to have them called) is difficult. I'm happy for them to be happy, please believe it, but I also wish that I could be happy in the same way.
This is where the impatience with God comes in. I want to be able to be in a relationship this year because I want to discern next year, and I don't want to start discernment without having experienced a Christian relationship. I already feel like time is slipping, and because I'm working on school and prayer (though that could stand some improvement, for sure), I'm somewhat arrogantly tapping my foot at God as if to say, "Alright Lord, I had three goals for this year, and I'm already working on two of them, so could you please just help me out with the third already?" It would probably frustrate my spiritual director to read this, since his revision of that goal was for me to reach out and become more social, rather than be overly concerned with dating, but the foolish desires of a young woman's heart are not always so easily shaken (I'm sorry, Father!).
I'm currently finishing up Jason and Crystalina Evert's How to Find Your Soulmate Without Losing Your Soul, and the hardest part of the book for me is the end. That's where they talk about being patient, running after Christ, and enjoying your season of singlehood, and as much as I agree with what they're saying in my head, my heart is less on board with the whole "enjoying singlehood" bit. One of the strengths of the book is that the Everts don't pull punches. They don't try to sugarcoat the hard stuff, so when it comes to enjoying singlehood, they really just say "Go out and become your own woman. Don't wait for some guy to come around and complete you, go out and do the things you always wanted to before you settle down and have other things to do." There are lots of things I want to do now, like picking German back up, going to the Holocaust Museum, cooking recipes from a cookbook with my friends, but I'm afraid I'm not patient enough to go about doing all the things I want to do, because I'm too fixed on getting my way with God.
Quite frankly, this all is embarrassing to admit, but it's a prime example of not guarding my heart, not just against silly feminine whims, but against pains and desires that are not of God. Right now in my life, God should be more than enough for me, but I'm not letting Him be. I'm trying to block out His plan for me, which doesn't include romance just yet, to try to get what I want. Lucifer did that too, once, and we can see how well that all worked out for him. I guess this issue is more about reconquering myself for God than anything. I have to trust in His timing, rely on His wisdom, and allow Him to be enough for me always, so that whether I ever experience romance or not, I'm never discontent with what I have, which, after all, is more than enough for forever.
Monday, October 3, 2011
PietÃ
Behold, sinner, He who was wounded for your transgressions,
Lying limply in the grasp of His most holy mother, who weeps for her loss
As the final sword pierces her heart.
Mary most holy gave her son,
The Son of God, over to you
As you commit daily
Those sins which inflict the sorrow she holds in the person of the dead Christ.
They loved you so much, both foreknowing and having no knowledge,
That each was content that the Christ of God should die
That you would be healed.
Think of it, sinner.
Think of the love so great it should have been pleased to die
For you only,
But that was instead pleased to die that all might live.
The Love which was pleased to die that all
Might receive that most precious gift of life,
That life to which Love calls us every day,
For His sake.
And for ours.
Lying limply in the grasp of His most holy mother, who weeps for her loss
As the final sword pierces her heart.
Mary most holy gave her son,
The Son of God, over to you
As you commit daily
Those sins which inflict the sorrow she holds in the person of the dead Christ.
They loved you so much, both foreknowing and having no knowledge,
That each was content that the Christ of God should die
That you would be healed.
Think of it, sinner.
Think of the love so great it should have been pleased to die
For you only,
But that was instead pleased to die that all might live.
The Love which was pleased to die that all
Might receive that most precious gift of life,
That life to which Love calls us every day,
For His sake.
And for ours.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Mulieris Dignitatem
Another one of those better said than written posts. The only other thing I'm going to say about it is that if you want to respond, please keep it civil.
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Friends Are...
...Like bras, close to your heart, and there for support. I apologize to any male reader who may have been grossed out or just plain confused by that. It has a point, I promise. The point is that I love my friends. I know this, and I knew it before the Freshman Retreat, but like many things, I took it for granted. I took for granted that my friends were there to support me and have fun with me, and do crazy things like walk around the monuments in togas, or talk about emotional chastity with Taylor Swift in the background when we were supposed to be doing homework. This weekend solidified our bond with each other. A bond which started off strong, and because we were working together for something bigger than any of us, got a whole lot stronger.
On Saturday afternoon, the four of us sophomores led a discussion with the freshman girls about emotional chastity and how we'd struggled with it and continue to do so. At the time, I guess it hadn't occurred to us to be anything but honest with them. We told embarrassing stories, stories that still make us cringe, and stories we'd rather not be telling anyone. We tried to get the girls to identify ways that they'd struggled with it, and to think about living it out for their own sakes, and for the sake of their relationships with God. They got to see us really just being forthright about our lives, and how hard it is to live a virtuous life, and hopefully how happy we are doing it. The freshmen saw that for an hour and a half, but we saw it in each other all weekend.
The four sophomores on the retreat already knew about each other's struggles and problems. We'd seen them happen, heard about them, consoled each other, and baked our way through them when we had to. They weren't new to us. Who'd struggled with being dumped cruelly, who felt lonely and unlovable, and who was starting over again were already firmly established, and they didn't change. What did was that we came together as a group to fight those battles, rather than trying to do it ourselves. We purposely became more vulnerable, and that made us stronger. The girls noticed that vulnerability, as well, and it made an impression.
I think I've mentioned before that vulnerability and trust are things I don't do well. Like most people, I'm afraid of being hurt, and that is often what stops me from opening up to new possibilities and adventures. I don't like appearing vulnerable, either, which compounds the problem. It's tough to deal with issues when you're under the strain of feeling weak but trying to look strong. But part of the beauty of this weekend was that, surrounded by friends and allowed to reconnect with God, I didn't hold back. I laid bare what hurt me, what I struggle with on a daily basis, and a little bit of what I hope for when nobody's watching. It's not easy to be vulnerable like that, but it is rewarding.
It was truly a grace to be able to see my friends at work on the retreat. They were giving 110% the whole time, and it made their beauty shine through, inside and out. I hope that the freshman girls are able to find friends like that in each other, because as much as I love all my friends, nothing beats a friendship rooted in Christ. These girls are exquisitely beautiful, in faith and physically, and I'm blessed to have them around me to show me an example of what faith, hope and love really look like lived out. I can only hope we stay this tight, because I know the future with them will be like the dawn in Zachariah's Benedictus, full of hope, looking toward God.
On Saturday afternoon, the four of us sophomores led a discussion with the freshman girls about emotional chastity and how we'd struggled with it and continue to do so. At the time, I guess it hadn't occurred to us to be anything but honest with them. We told embarrassing stories, stories that still make us cringe, and stories we'd rather not be telling anyone. We tried to get the girls to identify ways that they'd struggled with it, and to think about living it out for their own sakes, and for the sake of their relationships with God. They got to see us really just being forthright about our lives, and how hard it is to live a virtuous life, and hopefully how happy we are doing it. The freshmen saw that for an hour and a half, but we saw it in each other all weekend.
The four sophomores on the retreat already knew about each other's struggles and problems. We'd seen them happen, heard about them, consoled each other, and baked our way through them when we had to. They weren't new to us. Who'd struggled with being dumped cruelly, who felt lonely and unlovable, and who was starting over again were already firmly established, and they didn't change. What did was that we came together as a group to fight those battles, rather than trying to do it ourselves. We purposely became more vulnerable, and that made us stronger. The girls noticed that vulnerability, as well, and it made an impression.
I think I've mentioned before that vulnerability and trust are things I don't do well. Like most people, I'm afraid of being hurt, and that is often what stops me from opening up to new possibilities and adventures. I don't like appearing vulnerable, either, which compounds the problem. It's tough to deal with issues when you're under the strain of feeling weak but trying to look strong. But part of the beauty of this weekend was that, surrounded by friends and allowed to reconnect with God, I didn't hold back. I laid bare what hurt me, what I struggle with on a daily basis, and a little bit of what I hope for when nobody's watching. It's not easy to be vulnerable like that, but it is rewarding.
It was truly a grace to be able to see my friends at work on the retreat. They were giving 110% the whole time, and it made their beauty shine through, inside and out. I hope that the freshman girls are able to find friends like that in each other, because as much as I love all my friends, nothing beats a friendship rooted in Christ. These girls are exquisitely beautiful, in faith and physically, and I'm blessed to have them around me to show me an example of what faith, hope and love really look like lived out. I can only hope we stay this tight, because I know the future with them will be like the dawn in Zachariah's Benedictus, full of hope, looking toward God.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Never Outdone in Generosity
I'm back from the retreat! I know I promised at least one post about it, but I have to say, it was so good I might be splitting it into several parts. For now, I just want to start off with what hit me hardest about this weekend, and that is that God is never outdone in generosity. It's one of those platitudes you hear all the time, and you brush it off because someone a lot holier than you is just trying to convince you that God will answer your prayers. It's totally true, though. It was one of the best reminders I got this weekend.
I told all the freshmen this during our reflection discussion this morning, when I got the first email from the president of the Newman Center that they were looking for volunteers to be student leaders of the Freshman Retreat, I jumped at the chance. I think I literally emailed him back four minutes later to tell him that I wanted to be one of them, and this on the heels of bugging him for weeks before that to finally send out the email to see who would be the student leaders. To make sure he knew just how badly I wanted to do it, I would text him every couple of days to see if the decision was made yet as to who the leaders would be. I'm sure he got tired of me asking, but it paid off, because when the email with the names went out, I was one of them. I was ecstatic.
It was that day that I started praying that one freshman would have the same kind of experience on the retreat that I did. I didn't want to be presumptuous or greedy, so I asked God to turn the heart of one freshman the same way He had turned mine. It would have been enough for me if that had happened, too. I still remember feeling so happy, so peaceful, so free and so absolutely exultant that I wanted to be able to share it with everyone, right that instant. I couldn't imagine the possibility of this happening to more than one of them, and I honestly would have been content if that had been the case. However, as we heard in the first reading last week, God's ways are not our ways, and His thoughts are not our thoughts. Good thing, too, because God would be awfully sleepy right now if they were.
I'm pretty much an early bird, and I adjust fairly well to getting up early, at least I do early in the day. Yesterday was no exception, as I was able to start reading Plutarch for my midterm about fifteen minutes after I woke up, and continued functioning well throughout the day. I stayed up and prayed with the whole group for Adoration and Benediction, and I figured I would tough it out until 11:00, because I wanted to be the last person to Confess before all-night Adoration started. It was not to be, though. Around 10:00, I could feel myself fading fast, so I decided I would take a half hour power nap and come back when our chaplain was almost done with Confessions. Fortunately, this was not to be, either.
About 10:15, I heard a girls voice from the living room saying "Oh my gosh, you guys, I just found Jesus! I need to call my mom and my dad, and like everyone I know!" I did want to sleep a little longer, I admit, but that was God saying to me "Get your lazy tukus out of bed, because you have more important things to be doing right now." I went out into the living room, and sure enough, there was the jubilant girl who had just Confessed, gushing about how free and happy and forgiven she felt for the first time in her life. They were almost exactly the same words I said (though through much heavier crying) last year. My heart leaped within me for joy at that moment, much the same way John the Baptist leaped for joy in his mother's womb when she heard Mary's greeting. I was thrilled beyond words that God had answered my prayers; He had touched one freshman's heart the way He touched mine last year. Little did I know that that would only be the beginning.
For the next two and a half hours, I sat in the living room, talking to all the freshmen who had yet to Confess, answering questions with the other student leader, and seeing that so many of them not only wanted to Confess, but they were excited about it. To give a little context, I was scared out of my mind before I went in, and though I know many of them were nervous, they were much more hopeful than I was. It was a true blessing to be able to see and talk to them as they prepared for such a beautiful encounter with Christ. Many came out crying happily, and the other sophomores and I formed a little hugging receiving line for them before and after to let them know how happy we were for them, and how proud of them we were for even going in. Confessions went an hour and a half past schedule, and it was the best delay we had all night.
All of this, aside from making me positively giddy, magnified God's greatness and generosity to His beloved sinners. You'll recall that I asked for one freshman. Just one. I didn't want to overdo it by asking for more than God might be willing to grant. However, I was thinking like a human. If I, being imperfect in love and generosity, had been asked for the gift of changing one person's heart, I would take great care in selecting that one person, but I would only have chosen one. God, in His infinite and perfect glory, heard my prayer, and blessed our entire group, not with one change of heart, but with at least half a dozen (and there were only 17 freshmen). He was asked to change one person's heart, to touch only one person's life, and He gave us all more grace than I daresay any of us would ever have dared to ask of Him.
I'm still riding that joyous high, and I cannot tell you how happy I am. Our chaplain told me in Confession last year that all of Heaven was throwing me a party because I had come home at long last. All I can say is, Heaven must have been overbooked with parties last night, because God's ways are not our ways, His thoughts are not our thoughts, and He is never outdone in generosity.
I told all the freshmen this during our reflection discussion this morning, when I got the first email from the president of the Newman Center that they were looking for volunteers to be student leaders of the Freshman Retreat, I jumped at the chance. I think I literally emailed him back four minutes later to tell him that I wanted to be one of them, and this on the heels of bugging him for weeks before that to finally send out the email to see who would be the student leaders. To make sure he knew just how badly I wanted to do it, I would text him every couple of days to see if the decision was made yet as to who the leaders would be. I'm sure he got tired of me asking, but it paid off, because when the email with the names went out, I was one of them. I was ecstatic.
It was that day that I started praying that one freshman would have the same kind of experience on the retreat that I did. I didn't want to be presumptuous or greedy, so I asked God to turn the heart of one freshman the same way He had turned mine. It would have been enough for me if that had happened, too. I still remember feeling so happy, so peaceful, so free and so absolutely exultant that I wanted to be able to share it with everyone, right that instant. I couldn't imagine the possibility of this happening to more than one of them, and I honestly would have been content if that had been the case. However, as we heard in the first reading last week, God's ways are not our ways, and His thoughts are not our thoughts. Good thing, too, because God would be awfully sleepy right now if they were.
I'm pretty much an early bird, and I adjust fairly well to getting up early, at least I do early in the day. Yesterday was no exception, as I was able to start reading Plutarch for my midterm about fifteen minutes after I woke up, and continued functioning well throughout the day. I stayed up and prayed with the whole group for Adoration and Benediction, and I figured I would tough it out until 11:00, because I wanted to be the last person to Confess before all-night Adoration started. It was not to be, though. Around 10:00, I could feel myself fading fast, so I decided I would take a half hour power nap and come back when our chaplain was almost done with Confessions. Fortunately, this was not to be, either.
About 10:15, I heard a girls voice from the living room saying "Oh my gosh, you guys, I just found Jesus! I need to call my mom and my dad, and like everyone I know!" I did want to sleep a little longer, I admit, but that was God saying to me "Get your lazy tukus out of bed, because you have more important things to be doing right now." I went out into the living room, and sure enough, there was the jubilant girl who had just Confessed, gushing about how free and happy and forgiven she felt for the first time in her life. They were almost exactly the same words I said (though through much heavier crying) last year. My heart leaped within me for joy at that moment, much the same way John the Baptist leaped for joy in his mother's womb when she heard Mary's greeting. I was thrilled beyond words that God had answered my prayers; He had touched one freshman's heart the way He touched mine last year. Little did I know that that would only be the beginning.
For the next two and a half hours, I sat in the living room, talking to all the freshmen who had yet to Confess, answering questions with the other student leader, and seeing that so many of them not only wanted to Confess, but they were excited about it. To give a little context, I was scared out of my mind before I went in, and though I know many of them were nervous, they were much more hopeful than I was. It was a true blessing to be able to see and talk to them as they prepared for such a beautiful encounter with Christ. Many came out crying happily, and the other sophomores and I formed a little hugging receiving line for them before and after to let them know how happy we were for them, and how proud of them we were for even going in. Confessions went an hour and a half past schedule, and it was the best delay we had all night.
All of this, aside from making me positively giddy, magnified God's greatness and generosity to His beloved sinners. You'll recall that I asked for one freshman. Just one. I didn't want to overdo it by asking for more than God might be willing to grant. However, I was thinking like a human. If I, being imperfect in love and generosity, had been asked for the gift of changing one person's heart, I would take great care in selecting that one person, but I would only have chosen one. God, in His infinite and perfect glory, heard my prayer, and blessed our entire group, not with one change of heart, but with at least half a dozen (and there were only 17 freshmen). He was asked to change one person's heart, to touch only one person's life, and He gave us all more grace than I daresay any of us would ever have dared to ask of Him.
I'm still riding that joyous high, and I cannot tell you how happy I am. Our chaplain told me in Confession last year that all of Heaven was throwing me a party because I had come home at long last. All I can say is, Heaven must have been overbooked with parties last night, because God's ways are not our ways, His thoughts are not our thoughts, and He is never outdone in generosity.
Friday, September 23, 2011
Retreat!
In an hour and a half, I'll be going on this year's Freshman Retreat. I'm super nervous about giving my witness talk, and so is the other student leader, so please pray for us! It's gonna be a rocking weekend, and I'm so so so so excited!!! Please know that I'm keeping you all in my prayers, and expect at least one post about the retreat when I get back (and recover from over studying for my first midterm). Until Sunday, God bless!
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
An Adorable Sacrilege
Okay, let me start off by easing your fears and saying that no sacrilege was actually committed in the making of this post. It just felt like it. It was really more of a blooper, or snafu, if you will. I really didn't mean any harm, I had just misunderstood the instructions I was given. I probably shouldn't have, but I did. I was really broken up about it, too. You can ask the people who saw me crying because I thought I'd just committed some kind of mortal sin, it's true. No mortal sin was committed, though, just a silly mistake which exposed how woefully under-catechized I am, even now.
You're probably wondering just what sort of atrocity I'm going on about here, so I'll let you know. I'm the permanent sacristan (Mass setter-upper) at the Newman Center now, and the chaplain told me that today I was supposed to put two celebrant hosts on the paten (little plate they put on top of the chalice) so that he could consecrate a new host to use for Eucharistic Adoration. Silly Christina, however, thought this meant she was supposed to remove the already consecrated host from the lunet (what holds the host in the monstrance), which she then proceeded to do. When the chaplain asked if I had put two celebrant hosts on the paten, I said yes, and told him what I'd done.
All things being equal (and considering he'd just found out he was dealing with a sacristan who didn't know that her unconsecrated hands were not supposed to be on the Body of Christ), I think he took it rather well. Our chaplain was startled, but recovered himself and admonished me not to touch the consecrated hosts again, because, my hands not being consecrated as a member of the priesthood's, I wasn't supposed to be touching them. It was at this moment that the horrible realization dawned on me that I might have just done something terribly sacrilegious, not to mention foolish and disrespectful. I couldn't help myself, and I started to cry, running through all the awful punishments and sins my soul could have incurred because of my ignorance.
I went into the bathroom, and, careful not to use the fingers that had touched the host, tried to blot away the tears and clumsily blow my nose. I went to daily Mass late, sat in the back, and could barely absorb a thing from the liturgy, being so consumed with guilt. Just in case I'd committed sin by touching the Eucharist unworthily, I didn't receive, and I mentally begged God for forgiveness with every fiber of my being. After Mass, the chaplain washed my hand as he does his own during the liturgy, and sent me on my way, so he could hear Confessions. I went upstairs to the bathroom, and began to cry again.
A friend walked in on me, graciously attempted to console me, and when our campus minister came up to her office, I began to cry again, explained the story to her, and.......... she laughed. Not like giggling, either. She was full on laughing at what I'd told her, and the first thing she said was "Oh, sweetie! That's so adorable!" This made me feel better by getting me to laugh at what I thought was the absurdity of the statement. But, she explained, "It just sounded like you're a little girl going , 'Okay daddy, I'll do what you say,' without really getting it. It's just so cute." And looking back on it, that's kind of what it was. I knew I was supposed to put two hosts on the paten, and I knew that one of them was already the consecrated Body of Christ, and so I was very careful with it, taking every precaution I could think of and even hesitating before touching it, because I knew Who it was.
This has caused two realizations to arise today. One, that the Eucharist truly is the Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity of Jesus Christ, and two, that I ought still to be seeking out humility whenever and wherever I can. With regard to the first realization, it's not that I didn't know that in either my head or my heart, but I guess I've been taking it for grated the Jesus is really there in the Eucharist. Like, "Oh yeah, don't receive if you think you're in mortal sin, receive on the tongue to show respect, whisper 'My Lord and my God' when the bread and wine are elevated at Mass," had just become very casual, subconscious things to me. I'd forgotten how awesome it is that not only is God with us at Mass, during Adoration, etc., but that He literally gave us His Body and Blood to consume so we could have eternal life with Him. Believe me, the power of the sacrament is no longer lost on me. It is nothing short of miraculous.
With regard to the second, I suppose that I'd just taken the Real Presence so much for granted, that I almost thought nothing of touching the Body of Christ. Repeat, I did not actually think about physically touching GOD. I chalk it up to pride because since I've been entrusted with setting up Mass every day, I didn't think this would be anything out of the ordinary. In fact, I must have assumed I'd be doing it every week. Thankfully, all it took was a little (or big, depending on how you look at it) shock to remind me that this isn't just fun and games. A priest can touch God because his hands have been consecrated to do so, because he has been set apart from the rest of us, and called to actually be God to people.
I never really thought about our chaplain saying that he wonders how he could possibly be worthy to consecrate the bread and wine into the Body and Blood of Christ, but now I sort of get it. To touch God is a colossal thing, and to be called not only to touch Him, but to make Him physically present is one of the most unimaginable honors a person could have. Having touched God without having been called by Him to do so cowed me in the most awful way. I couldn't even bring myself to think of what I'd done, the shame was immense. Only now can I see that this was God reminding me of who I am, and Who He Is. I am human, He is the awesome Creator, Sustainer, and Source of all life.
You're probably wondering just what sort of atrocity I'm going on about here, so I'll let you know. I'm the permanent sacristan (Mass setter-upper) at the Newman Center now, and the chaplain told me that today I was supposed to put two celebrant hosts on the paten (little plate they put on top of the chalice) so that he could consecrate a new host to use for Eucharistic Adoration. Silly Christina, however, thought this meant she was supposed to remove the already consecrated host from the lunet (what holds the host in the monstrance), which she then proceeded to do. When the chaplain asked if I had put two celebrant hosts on the paten, I said yes, and told him what I'd done.
All things being equal (and considering he'd just found out he was dealing with a sacristan who didn't know that her unconsecrated hands were not supposed to be on the Body of Christ), I think he took it rather well. Our chaplain was startled, but recovered himself and admonished me not to touch the consecrated hosts again, because, my hands not being consecrated as a member of the priesthood's, I wasn't supposed to be touching them. It was at this moment that the horrible realization dawned on me that I might have just done something terribly sacrilegious, not to mention foolish and disrespectful. I couldn't help myself, and I started to cry, running through all the awful punishments and sins my soul could have incurred because of my ignorance.
I went into the bathroom, and, careful not to use the fingers that had touched the host, tried to blot away the tears and clumsily blow my nose. I went to daily Mass late, sat in the back, and could barely absorb a thing from the liturgy, being so consumed with guilt. Just in case I'd committed sin by touching the Eucharist unworthily, I didn't receive, and I mentally begged God for forgiveness with every fiber of my being. After Mass, the chaplain washed my hand as he does his own during the liturgy, and sent me on my way, so he could hear Confessions. I went upstairs to the bathroom, and began to cry again.
A friend walked in on me, graciously attempted to console me, and when our campus minister came up to her office, I began to cry again, explained the story to her, and.......... she laughed. Not like giggling, either. She was full on laughing at what I'd told her, and the first thing she said was "Oh, sweetie! That's so adorable!" This made me feel better by getting me to laugh at what I thought was the absurdity of the statement. But, she explained, "It just sounded like you're a little girl going , 'Okay daddy, I'll do what you say,' without really getting it. It's just so cute." And looking back on it, that's kind of what it was. I knew I was supposed to put two hosts on the paten, and I knew that one of them was already the consecrated Body of Christ, and so I was very careful with it, taking every precaution I could think of and even hesitating before touching it, because I knew Who it was.
This has caused two realizations to arise today. One, that the Eucharist truly is the Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity of Jesus Christ, and two, that I ought still to be seeking out humility whenever and wherever I can. With regard to the first realization, it's not that I didn't know that in either my head or my heart, but I guess I've been taking it for grated the Jesus is really there in the Eucharist. Like, "Oh yeah, don't receive if you think you're in mortal sin, receive on the tongue to show respect, whisper 'My Lord and my God' when the bread and wine are elevated at Mass," had just become very casual, subconscious things to me. I'd forgotten how awesome it is that not only is God with us at Mass, during Adoration, etc., but that He literally gave us His Body and Blood to consume so we could have eternal life with Him. Believe me, the power of the sacrament is no longer lost on me. It is nothing short of miraculous.
With regard to the second, I suppose that I'd just taken the Real Presence so much for granted, that I almost thought nothing of touching the Body of Christ. Repeat, I did not actually think about physically touching GOD. I chalk it up to pride because since I've been entrusted with setting up Mass every day, I didn't think this would be anything out of the ordinary. In fact, I must have assumed I'd be doing it every week. Thankfully, all it took was a little (or big, depending on how you look at it) shock to remind me that this isn't just fun and games. A priest can touch God because his hands have been consecrated to do so, because he has been set apart from the rest of us, and called to actually be God to people.
I never really thought about our chaplain saying that he wonders how he could possibly be worthy to consecrate the bread and wine into the Body and Blood of Christ, but now I sort of get it. To touch God is a colossal thing, and to be called not only to touch Him, but to make Him physically present is one of the most unimaginable honors a person could have. Having touched God without having been called by Him to do so cowed me in the most awful way. I couldn't even bring myself to think of what I'd done, the shame was immense. Only now can I see that this was God reminding me of who I am, and Who He Is. I am human, He is the awesome Creator, Sustainer, and Source of all life.
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Grounding in Real Hope
I love my girlfriends, I really do. I've bonded much more tightly with them this year than I did last year, and I'm so excited for all the fun things that means for the next three years. However, we are dangerous together. In an extension of last night's post, as much as I love my girlfriends, we make emotional chastity so much harder for each other. One of them has asked me to say that we don't create problems for her because, as she puts it, "I don't have emotions". This is untrue. She has lots of emotions, it's just that most of them are expressed by fond insults or threats.
We were all gathered in the Newman Center today, pretending or attempting to do homework, and somehow, Taylor Swift ended up coming out of somebody's laptop. And then we started talking about who's been on dates in the last couple of days, and well, you can sort of guess how the conversation went from there. We started talking about how one of us looks like she's just been asked on a date, and who else can we get set up with whoever she's interested in, and as much fun as this is (it's pretty much an essential part of how girls bond with each other), it does wonders to impede any efforts we might be making to be emotionally chaste.
I know I shouldn't be talking, because I willingly participated in the conversation as well as routinely allow my emotions to run away with me, and I even pointed out what we were doing was unhelpful. But still, I feel like even if I'm a part of the problem, I should still be pointing out that there is one. And this one is big. Big enough, in fact, that the friend who is leading our Freshman Retreat with me has agreed that we should talk about it with the girls. I've also noticed, as the only friend who commented on the last post admitted, that I am prone to people-watching the Communion line to see if there are any hopeful prospects, so this isn't just an isolated, I-only-do-it-with-the-girls type of thing.
There really is no lesson here, as of yet. I wish there was, believe me, but I've got nothing. I guess the lesson is that I (and really a lot of women) need to be more mindful of my thoughts in addition to my words and my actions. It's one thing to have a crush, but it's another to see a future with someone where there really isn't one. Real hope is good, false hope is dangerous. And this is coming from the "grounded" one.
We were all gathered in the Newman Center today, pretending or attempting to do homework, and somehow, Taylor Swift ended up coming out of somebody's laptop. And then we started talking about who's been on dates in the last couple of days, and well, you can sort of guess how the conversation went from there. We started talking about how one of us looks like she's just been asked on a date, and who else can we get set up with whoever she's interested in, and as much fun as this is (it's pretty much an essential part of how girls bond with each other), it does wonders to impede any efforts we might be making to be emotionally chaste.
I know I shouldn't be talking, because I willingly participated in the conversation as well as routinely allow my emotions to run away with me, and I even pointed out what we were doing was unhelpful. But still, I feel like even if I'm a part of the problem, I should still be pointing out that there is one. And this one is big. Big enough, in fact, that the friend who is leading our Freshman Retreat with me has agreed that we should talk about it with the girls. I've also noticed, as the only friend who commented on the last post admitted, that I am prone to people-watching the Communion line to see if there are any hopeful prospects, so this isn't just an isolated, I-only-do-it-with-the-girls type of thing.
There really is no lesson here, as of yet. I wish there was, believe me, but I've got nothing. I guess the lesson is that I (and really a lot of women) need to be more mindful of my thoughts in addition to my words and my actions. It's one thing to have a crush, but it's another to see a future with someone where there really isn't one. Real hope is good, false hope is dangerous. And this is coming from the "grounded" one.
Friday, September 16, 2011
In My Best Dress, Fearless
I've been hearing a lot of Taylor Swift lately, and I think it's mostly because I have so many friends who love her. I mean, I literally had to promise to drive my friend's CDs back to her the next morning to get her to let me put them on my computer. I find that I do like Taylor's music, mostly because she doesn't curse all the time, she is talented, and above all, she writes the stories of our lives. Her songs are relatable, and that speaks to our hearts (yes, I think I can count myself among her fans, however casual).
One of the things that I like best about Taylor Swift's music is that she writes such sweet love songs. Quite a few of my friends and I have had our hearts broken, and as we try to work through all our different situations together, those are the songs that help to make us feel like there is still hope for our love lives. Currently, we're all starting a book by Jason and Crystallina Evert, called How to Find Your Soulmate Without Losing Your Soul, and although Taylor is wonderful to listen to, I think the Everts are helping us realize a problem that T. Swift exacerbates in our feminine personalities: emotional chastity.
It's something you almost never hear when adults speak about chastity, but it is a particular problem for teenage girls and young women, and I guess for women in general. Emotional chastity is being able to keep your emotions in check, and not let yourself get more attached to someone mentally and emotionally than you actually are. It's really hard, and even more so when you're feeling hurt or when you have a crush. I guess it's a woman's desire for authentic love and communion with other people that drives us to want to see connections that aren't there, but it's harmful to our hearts and to the relationships we actually have.
I know that I am guilty of this, and I think it's played a part in how hurt I've gotten before. I'm working on it, and some days it's easier than others, but often I fail. One of the remedies that's worked best, though, is developing my own life and cultivating myself into the woman I want to be. Finding myself has been an immeasurable help in combating this feeling that I need to imagine stronger and deeper connections with other people, especially men. It helps me to respect myself as a woman worthy of the same true love that every other woman is worthy of, and through that, it helps me to respect my brothers more as men who are the same path, rather than objects to fulfill my emotional fantasies.
However, though I do definitely want to perfect the art of remaining detached enough to keep my emotions from running wild with me, I also want to be able to hold onto the kind of hope for love that Taylor sings about so often. I'm beginning to see that the older I get, and the more important relationships seem to become, that line between the two gets fairly thin. It's somewhat comforting to know that other women struggle with being emotionally chaste, and that my friends and I can encourage each other to be chaste, but also to have hope that one day we'll get the kind of warm fuzzies Taylor Swift goes on about so often.
So, ladies, would you be willing to share whether or not you struggle with this, too? Don't feel obligated to share anything specific, but I'm curious to hear the experiences of other women.
One of the things that I like best about Taylor Swift's music is that she writes such sweet love songs. Quite a few of my friends and I have had our hearts broken, and as we try to work through all our different situations together, those are the songs that help to make us feel like there is still hope for our love lives. Currently, we're all starting a book by Jason and Crystallina Evert, called How to Find Your Soulmate Without Losing Your Soul, and although Taylor is wonderful to listen to, I think the Everts are helping us realize a problem that T. Swift exacerbates in our feminine personalities: emotional chastity.
It's something you almost never hear when adults speak about chastity, but it is a particular problem for teenage girls and young women, and I guess for women in general. Emotional chastity is being able to keep your emotions in check, and not let yourself get more attached to someone mentally and emotionally than you actually are. It's really hard, and even more so when you're feeling hurt or when you have a crush. I guess it's a woman's desire for authentic love and communion with other people that drives us to want to see connections that aren't there, but it's harmful to our hearts and to the relationships we actually have.
I know that I am guilty of this, and I think it's played a part in how hurt I've gotten before. I'm working on it, and some days it's easier than others, but often I fail. One of the remedies that's worked best, though, is developing my own life and cultivating myself into the woman I want to be. Finding myself has been an immeasurable help in combating this feeling that I need to imagine stronger and deeper connections with other people, especially men. It helps me to respect myself as a woman worthy of the same true love that every other woman is worthy of, and through that, it helps me to respect my brothers more as men who are the same path, rather than objects to fulfill my emotional fantasies.
However, though I do definitely want to perfect the art of remaining detached enough to keep my emotions from running wild with me, I also want to be able to hold onto the kind of hope for love that Taylor sings about so often. I'm beginning to see that the older I get, and the more important relationships seem to become, that line between the two gets fairly thin. It's somewhat comforting to know that other women struggle with being emotionally chaste, and that my friends and I can encourage each other to be chaste, but also to have hope that one day we'll get the kind of warm fuzzies Taylor Swift goes on about so often.
So, ladies, would you be willing to share whether or not you struggle with this, too? Don't feel obligated to share anything specific, but I'm curious to hear the experiences of other women.
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Triumph of the Cross and Our Lady of Sorrows
Ah, September is just loaded with wonderful feasts and memorials, and I love it! In particular, we've had three Marian feasts (Nativity, Most Holy Name, and Our Lady of Sorrows) in the past week, and it has been glorious. Some of you know that I'm a particular devotee of Mary, and so having all these feasts to reflect on her life, and ultimately how I can conform mine to hers, is wonderful. In the middle there, we had the Triumph of the Cross yesterday, and it struck me how beautifully intertwined that memorial is with Our Lady of Sorrows, which is today.
Yesterday, our chaplain preached on how the cross is honorable because it is both a sign of God's suffering, and a weapon of His triumph. God willingly went to the cross to suffer and die that we might live forever with Him. He suffered pain, injustice, humiliation and death for love of us, as we were told in John 3:16, so that we might not perish, but have eternal life. The cross is a weapon of God's triumph over death because, by it, He accomplished what was necessary for death to be conquered once and for all. That is the triumph of the cross, that a symbol of a humiliating death became the sign that nobody had to die ever again. It's really quite beautiful.
Today we commemorate Our Lady of Sorrows, and the seven sorrows she suffered throughout her life. I find that we often don't think about the sorrows of Mary, save for the Triduum, when we think of her seeing Jesus on the cross. Other than that, though, we don't tend to think of her suffering. This could possibly change in our lifetimes, if the Church declares, as she is now considering, that Mary holds the title co-redemptrix. This is sticky, because it leads a lot of people to believe that somehow Jesus on the cross was not enough for salvation, or that He couldn't have saved us without Mary. This is untrue. What it means is that because Mary was so united to Jesus in all things, His sufferings were hers, and, as I heard it beautifully expressed, Mary's cross was not being crucified.
The beauty of these feasts being so close together is that we commemorate the seven sorrows of Mary, the chief of which, I assume, was seeing Christ crucified, and as His mother, being powerless to stop her son's suffering, especially because that suffering was necessary to salvation. We also commemorate that fact that though this was the height of sorrow and evil, not just in Our Lady's life, but in all of history, it was ultimately one of the greatest joys and goods that ever occurred, as well.
The triumph of the cross was not just the triumph of Christ, but through Him and in Him, the triumph of Mary, the angels, and all creation. It is important to remember the sorrow, but always in light of the joy. Good Friday is only good in light of the resurrection, and Mary's seven sorrows are only significant because they were suffered on the path to a much greater joy. I have to hand it to Holy Mother Church, I think she knew exactly what she was doing when she decided to commemorate the Triumph of the Cross and Our Lady of Sorrows back to back, because all the sorrows of life should be weathered and remembered in light of the joy of Christ's resurrection.
Yesterday, our chaplain preached on how the cross is honorable because it is both a sign of God's suffering, and a weapon of His triumph. God willingly went to the cross to suffer and die that we might live forever with Him. He suffered pain, injustice, humiliation and death for love of us, as we were told in John 3:16, so that we might not perish, but have eternal life. The cross is a weapon of God's triumph over death because, by it, He accomplished what was necessary for death to be conquered once and for all. That is the triumph of the cross, that a symbol of a humiliating death became the sign that nobody had to die ever again. It's really quite beautiful.
Today we commemorate Our Lady of Sorrows, and the seven sorrows she suffered throughout her life. I find that we often don't think about the sorrows of Mary, save for the Triduum, when we think of her seeing Jesus on the cross. Other than that, though, we don't tend to think of her suffering. This could possibly change in our lifetimes, if the Church declares, as she is now considering, that Mary holds the title co-redemptrix. This is sticky, because it leads a lot of people to believe that somehow Jesus on the cross was not enough for salvation, or that He couldn't have saved us without Mary. This is untrue. What it means is that because Mary was so united to Jesus in all things, His sufferings were hers, and, as I heard it beautifully expressed, Mary's cross was not being crucified.
The beauty of these feasts being so close together is that we commemorate the seven sorrows of Mary, the chief of which, I assume, was seeing Christ crucified, and as His mother, being powerless to stop her son's suffering, especially because that suffering was necessary to salvation. We also commemorate that fact that though this was the height of sorrow and evil, not just in Our Lady's life, but in all of history, it was ultimately one of the greatest joys and goods that ever occurred, as well.
The triumph of the cross was not just the triumph of Christ, but through Him and in Him, the triumph of Mary, the angels, and all creation. It is important to remember the sorrow, but always in light of the joy. Good Friday is only good in light of the resurrection, and Mary's seven sorrows are only significant because they were suffered on the path to a much greater joy. I have to hand it to Holy Mother Church, I think she knew exactly what she was doing when she decided to commemorate the Triumph of the Cross and Our Lady of Sorrows back to back, because all the sorrows of life should be weathered and remembered in light of the joy of Christ's resurrection.
Friday, September 9, 2011
On September 11th: the Past Ten Years
As a parent of a nine-year-old, I suppose it wouldn't ordinarily occur to you to teach your child that there is such a thing as evil. As a nine-year-old, it certainly never occurs to you to ask. Ordinarily, I guess, it happens later by necessity; a child so young is not equipped to deal with something as dark or serious as evil or hatred on anything more than an abstract level, no matter how intelligent he or she is. When the most odious thing in one's world is broccoli or fractions, true evil is near impossible to comprehend. Nine-year-olds are full of faith and trust in the world, and there is no reason it should not be so, because for most of them, mom and dad can protect them from harm, and the most danger anything poses is running with scissors or the playground bully. Ten years ago, I was one such nine-year-old, and like every other day, the morning of September 11th dawned beautiful and bright, like the late summer does in New England. Ten years later, it is still the most beautiful day I will never forget.
Much like having no real concept of evil or hate, my peers and I had no real concept of tragedy, either. It was a word we knew, and it described something abstract, something sad, something that happened to other people who you prayed for or sent sympathy cards to. Tragedy was not a personal thing, and we didn't know how it felt. We couldn't write a paper on it, and we couldn't act it out. Tragedy didn't touch us in the secure bubble of loving homes and friendly grade schools, and we weren't seeking it out. No matter, because that morning, it sought us.
It is a cruel thing to expose a child to evil, to hate him, or to cause him to know the pain of tragedy. I think I will always believe that. We have not equipped children to handle the immensity of those things, and we shouldn't do so until they are ready and able to process them. They're concepts children will know about, but not ones they should be exposed to. These are the things that shatter innocence, destroy security, and instill fear, and on September 11th my friends and I were exposed to all of them. On that day, we lost a part of our childhoods we would never be able to reclaim. This is not to say that in one day we became world-weary and jaded, because we didn't. But for most of us, it was the first time we learned that mom and dad couldn't protect us from everything, and that evil was very real and knew no boundaries.
I thank God now that I couldn't take in everything that had happened right away. I saw the news, I heard the stories, but something about it didn't really click for a while. However, it was hard enough in the meantime to try to understand why someone would do this. How could somebody hate innocent people so much that they would intentionally kill thousands of them? Wasn't killing people wrong? Wasn't God going to do something about this? It was difficult to process what was going on, but I guess it's taken these ten years to find out exactly what happened. As much as it's been a process of discovery about facts or events, it's been a self-discovery, as well. It has taken me ten years to figure out what happened and the effects of the 9.11 attack because, I guess, in some ways I would have to grow up in the post-9.11 world, and certain bits of knowledge and wisdom were only going to come with time.
Because I couldn't fully grasp or process what had happened to America, or to me personally, my process of discovery began when I started to hear that Muslim kids were being singled out at their schools and bullied because they were also "terrorists" like the hijackers. At that age, it's still a pretty effective tool to get a child to think about how they would feel in a similar situation, and I knew that I would feel just as sad and angry as those other kids did. I knew that all Muslims couldn't possibly be hijackers, even if only for the simple reasons that there weren't that many planes or that many tall buildings to knock down. My parents would also tell me that 9.11 wasn't motivated by another faith, it was motivated by angry people who were poor and had been told that attacking America was a good thing. At the time, I didn't really understand the motivations, but I did understand that if you were an American, you weren't happy about these attacks, hence, the Muslim boys and girls didn't deserve the treatment they were getting.
Through middle school and high school, I began to learn more about Islam and politics, following America's military involvement in Afghanistan and Iraq. I started to understand some of the more obvious things that would have motivated the hijackers, the things that I wouldn't have been able to understand in the immediate aftermath of the attacks. It was at this point in high school that my atheism and my relativism clashed; the atheist in me said religion was responsible for this ignorance, destruction and sorrow, but the relativist told me I couldn't judge people's actions or their motivations for doing so. It became a quandary that I put out of my mind because I wasn't able to riddle out which stance was right, though I now know that neither was.
As I moved into more of a comparative religious study phase, I began to see that, like the Bible, the Qur'an had passages in it that were gruesome and violent. I began to see that these men had been told that these were the important parts of the Qur'an, and that the whole part about Allah forbidding murder and the like were being ignored, much in the same way that many Christians ignore the Just War Theory. I began to feel angry that Muslims had been given such a bad reputation over the years because there were fringe whackos who identified with a couple of extreme passages calling themselves Muslim and crusading against the West for Allah. I was an atheist, though, and only studying these things for class, because everybody knew that religion was silly, and all religious people were being duped to some degree or another.
Last year, when September 11 rolled around, I was on the Newman Center's freshman retreat, and at Mass that morning, we all just reminisced about how we couldn't believe it had been almost ten years. We prayed for the families of the victims, and for peace and protection for our country, but by the time night fell, I was already wrapped up in bigger things, like being completely overwhelmed by an experience of God and conversion of heart. I gave no thought to September 11 until May, when Osama bin Laden was killed.
That night, I think I finally came to the fullest realization I've yet had about what happened on September 11. Some people I knew were out in the streets celebrating because a threat to America had been eliminated, some were screaming because they thought that Osama had finally gotten what he deserved, some were probably just caught up in the moment. I was none of those things. I wasn't even outside. I was inside with a couple of friends, waiting to see what would happen next, trying to absorb what this meant for us and for our country. I realized for the first time that what had happened on September 11 was just plain sad. An angry, disenfranchised man with a lot of money was organizing a lot of other angry, disenfranchised men to attack another country because they had money, power and freedom. They saw their nations as having been bullied by this country, and decided to strike back, believing it was the will of Allah. They killed people for no gain of their own, and achieved nothing more than to make the entire world angry, and to make the most powerful country in the world seek out others like them to kill. Osama bin Laden was an angry little man who had started a horrific killing spree which continues to this day.
It was then I decided to pray for him. I really didn't know what else to do. I wasn't happy he was dead, but I was shocked. I knew this wouldn't put an end to what was happening in the Middle East, but it meant a lot of big changes in the lives of myself and my peers. I did the only thing I could think of to do, and so I stopped to pray for him. I had no idea what to say, so I prayed only that God's will be done, and that Americans would remember that the fights we had started weren't near over yet. I was alternately praised and scorned by people who either thought praying for him was noble, or that praying for him was an un-American act of treachery because he was finally burning in hell where he belonged.
For the past ten years, my peers and I have had to deal with the reality of living in a post-9.11 world. We had to learn about things that were way beyond our ken before we should have done, and in an awful way. In some ways, I wish we could have continued with our childhoods unspoiled until it was time for us to learn about evil, until we were able to process it. It didn't turn out that way, though, and I've learned a lot over the years about myself, about people around me, about the whole world because of September 11. I wonder now what the next ten years will look like, how the world will remember this date which will live in infamy. All I can say for sure is that I will always remember September 11, 2001, and that its sheer sadness is a cruel reminder of our broken nature which makes me desire all the more to help heal this world before I (hopefully) go back to God.
Much like having no real concept of evil or hate, my peers and I had no real concept of tragedy, either. It was a word we knew, and it described something abstract, something sad, something that happened to other people who you prayed for or sent sympathy cards to. Tragedy was not a personal thing, and we didn't know how it felt. We couldn't write a paper on it, and we couldn't act it out. Tragedy didn't touch us in the secure bubble of loving homes and friendly grade schools, and we weren't seeking it out. No matter, because that morning, it sought us.
It is a cruel thing to expose a child to evil, to hate him, or to cause him to know the pain of tragedy. I think I will always believe that. We have not equipped children to handle the immensity of those things, and we shouldn't do so until they are ready and able to process them. They're concepts children will know about, but not ones they should be exposed to. These are the things that shatter innocence, destroy security, and instill fear, and on September 11th my friends and I were exposed to all of them. On that day, we lost a part of our childhoods we would never be able to reclaim. This is not to say that in one day we became world-weary and jaded, because we didn't. But for most of us, it was the first time we learned that mom and dad couldn't protect us from everything, and that evil was very real and knew no boundaries.
I thank God now that I couldn't take in everything that had happened right away. I saw the news, I heard the stories, but something about it didn't really click for a while. However, it was hard enough in the meantime to try to understand why someone would do this. How could somebody hate innocent people so much that they would intentionally kill thousands of them? Wasn't killing people wrong? Wasn't God going to do something about this? It was difficult to process what was going on, but I guess it's taken these ten years to find out exactly what happened. As much as it's been a process of discovery about facts or events, it's been a self-discovery, as well. It has taken me ten years to figure out what happened and the effects of the 9.11 attack because, I guess, in some ways I would have to grow up in the post-9.11 world, and certain bits of knowledge and wisdom were only going to come with time.
Because I couldn't fully grasp or process what had happened to America, or to me personally, my process of discovery began when I started to hear that Muslim kids were being singled out at their schools and bullied because they were also "terrorists" like the hijackers. At that age, it's still a pretty effective tool to get a child to think about how they would feel in a similar situation, and I knew that I would feel just as sad and angry as those other kids did. I knew that all Muslims couldn't possibly be hijackers, even if only for the simple reasons that there weren't that many planes or that many tall buildings to knock down. My parents would also tell me that 9.11 wasn't motivated by another faith, it was motivated by angry people who were poor and had been told that attacking America was a good thing. At the time, I didn't really understand the motivations, but I did understand that if you were an American, you weren't happy about these attacks, hence, the Muslim boys and girls didn't deserve the treatment they were getting.
Through middle school and high school, I began to learn more about Islam and politics, following America's military involvement in Afghanistan and Iraq. I started to understand some of the more obvious things that would have motivated the hijackers, the things that I wouldn't have been able to understand in the immediate aftermath of the attacks. It was at this point in high school that my atheism and my relativism clashed; the atheist in me said religion was responsible for this ignorance, destruction and sorrow, but the relativist told me I couldn't judge people's actions or their motivations for doing so. It became a quandary that I put out of my mind because I wasn't able to riddle out which stance was right, though I now know that neither was.
As I moved into more of a comparative religious study phase, I began to see that, like the Bible, the Qur'an had passages in it that were gruesome and violent. I began to see that these men had been told that these were the important parts of the Qur'an, and that the whole part about Allah forbidding murder and the like were being ignored, much in the same way that many Christians ignore the Just War Theory. I began to feel angry that Muslims had been given such a bad reputation over the years because there were fringe whackos who identified with a couple of extreme passages calling themselves Muslim and crusading against the West for Allah. I was an atheist, though, and only studying these things for class, because everybody knew that religion was silly, and all religious people were being duped to some degree or another.
Last year, when September 11 rolled around, I was on the Newman Center's freshman retreat, and at Mass that morning, we all just reminisced about how we couldn't believe it had been almost ten years. We prayed for the families of the victims, and for peace and protection for our country, but by the time night fell, I was already wrapped up in bigger things, like being completely overwhelmed by an experience of God and conversion of heart. I gave no thought to September 11 until May, when Osama bin Laden was killed.
That night, I think I finally came to the fullest realization I've yet had about what happened on September 11. Some people I knew were out in the streets celebrating because a threat to America had been eliminated, some were screaming because they thought that Osama had finally gotten what he deserved, some were probably just caught up in the moment. I was none of those things. I wasn't even outside. I was inside with a couple of friends, waiting to see what would happen next, trying to absorb what this meant for us and for our country. I realized for the first time that what had happened on September 11 was just plain sad. An angry, disenfranchised man with a lot of money was organizing a lot of other angry, disenfranchised men to attack another country because they had money, power and freedom. They saw their nations as having been bullied by this country, and decided to strike back, believing it was the will of Allah. They killed people for no gain of their own, and achieved nothing more than to make the entire world angry, and to make the most powerful country in the world seek out others like them to kill. Osama bin Laden was an angry little man who had started a horrific killing spree which continues to this day.
It was then I decided to pray for him. I really didn't know what else to do. I wasn't happy he was dead, but I was shocked. I knew this wouldn't put an end to what was happening in the Middle East, but it meant a lot of big changes in the lives of myself and my peers. I did the only thing I could think of to do, and so I stopped to pray for him. I had no idea what to say, so I prayed only that God's will be done, and that Americans would remember that the fights we had started weren't near over yet. I was alternately praised and scorned by people who either thought praying for him was noble, or that praying for him was an un-American act of treachery because he was finally burning in hell where he belonged.
For the past ten years, my peers and I have had to deal with the reality of living in a post-9.11 world. We had to learn about things that were way beyond our ken before we should have done, and in an awful way. In some ways, I wish we could have continued with our childhoods unspoiled until it was time for us to learn about evil, until we were able to process it. It didn't turn out that way, though, and I've learned a lot over the years about myself, about people around me, about the whole world because of September 11. I wonder now what the next ten years will look like, how the world will remember this date which will live in infamy. All I can say for sure is that I will always remember September 11, 2001, and that its sheer sadness is a cruel reminder of our broken nature which makes me desire all the more to help heal this world before I (hopefully) go back to God.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Worthy of the Call
Do you know what's great about the beginning of a new year? You get to start over. You don't have to repeat old mistakes, and you're even encouraged to think of how you can change and do better this time around. It's life's way of saying you get another shot at this, and it's a little bit of new hope.
I've never really been one to set goals for myself; it just seemed like a waste of time to think of something I wanted to spend more than a couple of days getting done, and then resolve to keep myself on track to do it. Even new year's resolutions seemed sort of pointless, and the only reason I kept my Lenten sacrifices before last year was a vague sense of divine repercussion if I didn't. This year is different. This year, the real world has started bearing down on me, and I can't really avoid the necessity of laying out things that have to be accomplished in what all of a sudden seems like it is going to be a very short year.
All at once, I have an awful lot to do, and no time at all. Or, it seems that way, at least. So this year, I have made resolutions. Real ones, that I intend to keep, in order to prepare myself for the firestorm of my junior and senior years. Academic resolutions, while important (especially considering my current plans for grad school), are not what I want to talk about here. More difficult, and I think, more important, are the spiritual resolutions I've made to prepare myself for the tentative start of my discernment process next year. These are things that still frighten me to think about, but such is the occasional unpleasantness of life, that we must sometimes think about and plan for those things we would rather not.
Looking at this year, I'm thinking of what I'm going to do as discernment prep. Last year, I was commanded firmly not to discern because I was too new to the faith, and my foundation wasn't yet strong enough to handle the pressures and stresses of discernment. I also had an immature faith that really needed better formation and much more knowledge added to it before I could be considered fit to try to discover what God wanted me to do with the rest of my life. Though my faith is certainly more mature now than it was a year ago, I'm still not ready to discern, so I'm going to take this year to mature more and try to make sure than I am equipped spiritually and experientially to start discerning my vocation.
This year, what I want to do is:
1.) Develop a solid, consistent prayer life,
2.) Date, and
3.) Set myself up properly for grad school.
Developing a solid, consistent prayer life: This is most important. Prayer is one's relationship with God, and as such, ought not to be neglected. Over this summer, though, I got lazy. I wouldn't say a particular prayer if I didn't feel like it, and some of what I experienced at home made it more difficult to pray like I did at school. This year, I'm not taking any excuses. A good prayer life is one of those things I consider absolutely essential to the discernment process. If you're going to pray about God's will for your life, then you have to have an established pattern and habit of prayer first. I consecrated myself to Mary last year, as some of you may know, and I do say quite a few Marian prayers, but I want to get back in the habit of praying a daily Rosary, and doing at least Morning and Evening Prayer from the Liturgy of the Hours. I want to know that I have a solid foundation in prayer before using it as my main tool to find out what God wants me to do with the remainder of my life.
Dating: This, though less important than prayer, is still very important. Last summer, I broke up with a long-time boyfriend, and all through last year, I struggled with chastity. As my faith has matured and refined this past year, and as I've learned more and more about the hows and whys of chastity, I think I've become properly prepared to begin dating again. But this time, I'll have a clear head. What's great about taking a year off and then starting (hopefully) to date again is that now I really do know what I want in a man. I know what is actually something I will not negotiate on, what merits compromise, and what are the silly fantasies of a little girl which I can (or should) do without. This will help with discernment because if I am called to the single or religious life, I will know that I haven't left any stone unturned, and I will be secure in knowing that this is truly a calling, not a personal inclination. If I'm called to marriage, on the other hand, I will already have a little experience of Christian dating, and what I need to do to prepare myself to be someone's wife.
Setting myself up properly for grad school: Again, important. No matter what my vocation is, there will always be the chance that God won't want me to pursue it the instant I discover it. Many religious orders want women to have a Bachelor's Degree and some experience living on their own in the world before they enter the convent. Living as a chaste single, I will need to have something to which to devote my life, and a higher degree of some sort will be a good way to get my foot in the door of a career I can have for my whole life, and be something I can use to consecrate my life's work to God's service. If I'm called to be married, I want to be able to help support my family, or if I don't get married particularly young, I will need a way to support myself, and a great number of employers want to be able to hire people with a Master's Degree or whatever the terminal degree is in their field. I need to be thinking about my future, and as far as I can tell right now, grad school is definitely in it. I know the plans I have for myself, and until I find out God's plans, I need to have some form of security, and graduate school is it.
So this hectic year, pre-discernment, I have a lot of work to do, but I'm looking forward to it. I am an uber-planner, and it is serving me well now. I finally have long term goals to work toward, and I will do my best to make sure they are accomplished. I know this post makes me sound very driven, but I am still vastly uncertain about where my life is going, so this is my small effort at making sure that I am set up for whatever comes my way. Last year was my grounding in the faith, and the next two years will be discerning God's call for me, so this year is all about self-improvement. I want to start next year knowing that I have become a woman worthy of whatever God is calling her to. A tall order, indeed, but I'm up to the challenge.
I've never really been one to set goals for myself; it just seemed like a waste of time to think of something I wanted to spend more than a couple of days getting done, and then resolve to keep myself on track to do it. Even new year's resolutions seemed sort of pointless, and the only reason I kept my Lenten sacrifices before last year was a vague sense of divine repercussion if I didn't. This year is different. This year, the real world has started bearing down on me, and I can't really avoid the necessity of laying out things that have to be accomplished in what all of a sudden seems like it is going to be a very short year.
All at once, I have an awful lot to do, and no time at all. Or, it seems that way, at least. So this year, I have made resolutions. Real ones, that I intend to keep, in order to prepare myself for the firestorm of my junior and senior years. Academic resolutions, while important (especially considering my current plans for grad school), are not what I want to talk about here. More difficult, and I think, more important, are the spiritual resolutions I've made to prepare myself for the tentative start of my discernment process next year. These are things that still frighten me to think about, but such is the occasional unpleasantness of life, that we must sometimes think about and plan for those things we would rather not.
Looking at this year, I'm thinking of what I'm going to do as discernment prep. Last year, I was commanded firmly not to discern because I was too new to the faith, and my foundation wasn't yet strong enough to handle the pressures and stresses of discernment. I also had an immature faith that really needed better formation and much more knowledge added to it before I could be considered fit to try to discover what God wanted me to do with the rest of my life. Though my faith is certainly more mature now than it was a year ago, I'm still not ready to discern, so I'm going to take this year to mature more and try to make sure than I am equipped spiritually and experientially to start discerning my vocation.
This year, what I want to do is:
1.) Develop a solid, consistent prayer life,
2.) Date, and
3.) Set myself up properly for grad school.
Developing a solid, consistent prayer life: This is most important. Prayer is one's relationship with God, and as such, ought not to be neglected. Over this summer, though, I got lazy. I wouldn't say a particular prayer if I didn't feel like it, and some of what I experienced at home made it more difficult to pray like I did at school. This year, I'm not taking any excuses. A good prayer life is one of those things I consider absolutely essential to the discernment process. If you're going to pray about God's will for your life, then you have to have an established pattern and habit of prayer first. I consecrated myself to Mary last year, as some of you may know, and I do say quite a few Marian prayers, but I want to get back in the habit of praying a daily Rosary, and doing at least Morning and Evening Prayer from the Liturgy of the Hours. I want to know that I have a solid foundation in prayer before using it as my main tool to find out what God wants me to do with the remainder of my life.
Dating: This, though less important than prayer, is still very important. Last summer, I broke up with a long-time boyfriend, and all through last year, I struggled with chastity. As my faith has matured and refined this past year, and as I've learned more and more about the hows and whys of chastity, I think I've become properly prepared to begin dating again. But this time, I'll have a clear head. What's great about taking a year off and then starting (hopefully) to date again is that now I really do know what I want in a man. I know what is actually something I will not negotiate on, what merits compromise, and what are the silly fantasies of a little girl which I can (or should) do without. This will help with discernment because if I am called to the single or religious life, I will know that I haven't left any stone unturned, and I will be secure in knowing that this is truly a calling, not a personal inclination. If I'm called to marriage, on the other hand, I will already have a little experience of Christian dating, and what I need to do to prepare myself to be someone's wife.
Setting myself up properly for grad school: Again, important. No matter what my vocation is, there will always be the chance that God won't want me to pursue it the instant I discover it. Many religious orders want women to have a Bachelor's Degree and some experience living on their own in the world before they enter the convent. Living as a chaste single, I will need to have something to which to devote my life, and a higher degree of some sort will be a good way to get my foot in the door of a career I can have for my whole life, and be something I can use to consecrate my life's work to God's service. If I'm called to be married, I want to be able to help support my family, or if I don't get married particularly young, I will need a way to support myself, and a great number of employers want to be able to hire people with a Master's Degree or whatever the terminal degree is in their field. I need to be thinking about my future, and as far as I can tell right now, grad school is definitely in it. I know the plans I have for myself, and until I find out God's plans, I need to have some form of security, and graduate school is it.
So this hectic year, pre-discernment, I have a lot of work to do, but I'm looking forward to it. I am an uber-planner, and it is serving me well now. I finally have long term goals to work toward, and I will do my best to make sure they are accomplished. I know this post makes me sound very driven, but I am still vastly uncertain about where my life is going, so this is my small effort at making sure that I am set up for whatever comes my way. Last year was my grounding in the faith, and the next two years will be discerning God's call for me, so this year is all about self-improvement. I want to start next year knowing that I have become a woman worthy of whatever God is calling her to. A tall order, indeed, but I'm up to the challenge.
Friday, September 2, 2011
A Most Beautiful, Blessed Life
The subject of life has hit me full force this week, and it was pretty astonishing. Loss of life, starting a new life, protecting it, praying for it, seeing it in its various stages. You almost can't help but marvel at what a gift life is. I could try forever to come up with something that accurately expresses the sheer beauty and wonder of life, but for your sakes, I won't. I have to say though, I have never, ever appreciated life more than since coming back to Catholicism, and, one might say, being born again.
One of my favorite lines in any drama has to be from the Reverend John Hale in Arthur Miller's The Crucible. He says to Elizabeth Proctor at the end of the play, "I tell you, woman, life is God's greatest gift, and no principle, however glorious, may justify the taking of it." He was trying to get her to keep her husband John from sacrificing himself for refusing to confess to witchcraft, rather than letting him die for telling the truth that he wasn't a witch. Rebecca ultimately refuses to convince John to lie to save his life, but I have never been able to help thinking that Rev. Hale's words are just as correct as John's refusal to lie to save his life. Both are born of true Christian sentiments, even if not always guided by them.
Another art form which shows us characters not always guided by Christian sentiments or principles is rap, though to the credit of many rappers, and one in particular at the moment, they do occasionally come out with beautiful and inspiring music worthy of the distinction art.The rapper of the moment is Lil' Wayne, and he has just released a beautiful song and video called "How To Love", which honestly made me tear up. I guess after so many years of negativity and being caught up in either the game or the business, a man needs some outlet for the negativity other than anger and vulgarity. So when these songs come out, not only are they the rare gems of the rap industry, but they speak to the truth in every person's heart, and reach outside the rap community because they speak to a universal truth.
I've also been thinking lately about the start of new life, since the Newman Center's freshman retreat is coming up, and that really marked my return to new life in Christ. I'm going this year as a student leader, and I want to be able to give a talk that really communicates the effect of that new life on me, but also to let the freshmen know that they can have it as well. Obviously, leaving oneself open to it is key, but it is there for the taking if you're willing to leave the old life behind. Coming to college is starting a new life in many ways, and so it complements being born to new spiritual life quite well.
Motherhood has also popped up on my radar this week, as I've been exercising my spiritual motherhood muscles, and seeing physical mothers all around me. One of the women who went to daily Mass last year is pregnant now, and I'll be excited to see her and her husband when the baby is born, and obviously to see the new addition to their little family. A woman who also comes to daily Mass had her baby last year, and she brought her in with her husband to see our chaplain, and I cannot get over how beautiful she is. It's always a marvel to see how quickly babies grow and change when you are no longer doing much growing or changing. Also, babies awaken a motherly instinct in me, and so it is a joy to be able to see babies and take care of them, and to imagine even having some of my own one day.
Lastly, protecting life has been on my mind, since it is Friday, the day that our Newman Center traditionally does its Rosary for Life at the abortion clinic on campus. I've also been reflecting on my call to spiritual motherhood, which seems to have manifested itself in aiding others with the big problems that crop up in their lives. I've been doing it since before I hit puberty, and have sporadically been mother to those friends who have needed me. It's a tough job, and I wonder now how I was ever able to do it before I was able to go to God in prayer for help. I take it very seriously, though, with the result that I often find myself weeping for others, or wishing it could be me instead.
I suppose that all of these varied reflections combined point that I was always meant to be a mother in some way. I have always loved children, and I have always given of myself for the love and protection of others. It's part of what John Paul II called the "feminine genius", the particular way in which women nourish all people, reflecting the way in which Mary is mother to all people, at once feminine enough to be a caretaker, and strong and steadfast enough to weather the trials and tribulations of life.
Life is, as Rev. Hale says, God's most precious gift. It is a beautiful, complex, stunning, awesome gift, and I cannot imagine any other thing this side of salvation which could hold a candle to it. I suppose that is what makes the first sentence of the Church's Catechism so powerful in its simple truth: "God, infinitely perfect and blessed in Himself, out of a plan of sheer goodness, freely created man to make him share in His own blessed life." And indeed, what a blessed life it is.
One of my favorite lines in any drama has to be from the Reverend John Hale in Arthur Miller's The Crucible. He says to Elizabeth Proctor at the end of the play, "I tell you, woman, life is God's greatest gift, and no principle, however glorious, may justify the taking of it." He was trying to get her to keep her husband John from sacrificing himself for refusing to confess to witchcraft, rather than letting him die for telling the truth that he wasn't a witch. Rebecca ultimately refuses to convince John to lie to save his life, but I have never been able to help thinking that Rev. Hale's words are just as correct as John's refusal to lie to save his life. Both are born of true Christian sentiments, even if not always guided by them.
Another art form which shows us characters not always guided by Christian sentiments or principles is rap, though to the credit of many rappers, and one in particular at the moment, they do occasionally come out with beautiful and inspiring music worthy of the distinction art.The rapper of the moment is Lil' Wayne, and he has just released a beautiful song and video called "How To Love", which honestly made me tear up. I guess after so many years of negativity and being caught up in either the game or the business, a man needs some outlet for the negativity other than anger and vulgarity. So when these songs come out, not only are they the rare gems of the rap industry, but they speak to the truth in every person's heart, and reach outside the rap community because they speak to a universal truth.
I've also been thinking lately about the start of new life, since the Newman Center's freshman retreat is coming up, and that really marked my return to new life in Christ. I'm going this year as a student leader, and I want to be able to give a talk that really communicates the effect of that new life on me, but also to let the freshmen know that they can have it as well. Obviously, leaving oneself open to it is key, but it is there for the taking if you're willing to leave the old life behind. Coming to college is starting a new life in many ways, and so it complements being born to new spiritual life quite well.
Motherhood has also popped up on my radar this week, as I've been exercising my spiritual motherhood muscles, and seeing physical mothers all around me. One of the women who went to daily Mass last year is pregnant now, and I'll be excited to see her and her husband when the baby is born, and obviously to see the new addition to their little family. A woman who also comes to daily Mass had her baby last year, and she brought her in with her husband to see our chaplain, and I cannot get over how beautiful she is. It's always a marvel to see how quickly babies grow and change when you are no longer doing much growing or changing. Also, babies awaken a motherly instinct in me, and so it is a joy to be able to see babies and take care of them, and to imagine even having some of my own one day.
Lastly, protecting life has been on my mind, since it is Friday, the day that our Newman Center traditionally does its Rosary for Life at the abortion clinic on campus. I've also been reflecting on my call to spiritual motherhood, which seems to have manifested itself in aiding others with the big problems that crop up in their lives. I've been doing it since before I hit puberty, and have sporadically been mother to those friends who have needed me. It's a tough job, and I wonder now how I was ever able to do it before I was able to go to God in prayer for help. I take it very seriously, though, with the result that I often find myself weeping for others, or wishing it could be me instead.
I suppose that all of these varied reflections combined point that I was always meant to be a mother in some way. I have always loved children, and I have always given of myself for the love and protection of others. It's part of what John Paul II called the "feminine genius", the particular way in which women nourish all people, reflecting the way in which Mary is mother to all people, at once feminine enough to be a caretaker, and strong and steadfast enough to weather the trials and tribulations of life.
Life is, as Rev. Hale says, God's most precious gift. It is a beautiful, complex, stunning, awesome gift, and I cannot imagine any other thing this side of salvation which could hold a candle to it. I suppose that is what makes the first sentence of the Church's Catechism so powerful in its simple truth: "God, infinitely perfect and blessed in Himself, out of a plan of sheer goodness, freely created man to make him share in His own blessed life." And indeed, what a blessed life it is.
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Thank You, Mother McAuley
I may or may not have mentioned this before, but I attended a Mercy high school. As in, the school was run by the Sisters of Mercy, although there were only two employed by the school at the time. I loved the experience of being there, especially in the all-girls environment, and it was an all around good time.
During my time there, I was in all three choirs, and it was there that I cultivated my love of singing and various type of choral music. But, as with every choir, there will be pieces that you love to sing, and pieces that make you want to cry, because you just dislike them that much. Thankfully, the latter wasn't often the case for me, but one of the times it was was when the Advanced Vocal Ensemble had to sing the Sucipe of Mother Catherine McAuley, the foundress of the Sisters of Mercy. It's a very simple piece, with no interesting harmonies, and lyrics that don't quite speak to the heart of the average 21st century teenage girl. The director of our choir also wasn't crazy about the song, and every time we sang it, she'd say, "Okay, I know you hate this, but please try to sing it like you're not dead." A ringing endorsement it was not.
I still hold the song in low esteem, having all those memories of trying to sing it like I believed anyone could really feel that way, but hidden in there, I've rediscovered a beautiful little sentiment which has been too long overlooked. In the second verse, Mother McAuley writes "Take from my heart all painful anxiety, Let nothing sadden me but sin, And then let my delight be hoping to see Your face, God my all." Not riveting material, certainly, but a beautiful and under appreciated expression of Mother's trust in God. I can only imagine trusting God so completely that the only thing that bothered me was sin, and to be hopeful each day merely with the chance of seeing God one day. It's much more profound and touching than anything else we're told to feel that way about in this day and age. It's the kind of faith we should all strive to have in living out our universal call to holiness.
Some of you no doubt saw the post I wrote early Monday morning, and believe me, that intention still needs all the prayer it can get. However, I remembered that particular verse from Mother McAuley's Sucipe this morning, and it shamed me into remembering that as a human, there is only so much I can do to affect the outcome of Intention X, and that at some point I am going to have to trust God to take care of it. It also shamed me that I laughed at the sentiments of a holier woman than I, but that now they carry the weight of truth, and I'm looking to them for guidance. So thank you, Mother McAuley, for that little prayer I had to sing so often, and for reminding me of the comfort and trust it takes to be a true woman of God.
Here is a video of the Sucipe, just in case anyone was interested in hearing it:
During my time there, I was in all three choirs, and it was there that I cultivated my love of singing and various type of choral music. But, as with every choir, there will be pieces that you love to sing, and pieces that make you want to cry, because you just dislike them that much. Thankfully, the latter wasn't often the case for me, but one of the times it was was when the Advanced Vocal Ensemble had to sing the Sucipe of Mother Catherine McAuley, the foundress of the Sisters of Mercy. It's a very simple piece, with no interesting harmonies, and lyrics that don't quite speak to the heart of the average 21st century teenage girl. The director of our choir also wasn't crazy about the song, and every time we sang it, she'd say, "Okay, I know you hate this, but please try to sing it like you're not dead." A ringing endorsement it was not.
I still hold the song in low esteem, having all those memories of trying to sing it like I believed anyone could really feel that way, but hidden in there, I've rediscovered a beautiful little sentiment which has been too long overlooked. In the second verse, Mother McAuley writes "Take from my heart all painful anxiety, Let nothing sadden me but sin, And then let my delight be hoping to see Your face, God my all." Not riveting material, certainly, but a beautiful and under appreciated expression of Mother's trust in God. I can only imagine trusting God so completely that the only thing that bothered me was sin, and to be hopeful each day merely with the chance of seeing God one day. It's much more profound and touching than anything else we're told to feel that way about in this day and age. It's the kind of faith we should all strive to have in living out our universal call to holiness.
Some of you no doubt saw the post I wrote early Monday morning, and believe me, that intention still needs all the prayer it can get. However, I remembered that particular verse from Mother McAuley's Sucipe this morning, and it shamed me into remembering that as a human, there is only so much I can do to affect the outcome of Intention X, and that at some point I am going to have to trust God to take care of it. It also shamed me that I laughed at the sentiments of a holier woman than I, but that now they carry the weight of truth, and I'm looking to them for guidance. So thank you, Mother McAuley, for that little prayer I had to sing so often, and for reminding me of the comfort and trust it takes to be a true woman of God.
Here is a video of the Sucipe, just in case anyone was interested in hearing it:
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Gossip Kills
I used to be a really big gossiper. I was the girl that knew everything, and who everyone went to when they wanted to know just exactly what was going on. And I was proud of that. I liked knowing that when people wanted to know something, they all trusted me to know first.
Then, last Lent, I tried to give up gossiping, because I knew I shouldn't be doing it, and I wanted to be able to use the season of sacrifice for Christ to give up the pride of place that came with being the source of grist for the rumor mill, and to change my ways. That proved a lot harder than I thought, and it was the first year that I kept a resolution wholesale (caffeine and chocolate) and failed a resolution wholesale, as well (gossiping). What I hadn't noticed, surprisingly, was that being the source of information for people who gossipped de facto made me surround myself with those people. I had almost nobody to turn to, because everyone I knew counted on me to know what they wanted to know, and nobody bought it when I copped out and said I didn't know (I usually did), and bothered me when I refused to tell them what I knew.
Over the summer, I learned the effect of gossip painfully when I told my manager at work something personal about my life, and asked her not to tell anyone. Within two weeks, almost all of my coworkers had questioned me about that personal aspect of my life, and they suddenly all had collective amnesia when I asked who had told them about it. It hurt to feel like these people, who liked me and treated me as a friend most of the time, were more than willing to treat me like meat if they thought they'd get to hear something interesting or salacious. I was disgusted and upset, and learned the hard way to be selective about the things I told others about myself.
Coming back to school this year, I've reconnected with some great friends, and I'm so happy. Things are working out for me, and I'm so glad to help our Newman Center to recruit students to come and check us out, and hopefully to have a meeting with Christ. However, I've realized that in light of what happened to me at work over the summer, I have no stomach for gossip anymore. Not only does it hurt a soul to gossip actively, I find increasingly that it hurts my soul to even hear gossipping. I cannot stand hearing people talk trash about each other and then turn around to be pious. This is nothing against people who regret what they've done and repent and try to make amends, because I am one of those. This is more the hypocritical type of looking down one's nose at the less pious, before talking about them as if they were circus freaks.
I remember having a conversation with my school's chaplain about a nasty bout of gossipping with my friends that he was afraid would have helped to lead another person astray, thinking that what we did was acceptable. I confessed to him (not Sacramentally) that because I was a freshman, I honestly thought I didn't have an influence on other people. I was quickly admonished to disabuse myself of the notion that I had no influence, because I was influential in some respects, and if people saw me doing something, they would follow my lead or believe that it was okay because I was doing it. That night, I put together a list of quotes about gossip and hung it on the wall next to my bed as a reminder that gossip kills. Perhaps not literally, but it kills friendships, relationships, jobs, families, faith, and probably other things I can't think of at the moment.
I am sincerely hoping that this year will see an end to the lion's share of the gossip I hear on a fairly regular basis. I hate it, it hurts me spiritually, and I'm starting to believe that it is literally of Satan. Below, I've attached my quote list, just as food for thought.
Then, last Lent, I tried to give up gossiping, because I knew I shouldn't be doing it, and I wanted to be able to use the season of sacrifice for Christ to give up the pride of place that came with being the source of grist for the rumor mill, and to change my ways. That proved a lot harder than I thought, and it was the first year that I kept a resolution wholesale (caffeine and chocolate) and failed a resolution wholesale, as well (gossiping). What I hadn't noticed, surprisingly, was that being the source of information for people who gossipped de facto made me surround myself with those people. I had almost nobody to turn to, because everyone I knew counted on me to know what they wanted to know, and nobody bought it when I copped out and said I didn't know (I usually did), and bothered me when I refused to tell them what I knew.
Over the summer, I learned the effect of gossip painfully when I told my manager at work something personal about my life, and asked her not to tell anyone. Within two weeks, almost all of my coworkers had questioned me about that personal aspect of my life, and they suddenly all had collective amnesia when I asked who had told them about it. It hurt to feel like these people, who liked me and treated me as a friend most of the time, were more than willing to treat me like meat if they thought they'd get to hear something interesting or salacious. I was disgusted and upset, and learned the hard way to be selective about the things I told others about myself.
Coming back to school this year, I've reconnected with some great friends, and I'm so happy. Things are working out for me, and I'm so glad to help our Newman Center to recruit students to come and check us out, and hopefully to have a meeting with Christ. However, I've realized that in light of what happened to me at work over the summer, I have no stomach for gossip anymore. Not only does it hurt a soul to gossip actively, I find increasingly that it hurts my soul to even hear gossipping. I cannot stand hearing people talk trash about each other and then turn around to be pious. This is nothing against people who regret what they've done and repent and try to make amends, because I am one of those. This is more the hypocritical type of looking down one's nose at the less pious, before talking about them as if they were circus freaks.
I remember having a conversation with my school's chaplain about a nasty bout of gossipping with my friends that he was afraid would have helped to lead another person astray, thinking that what we did was acceptable. I confessed to him (not Sacramentally) that because I was a freshman, I honestly thought I didn't have an influence on other people. I was quickly admonished to disabuse myself of the notion that I had no influence, because I was influential in some respects, and if people saw me doing something, they would follow my lead or believe that it was okay because I was doing it. That night, I put together a list of quotes about gossip and hung it on the wall next to my bed as a reminder that gossip kills. Perhaps not literally, but it kills friendships, relationships, jobs, families, faith, and probably other things I can't think of at the moment.
I am sincerely hoping that this year will see an end to the lion's share of the gossip I hear on a fairly regular basis. I hate it, it hurts me spiritually, and I'm starting to believe that it is literally of Satan. Below, I've attached my quote list, just as food for thought.
v What you don't see with your eyes, don't witness with your mouth. ~Jewish Proverb
v No one gossips about other people's secret virtues. ~Bertrand Arthur William Russell, On Education, 1926
v The easiest way to keep a secret is without help. ~Author Unknown
v A cruel story runs on wheels, and every hand oils the wheels as they run. ~Ouida
v Whoever gossips to you will gossip about you. ~Spanish Proverb
v Do not repeat anything you will not sign your name to. ~Author Unknown
v Gossip needn't be false to be evil - there's a lot of truth that shouldn't be passed around. ~Frank A. Clark
v It is one of my sources of happiness never to desire a knowledge of other people's business. ~Dolley Madison
v Trying to squash a rumor is like trying to unring a bell. ~Shana Alexander
v I resolve to speak ill of no man whatever, not even in a matter of truth; but rather by some means excuse the faults I hear charged upon others, and upon proper occasions speak all the good I know of everybody. ~Benjamin Franklin
v There is so much good in the worst of us,
And so much bad in the best of us,
That it hardly becomes any of us
To talk about the rest of us.
~Edward Wallis Hoch
v The biggest liar in the world is They Say. ~Douglas Malloch
v Three may keep a secret, if two of them are dead. ~Benjamin Franklin, Poor Richard's Almanack, July 1735
Monday, August 29, 2011
(Early) Morning Offering
Dear Lord, I do not know what will happen to me today. I only know that nothing will happen that was not foreseen by You and directed toward my greater good from all eternity. I adore Your holy and unfathomable plans, and I submit to them with all my heart for love of You, the Pope, and the Immaculate Heart of Mary. Amen.
Above is a prayer called the Morning Offering. I've taken to saying it each morning as a way of centering myself around Christ, and consecrating my day to Him. I said it this morning, and it's testing me something awful right now.
If I could ask you all to take a second to say a prayer for an intention of mine, I'd sure appreciate it. It's a sensitive matter, so I'll just call it intention X. Surely, this once, God will understand what you mean. Thank you all so much, and God bless.
Above is a prayer called the Morning Offering. I've taken to saying it each morning as a way of centering myself around Christ, and consecrating my day to Him. I said it this morning, and it's testing me something awful right now.
If I could ask you all to take a second to say a prayer for an intention of mine, I'd sure appreciate it. It's a sensitive matter, so I'll just call it intention X. Surely, this once, God will understand what you mean. Thank you all so much, and God bless.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
All Quiet on the Western Front
Okay, so maybe my life isn't particularly quiet, what with all the yammering I've been doing about my impending return to D.C., but it's okay. A surprise, certainly, but a pleasant one.
Yesterday saw the return of a dozen or so of my friends to America after their three week long pilgrimage to Europe and World Youth Day. I've not heard from them yet, but it looks and sounds like they had a fantastic time from the facebook updates they posted. I got two postcards from our chaplain, one from the Vatican, and one from Lourdes, and they were lovely. They came rather coincidentally after a serious fight with my mother, and I was so happy- and surprised- to see the second one, I cried when I picked it up for the first time. It's taken time, but I'm slowly able to come to grips with not going, but I'm sure I have a ways to go yet. I do hope everyone was able to enjoy the trip and grow in faith.
Today is my last day at work back home, and it's a relief, but also somewhat sad. I've made quite a few friends here, and though I know that I'll bond with the staff down in Washington, I probably won't be able to say the same about the customers. It's one of the many charms of coming from a small town that when you work in retail or food service, you get to know the regulars, and there's always an opportunity to be genial and friendly in a way you just can't do somewhere big and busy. Even as a New England native who is unaccustomed to chatting with people I don't know, it will be hard to go and work somewhere that everyone is rushing all the time, and I won't be able to chat with them about the apples, the weather, or the strange gluten intolerance of someone they know.
I went for an ultrasound today, and I am fully determined to go for as few as humanly possible outside of being pregnant. I offered up the discomfort of having to drink 32 oz. of water this morning and then having my pelvis pressed down on, but seriously, not cool. Turns out I have an ovarian cyst, which is weird, but I'm totally not bothered by it. As soon as the ultrasound tech left me alone to go to the bathroom so she could talk to a doctor about the images, I said a quick little prayer to Mary to help me bear it in place of some other woman. I know about 50% of women have one at some point, but considering how much my mom is freaking out, maybe it's better that I have one than her or some other worry-prone woman.
I suppose I really have nothing else to say right now, except that time needs to hurry up, because I want to be in Washington already!
Yesterday saw the return of a dozen or so of my friends to America after their three week long pilgrimage to Europe and World Youth Day. I've not heard from them yet, but it looks and sounds like they had a fantastic time from the facebook updates they posted. I got two postcards from our chaplain, one from the Vatican, and one from Lourdes, and they were lovely. They came rather coincidentally after a serious fight with my mother, and I was so happy- and surprised- to see the second one, I cried when I picked it up for the first time. It's taken time, but I'm slowly able to come to grips with not going, but I'm sure I have a ways to go yet. I do hope everyone was able to enjoy the trip and grow in faith.
Today is my last day at work back home, and it's a relief, but also somewhat sad. I've made quite a few friends here, and though I know that I'll bond with the staff down in Washington, I probably won't be able to say the same about the customers. It's one of the many charms of coming from a small town that when you work in retail or food service, you get to know the regulars, and there's always an opportunity to be genial and friendly in a way you just can't do somewhere big and busy. Even as a New England native who is unaccustomed to chatting with people I don't know, it will be hard to go and work somewhere that everyone is rushing all the time, and I won't be able to chat with them about the apples, the weather, or the strange gluten intolerance of someone they know.
I went for an ultrasound today, and I am fully determined to go for as few as humanly possible outside of being pregnant. I offered up the discomfort of having to drink 32 oz. of water this morning and then having my pelvis pressed down on, but seriously, not cool. Turns out I have an ovarian cyst, which is weird, but I'm totally not bothered by it. As soon as the ultrasound tech left me alone to go to the bathroom so she could talk to a doctor about the images, I said a quick little prayer to Mary to help me bear it in place of some other woman. I know about 50% of women have one at some point, but considering how much my mom is freaking out, maybe it's better that I have one than her or some other worry-prone woman.
I suppose I really have nothing else to say right now, except that time needs to hurry up, because I want to be in Washington already!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)