Meditations for Holy Week: Palm Sunday/Monday

On Saturday, I came up with what seemed like (to me, at least) a fantastic idea. Hey, why don't I publish little meditations on life and faith for each day during Holy Week? I can increase the amount of stuff on my blog, and maybe someone will read it other than me (fat chance :)! In any event, I already missed yesterday, but that doesn't bother me much, so, onto the reflections!

Palm Sunday: Last night, all the student Masses I saw were way more packed than usual. Granted, one was celebrated by a Cardinal, so that is completely understandable, but the other (which was at 10 p.m.) was at least two and a half times fuller than usual, in spite of the fact that it was only the chaplain saying the Mass, and the Passion was being read (no small feat, even in the short form).

In the chaplain's homily, he reflected on a woman who was 27 when her husband died, and told him that nobody else knew what she was going through. He reminded her of Jesus, and how even as the Son of God, He felt abandoned by God. It was ridiculous, he acknowledged for someone who was God to also feel abandoned by Him, but in Jesus' human nature, He really became like us in everything, save sin. On the Cross, He suffered every human pain there is, and from that came the fruit of our redemption.

For the past few weeks (or maybe months), I think that has been what I have needed to hear. In my pain, I know that pride takes over, and I wonder how it is that anyone else, let alone God, could relate to the pain and frustration I endured, not in silence, but very much alone. In my vanity, I assumed that the fact that I could pull through temptation and nearly sleepless nights and tears meant that I was doing it of my own power and becoming tougher. Not so. I often forget how intimately God knows me and everything about me, and the fact that knowing all of this, even the dirty, cruel, and repugnant things about me, He loved me enough to go to the Cross for me. To go to a death called twice-cursed by Saint Paul himself, and to do it in front of the world, so that everyone would know He loved me enough not to hold back anything, including His own blessed life.

People in general forget this too, I think. When they suffer, they are the first to say "How could God do this to me? How could He let this happen?" But almost nobody looks to the Cross and thinks "How could God let this happen?" And indeed, how could God let His only Son, in essence Himself, die for us? How could He give up His life for creatures who are more often straying than not? The answer, of course, is love, but not just any love. Not just a fleeting fancy, or a superficial affection, but a love that the human mind cannot fathom. A love so all-encompassing that even the Cross cannot fully express it, but to use anything other than a cross, a crown of thorns, three nails, the inscription Iesus Nazarenus, Rex Iudeus, and the Body of Christ is wholly inadequate.


Monday: I attended the Chrism Mass at the cathedral close to my university last night with some friends, and though it went almost two hours long, it taught me a little about myself and the institution of the priesthood. Most of this observation actually comes from other, separate experiences rather than the Mass itself, but the Cardinal celebrating the Mass ended up tying them together with his homily last night.

Over the year, a deacon who is going to be ordained in May has been coming every Monday night to do what was supposed to be a "light" beginner's catechism talk with us. Within a month, however, this "light catechesis" became much deeper, more puzzling theological discussions, which seemed to suit all involved better. During the course of these little lessons, the deacon and I formed a quirky little intellectual bond, mostly because I'm still somewhat stuck in little kid mode, i.e., whenever I stumble onto a new topic of interest, I have this irrepressible need to ask questions about it until I've exhausted my informant's pool of knowledge. The deacon seems simultaneously amused and bemused by this, but it's allowed us to learn more about each other as time has progressed.

As we are now a little more than a month away from his ordination, the deacon is becoming excited for it, and I can tell it's really beginning to feel real to him. This is exciting for me as well, especially after he brought me a prayer card which each priest has printed up for his ordination to ask people to pray for him and his mission. Having been in formation for the priesthood for 12 years, I can tell it's worn on him a bit, but he is undeniably excited for the prospect of serving God's people, even if it is a daunting call. I believe that even in spite of his doubts of his own ability, he will make an excellent priest, and he will serve his flock well.

During this same year, I have been learning about my Catholic faith left, right, and center, and it has been a fantastic journey. Almost all of my older friends have imparted to me some knowledge or experience that has helped me grow intellectually and personally in my faith, and I am eternally grateful for that. The university's chaplain has probably been the biggest source of this type of knowledge (probably because I bug him the most with my questions), and has always patiently answered my questions while challenging me to look inside and outside of myself to find the answers. Because of this, and the many men I know who are priests, seminarians, or future seminarians, I have come to respect, and in some ways love, the Catholic priesthood. I have often been jealous that God could call a man to such a beautiful sacrifice of self for others, and allow him to lead them along the path to salvation. It has become perfectly apparent to me why a priest is called an alter Christus, or an "other Christ".

Many people have seen this in me, and I do get ribbed by my friends, who will often tell people that I am destined to become a religious sister because of my geeky knowledge of the Church and my apparent piety (I try to make a good appearance, but of course there are struggles). Our chaplain has also noticed, and will lightly tease me about being such a nerd for someone so young and so new to much of what I am learning. However, this made enough of an impression on him that, when we had the Cardinal celebrate our Palm Sunday Mass, he introduced me as one of three great supporters of the priesthood among our group of Catholic students at the university. I was caught completely by surprise by his remark, but nevertheless, I was deeply touched that he should think enough of it to mention it to the Cardinal, who is one of the more prominent among the men of his rank.

By now, I'm sure none of this sounds even remotely related to the Chrism Mass, but it will (hopefully) in just a minute or so, because the Cardinal who celebrated yesterday's Mass (not the same one as Palm Sunday) made his homily all about the priesthood, and addressed his observations to the priests and seminarians present.

With regard to the deacon, the Cardinal remarked that not only do priests come in all shapes, sizes, and personalities, but that this is a beautiful and unique strength of the Catholic priesthood, and it allows them to better and more faithfully serve their flock. It also reflects the essential catholicity of the Church, that is, its universality, because the number and variety of priests makes them a cross-section of the entire Body of Christ, some one sixth of the entire world's population. Over the year and getting to know the deacon and other men like him, I have been able to appreciate the truth of the Cardinal's sentiment: each man comes with his own life's story, and is entirely his own person, except that each story converges with Christ and His call to each of these men to serve Him and His people with his life.

With regard to myself and the priesthood, I have realized that it is no small feat to give up even a part of one's life to God. Even the smallest part of anything a person regards as his own is jealously guarded, but these extraordinary men give up their entire lives. They hold nothing back from God, and many even give up their names, the essence of who they are, to serve Him. My jealousy of this call is unfounded, I know, because God would not offer women an inferior role to men in His creation, just a different one. But seeing this dedication day in and day out has caused me to realize that there can really be only one true happiness, and that is to do God's will. It isn't easy, but each priest has done it, and having met so many whom I would be privileged to emulate, I realize that for me as well, I could not possibly be happier than giving my life to God to do His will. I do not yet know what that will entail for me, but I know that it is the only path I want to pursue.

As is so often quoted to men becoming priests, Jesus says, "You did not choose me but I chose you. And I appointed you to go and bear fruit, fruit that will last, so that the Father will give you whatever you ask him in my name." John 15:16 (NRSV). It is not only the priests He has chosen, though. It is every person who belongs to Him, for we are all called to advance and serve the Church.

For Unto Us A Child Is Born

Okay, so perhaps this title doesn't seem fitting for today, but it did fit (somewhat) on Friday, and it fits for the experiences and discoveries I've had and made since then. On Friday, I (Finally!) finished St. Louis de Montfort's Consecration to Mary, and it was amazing! I was antsy the night before, and the entire morning as I waited for the clock to tick ever so slowly toward Confession, then Mass, then the moment when I could start writing out the Act of Consecration which would mean I was entirely a slave of Jesus through Mary. My school's chaplain was interested to hear how I found the experience, and how I felt about finally being able to finish it for the first time. He also found out why I was doing it (something I suppose he wondered, but probably didn't want to ask), and the whole of it revolves around one line in St. Louis' prayer to Jesus. Right in the middle, he says, "Would that everyone might know that I should already be damned were it not for Mary!" This essentially sums up how I feel about the Blessed Mother. She brought me back to God through the Rosary, and on Friday we celebrated God coming to us through her "Yes", so for me, doing the Consecration was really a debt of gratitude to Mary for her kindness and God's mercy through her.

I explained all this to the chaplain during my Confession, and he seemed to appreciate that sentiment especially. He, as I've mentioned previously, has also done this Consecration, and he credits his becoming a priest to it. He seemed miffed when he noticed that I had started it and not told him about it, and I think he may have been concerned about my doing it, since my return to the faith was so recent. However, I think he also came to terms with my decision to do it, mostly because he could tell that the feelings behind it were genuine, and because he knows that often when I get something into my head, it's more trouble than it's worth to attempt to dissuade me.

I ended up completing the Act of Consecration alone, in the silence of the chapel, and I had a feeling that that was how it was meant to be done. This wasn't really a moment which I was meant to share with anyone but God and His mother, and it was a moment of quiet, contented peace. It was beautiful to me to know that I now had some other bond with God. Not just the special bond that God has with each of His children, but a bond that meant that I wanted to seek him out in a way that was special to me.

*Post Script: Now that I've been consecrated for almost a month, I have to say, it's a difficult life to live out, but I haven't once questioned my decision to do it. I've been reading up on Mary quite a bit recently, and I think I appreciate her even more now. Of course, it helps to know so many religious and lay people who have an intense love for her, and who support me in my efforts to grow closer to God through her. I highly recommend this Consecration to anyone formed enough in their faith to make it, and the writings of St. Louis de Montfort to anyone who desires a deeper understanding of Jesus or Mary!

Lord, It Is Good For Us To Be Here

I thought it was just a funny coincidence that one of my friends would call me on my birthday to ask me to cantor at the next day's Mass, but as every other time God goes to work, He works in mysterious ways. This past week, I went on an Alternative Spring Break trip to SC to rebuild homes for low-income families, and I pretty much knew in advance that some spiritual fruit would come of the experience. However, as I was thinking of a Bible verse to relate to the experience, I kept coming up short. Nothing quite seemed good enough, and I figured I would probably end up settling for Matthew 25:40, which isn't a bad verse by any means, it just didn't seem to fit.

So, funny thing, as I'm trying to concentrate on the priest proclaiming the Gospel at the Mass I'm cantoring, I realize almost immediately that the story is the Transfiguration. I don't see how it fits until the homily, when the priest stresses Peter's call to Jesus, "Lord, it is good for us to be here". Now, he goes on to talk about prayer during Lent, and the Mass as the greatest prayer, but what hits me hardest is the three or four times he repeats "Lord, it is good for us to be here". This was it; this was the verse I was looking for!

I realize now in retrospect, that much like the Gospel, this verse doesn't initially seem to fit, but put in the context of the trip, it makes more sense. The trip was like a reverse Transfiguration. Jesus didn't shine like the sun, and He wasn't flanked by Moses and Elijah; instead, He became an ordinary couple flanked by friends and family. We, in turn, were Peter. Each day we woke early, worked joyfully and hard, and really desired to help this couple as Peter desired to help Jesus, Moses, and Elijah. We discovered, without knowing it, that it was good for us to be there.

And though Matthew 25:40 is still comforting to think of, I think "Lord, it is good for us to be here" (Matthew 17:4) is still more appropriate. God used this week to teach me about myself, and to be His hands to help others, and because of this I echo Peter's words "Lord, it is good for us to be here".

Like a Refiner's Fire

For some months now, I have been discerning whether or not to do St. Louis de Montfort's Consecration to Mary, and a few weeks ago, I decided I would start it for sure. My parents were visiting me at school with my best friend, and I remember being so upset over the strained state of our relationship that it was a tremendous joy for me to be able to start the Consecration during their visit. Little did I know that, so far, they would be the very least of my problems.

The next weekend, I had two friends in high school visit me, because they'll be coming to my school in the fall. That weekend turned out to be ten times more stressful than my parents' visit, and the aftermath (this past week) has been awful. On Tuesday, a friend of mine contacted me to talk about an issue she had with a boy, and by the end of the conversation, she was threatening suicide. That same night, I found out that another friend is seven weeks pregnant with the child of her abusive marine ex-boyfriend, with whom she has gotten back together after a mighty struggle to finally leave him.

The past sixteen days have been ridiculous for me, and I almost feel as if the days did not exist apart from the stresses they contained. As I was confessing this to one of my friends on Friday night, she told me about a popular Catholic singer who also did St. Louis de Montfort's Consecration, and also suffered tremendously during the thirty-three days during which she did it. She told me to check out her blog post about it, which I did, and I was comforted to find that my friend's words rang true. In her own words, the singer called the month hell. I thought of this over the weekend, and asked my school's chaplain how he found his experience with the Consecration, to which he attributes his becoming a priest. He told me that the first year it really hit him what he was doing (about the second year he did it), he also went through hell.

Something that struck me particularly was when the singer wrote "Since Satan hates Mary and this consecration, my January was HELL. I have never had a worse month in my life. It was spiritually purifying, trying, and painful. However, come February, I had never experienced so much joy, peace, and satisfaction in God alone. My spiritual life and ministry took off to new heights and depths." I realized that she was right about why the Consecration was so difficult, and how good the results could be. Mary is the only human Satan ever feared, and once under her control, those who are devoted wholly to their Consecration are not likely to fall to him because, "Consecration is like jumping in the womb of Mary, where Christ was formed, so we might be formed as “little Christs,” too. Mary’s womb is the only place where Satan cannot penetrate, because Mary’s womb is the Tabernacle where the Bread of Life dwelt–it is the “Holy of Holies.” "

Then, as I was thinking of a title for this post, I thought of the Aria: "But Who May Abide The Day Of His Coming" from Handel's "Messiah", which says that God is "like a refiner's fire". Not only is God like that, but so is this Consecration. It's a test of faith and devotion. This is not an ordinary Act of Consecration, and so it requires the people doing it to display extraordinary faith and steadfastness. I know this singer has been an inspiration to some of my friends, and our chaplain is as strong and true a man in his faith as I have ever seen. I can only hope that God will also give me the grace to follow in the footsteps of these two extraordinary people. Maria, Mater Dei, Regina Coeli, ora pro nobis!

Two Copper Coins, and the Least of God's People

This is from almost two months ago, but after re-reading it, I realized that I'm still affected by the story, and so here it is:

Last night, I learned some really incredible things about the Church in China. It's similar to the Church in all it's aspects of doctrine and theology, yes, but it's the Chinese Catholics who really make it shine. At the Newman Center Tuesday dinner, the guest speakers who came were a family from Silver Spring, MD, and they had an amazing story to tell about some truly singular people.

In this country, we are almost bound to take for granted all the freedoms we have by birthright. It seems one of the hallmarks of the American situation, that we must be reminded occasionally how fortunate we are to live in this country and to call ourselves its citizens. One of the first rights we are guaranteed by our government is the right to practice any religion we choose, as freely and openly as we want, provided we're not breaking any laws. In China, where atheism is the enforced belief system of the state, there are no other alternatives, and the state will not hesitate to punish anyone who disobeys it. The government also enforces a One Child Policy, with exceptions for the poor, rural families, who may have two children only if their first is a girl.

Last night, we were told by the speakers who visited us about a woman named Li Xiang, who lived in the countryside and gave birth to a son as her first child. By mandate, then, he was to be the only child she ever had. And he was, for a while. Her next two pregnancies ended in abortions, which were performed by her mother. Her fourth pregnancy, however, she chose to bring to term, and the baby, once he was born, was registered as her brother's son. She got pregnant again some years later, but this time she could not pretend the child was someone else's, so she went into hiding. Li Xiang went to live in a halfway house far from home that took care of women who were pregnant in violation of the One Child Policy, and there she gave birth to a daughter, shortly after converting to Catholicism. She had to hide her daughter from her family and her village to keep from being discovered by the government, and having the baby taken from her and killed. Meanwhile, she got pregnant again, and gave birth to another son, whom she has also had to hide away.

The prospects for Li Xiang's children are not very good. While her older sons have been able to receive healthcare and education from the government, they have suffered from the stress of their parents' situation with the two younger children. The younger children, however, have seemingly no good future ahead of them. Neither can be registered with the government, because their mother already has one child registered, so neither of them will receive healthcare or education. There is very little hope for these children who cannot even earn a wage or go to school without the Chinese government's say so. Li Xiang has hope for their futures, though, even though she knows realistically that they are not bright futures.

As we looked at the slides of this Maryland family's visit to China, we were told that the halfway house that sheltered Li Xiang has the women who stay there make Rosaries that can be given away with the request for a $25 donation. Our chaplain graciously offered to make a donation for each Rosary a student took, though there wasn't enough money to make the full donation for each of us. For our parts, we did each make whatever donation we could, and some of us were even able to make the full $25. I however, only had $1.19, which I sheepishly handed over, ashamed of the fact that I could give so little. I told our chaplain about my embarrassment before I gave the money, and he kindly consoled me with the story of the widow in Luke's gospel, who gave two copper coins, all she had, to the temple. He told me that I would be the student they told others about, giving what little I had to support the shelter and the mothers. I doubted it, but I was consoled when the mother of the family told me that even my meager donation would be able to feed a family for a week, such is the exchange rate now.

It's situations like these that sometimes make me wonder if God doesn't give us these circumstances to remind us that, even in what we perceive as poverty, even when we think that there is nothing we can do to help other people, there will always be some good which we can contribute to others. In this case, it was whatever money we students had, as even the full $25 doesn't get much here in Washington. But to these women at the shelter, and to Li Xiang and her children, this money will make a huge difference. In this case, it wasn't only about giving money to a good cause, but giving to our Catholic sisters in China and their children, and hopefully being able to save a few lives before they are born.

Someone who knew Li Xiang sent an email to the father of the MD family, also a professor at my university, and in it, she wondered what would become of Li Xiang's youngest son, Ping-ping. Would he live very long? Would he grow up to make a difference? Would he become a priest someday? It's heartbreaking to think of him in that way, but I do hope he makes a difference when he grows up. I hope he is able to aid women in finding the shelter that aided his mother, and that he is able to pay forward the gift of life he received from God through his amazing mother.

A Different Kind of Retreat, Indeed.

I went on retreat this weekend to the annual conference hosted by the Fellowship of Catholic University Students in Baltimore’s Inner Harbor. It was, objectively, a fantastic experience: Mass every day, intellectual speakers on a wide variety of subjects, fascinating keynote speeches, and the occasional praise and worship jam session. There was perpetual Adoration, and Confession was offered for hours on end the second night, to the point where the line wrapped around the hotel’s lobby in such a way that looking at it would make your head hurt. At least half a dozen religious orders had booths set up for twelve hundred college students to talk to them about their charisms, habits, hobbies, and a whole host of other things.

I entered into the conference somewhat hesitantly, as, I later found out, did most of us on the trip. To compound matters, I spoke to my ex-boyfriend there and was also holding onto problems I’ve been having with my parents, so that subjectively, conference seemed only so-so. I actually left thinking “Well doesn’t this just stink that I paid to come here, and had no spiritual movements or renewal or anything.”

Luckily, I spoke too soon, because Saturday night, something the keynote speaker said hit me over the head like a ton of bricks. He said that when he lost his son on a camping trip, he came to a lake in front of their campsite, and feared that any minute he would find his body floating in the water. In his panic and terrifying love for his son, he said to God “You’ve blessed me with so much in my life: a great family, a job I love, and more than I could ever have thought to ask for. Take it back Lord. Take it all back. Give me my son.” It made me think of my parents, and how I have almost come to the point where I’m ready to say the same thing: “Take back my blessings, Lord. Give me my parents.”

But I realized later that that was the incorrect prayer. I didn’t want to say “Take my progress, take my faith, take all the good I’ve done, and the friends I’ve made, and the love I’ve found in You- give me my parents,” I wanted to say, “Take control, give me patience. Take my comfort, give me crosses.” The same keynote speaker pointed out that God’s love for each of us is so terrifying that He became one of us in order to die on the Cross, just so that whenever we suffer, He can be there next to us crying out “Eli, eli, lemi sabacthani?” or, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” I remembered the popular colloquial saying that God doesn’t promise that there won’t be crosses, only that we’ll never have to carry them alone.

Do As You're Commanded

Most people don't know that the command that is given the most in the Bible is "Do not be afraid". But considering it is given usually when something important is happening, or regarding a matter of particular weight, it makes sense. When the angel appears to the shepherds to announce Jesus' birth, he tells them not to be afraid. When Jesus calls His apostles and when He rises from the dead, He says "Do not be afraid". In Revelation, when John sees Jesus and falls at his feet, He says to him "Do not be afraid". Clearly this is an important message, or it wouldn't appear so many times. In fact, "Do not be afraid" appears 67 times in the Bible- on average, almost once per book (or more than once, if it's a Protestant version).

This popped into my head because tonight I'm going to be reunited with many of my guy friends here at home when we all visit a friend who's restarted treatment for an inoperable brain tumor. I have a tiny bit of fear of how they'll react because I broke up with one of their number shortly before we all left for school, but that's not the big fear. The big fear is how they'll react to my faith. Having left them all an atheist, and coming back to them a Catholic, I'm not sure how they'll react. But it's more than that. I fought with one of the guys on facebook, and he decided he couldn't be friends with me anymore, and if any of the guys know about that, I'm afraid of how I'll be received.

It's not that I'm afraid of how much of the fight was my fault, because I know how much was my fault, and I accept that. What I'm afraid of is being rejected by these boys to whom I'd grown so close during my senior year and last summer. I know that if it came to a choice for them, there would be no choice at all. I'm not really one of their group, I entered it because I was dating one of them and just happened to become one of the group because I was a cool girlfriend. But as I was worrying my little head off about this, I remembered hearing that "Do not be afraid" is the most frequent command in the Bible.

Having gained an appreciation for the Book of Isaiah this Advent through daily Mass, I think it is fitting that the best citation for my situation is Isaiah 41:10
"...do not fear, for I am with you,
   do not be afraid, for I am your God;
I will strengthen you, I will help you,
   I will uphold you with my victorious right hand." (NRSV)
It's not a promise that I'll be able to convince my friends that I'm not nuts or a bigot, or an assurance that they won't have heard about the fight earlier this year. It's not even hope that the guy I fought with won't be there. But it's all I really need: a reminder that God will be there with me to help me deal with whatever does happen. So I'll meet my friends tonight (whoever braves the snow), and I will do my best to do as God commands: I won't be afraid because God will strengthen me, help me, and uphold me with His victorious right hand. And really, what more could a girl ask for?