I'm sitting here in my school's Newman Center with one of my friends, eagerly awaiting the Easter Vigil and my chance to truly celebrate Christ's resurrection for the first time in four years, and I wonder what I've gained from this Holy Week. I guess I could argue that I've learned quite a bit, and that I haven't learned much at all. I want to say that it's the former, and so I'm going to try to argue that.
Just as the devil torments Jesus' followers all throughout Holy Week, he came after me this week as well. I have had to contend with the recurrence of habitual sin that has plagued me for a while, problems with my friends, and struggles with actually trying to learn things to share here. Then as I watched the catechumens being baptized/received into full communion/confirmed, I realized that this is what I've learned: through all my struggles this week and this year, I really do love being Catholic, and I want to be able to share it with everyone.
As each person stood on the altar, I wondered if they too felt the weight of the enormous gift they were being given. I was also a little jealous of them, because when I received each of the Sacraments they did, I didn't appreciate them. They were nice ceremonies I endured for my parents' sake, so they could take pictures and have a big dinner, and maybe one day see me married in the Church. Now, however, I look back and wish someone had taught me what big moments these were, and that they weren't meant for my parents, they were meant for me.
I hope the catechumens knew that, and if I could have shouted and whistled my congratulations to them in church, I would have, just to show them how happy I was for them and how lucky they were to desire the fullness of these gifts of the Church and the Holy Spirit. I suspect their lives, however long there is left of them, won't be quite the same from here on out, and I wish them the best of luck, because I know that trying to live a truly Catholic life isn't easy, but it is the most wonderful, rewarding experience to have. The food is good, God is glorious, awesome, (insert other amazingly positive adjective here), and there's no celebration like a Catholic celebration, at once full of rich symbolism and tremendous joy.
Being able to celebrate this first Easter in the Church, but really in the Church, will be glorious, and I will be sure to thank God every day for His gifts of life and the Catholic faith. It's these types of moments that make me mind less when my friends make fun of me by saying I'm destined to become a nun. :)
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Friday, April 22, 2011
Meditations for Holy Week: Holy Thursday/Good Friday
Thursday: Today starts the Triduum, the three days before Easter, and my favorite time of the liturgical year! Today's meditation ties into yesterday's and Monday's a little because Holy Thursday is the commemoration of the institution of the priesthood, the Mass, and the Eucharist.
Undoubtedly an important day to the Church and to Catholics and Christians everywhere, but I noticed today that we treat each of the three days of the Triduum as completely distinct, almost as if they have nothing to do with each other. This isn't true, of course, as they are commemorations of three actual days in history which flowed together quite the same as every day before and since. I would like to be able to offer some profound thought on Holy Thursday's significance to me or the Church, or some beautiful words on the events that took place on that day, but I feel like doing that would rob the Triduum of its wholeness liturgically, and its significance.
It's always seemed funny to me that the way the Passion is read in church, the events of Holy Thursday sound like they are merely a preface to Good Friday, though the celebration of the day is so cut off from the celebration of the next. It was likely a matter of a few hours which separated the Last Supper, at which the priesthood, Mass, and Eucharist were all instituted at the same time, and the agony in the garden of Gethsemane, and Jesus' trial and all that followed it. However, the distinctness of Holy Thursday and Good Friday from each other makes it seem as though everything except the Last Supper happened on Friday.
This is also often true of the way we view God. So much of Him seems very distinct, when in reality, it is all very fluid. The three persons of the Trinity, God's mercy and justice, Jesus' divinity and humanity. These are all things the people look at as being singular, but they're not, because none of them can stand on their own. There cannot be Trinity without its persons, and there cannot be three distinct, unconnected persons if they are all one God. God's justice, likewise, is often separated from His mercy, as if the two do not complement each other in the course of history and our lives. When God judges, He does not do so vindictively, as if He were out for blood. God judges mercifully every time, though He cannot ignore what has contributed to the judgement, and often someone may intercede for the person or people being judged to heighten God's mercy toward them. Believers also separate Jesus' human and divine natures as if there were two men, not one. Jesus' divine nature allowed Him to do miracles, to institute the Church, her priesthood, the Mass, and the Eucharist, but His human nature allowed Him to suffer as we suffer, so that when the time came He could bear all of our sins on the Cross to give us eternal life.
We forget too often as Catholics that so much of our lives are these things, and that much like the lives we live, they are not just a series of occurrences pieced together like a paper chain. No link in our lives can stand alone, just as no aspect of our faith can be separated from the others and remain whole. Instead, we are, the faith is more like a jigsaw puzzle. Each person, piece and aspect contributes to the whole in such a way that together they are harmonious and paint the full picture of our Christian life.
Friday: Not much stood out about today for me, except that it seemed to be marked by failure. I couldn't stay up all night praying like I wanted to, I forgot to say prayers I usually say every other day, I couldn't concentrate on much of anything, and I wished I could be home for the Good Friday service at my dad's church, rather than appreciating the service at the church by my university.
It is an annoying and frustrating experience to feel that more or less everything in your day has been for naught, which was exactly how I felt when the chaplain got up to the lectern to give his homily after the Passion. Then I heard his voice come out sounding strained and almost choked as he asked the congregation what Jesus had done to deserve His death, to deserve being put to death in the way He was. He told us that it was because He spoke the truth to people, and that the Church has inherited His crucifixion (figuratively) because she has continued to preach His truth.
The foremost of all these truths is the God loves us, he said. He then recounted with much exasperation that many priests, he among them, minister to people every day who refuse to believe that God loves them. They think that it isn't even possible for Him to love them, for whatever reasons they have. He begged us, literally repeating the words "I beg you" three times, he begged us to believe that it was true. That God really does love us.
This, I believe, was the only success of my day. Not the homily, obviously, I couldn't have come up with that. But that I could believe it when he said it to me. Today I believed with all my heart the God does love me. After all, isn't the core of our faith that God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son that all who believe in Him might not die, but might have eternal life? We hold this in such esteem as Christians that we give it as the explanation for the Cross. God wasn't just looking for entertainment, He loved us, and so He gave us the only acceptable sacrifice to make up for all our sins against Him: His only Son.
This is a beautiful truth, and I believe that after tonight I will hold it all the more dear because it is true, and because someone took the time to beg me to believe it because he loves me, too.
Undoubtedly an important day to the Church and to Catholics and Christians everywhere, but I noticed today that we treat each of the three days of the Triduum as completely distinct, almost as if they have nothing to do with each other. This isn't true, of course, as they are commemorations of three actual days in history which flowed together quite the same as every day before and since. I would like to be able to offer some profound thought on Holy Thursday's significance to me or the Church, or some beautiful words on the events that took place on that day, but I feel like doing that would rob the Triduum of its wholeness liturgically, and its significance.
It's always seemed funny to me that the way the Passion is read in church, the events of Holy Thursday sound like they are merely a preface to Good Friday, though the celebration of the day is so cut off from the celebration of the next. It was likely a matter of a few hours which separated the Last Supper, at which the priesthood, Mass, and Eucharist were all instituted at the same time, and the agony in the garden of Gethsemane, and Jesus' trial and all that followed it. However, the distinctness of Holy Thursday and Good Friday from each other makes it seem as though everything except the Last Supper happened on Friday.
This is also often true of the way we view God. So much of Him seems very distinct, when in reality, it is all very fluid. The three persons of the Trinity, God's mercy and justice, Jesus' divinity and humanity. These are all things the people look at as being singular, but they're not, because none of them can stand on their own. There cannot be Trinity without its persons, and there cannot be three distinct, unconnected persons if they are all one God. God's justice, likewise, is often separated from His mercy, as if the two do not complement each other in the course of history and our lives. When God judges, He does not do so vindictively, as if He were out for blood. God judges mercifully every time, though He cannot ignore what has contributed to the judgement, and often someone may intercede for the person or people being judged to heighten God's mercy toward them. Believers also separate Jesus' human and divine natures as if there were two men, not one. Jesus' divine nature allowed Him to do miracles, to institute the Church, her priesthood, the Mass, and the Eucharist, but His human nature allowed Him to suffer as we suffer, so that when the time came He could bear all of our sins on the Cross to give us eternal life.
We forget too often as Catholics that so much of our lives are these things, and that much like the lives we live, they are not just a series of occurrences pieced together like a paper chain. No link in our lives can stand alone, just as no aspect of our faith can be separated from the others and remain whole. Instead, we are, the faith is more like a jigsaw puzzle. Each person, piece and aspect contributes to the whole in such a way that together they are harmonious and paint the full picture of our Christian life.
Friday: Not much stood out about today for me, except that it seemed to be marked by failure. I couldn't stay up all night praying like I wanted to, I forgot to say prayers I usually say every other day, I couldn't concentrate on much of anything, and I wished I could be home for the Good Friday service at my dad's church, rather than appreciating the service at the church by my university.
It is an annoying and frustrating experience to feel that more or less everything in your day has been for naught, which was exactly how I felt when the chaplain got up to the lectern to give his homily after the Passion. Then I heard his voice come out sounding strained and almost choked as he asked the congregation what Jesus had done to deserve His death, to deserve being put to death in the way He was. He told us that it was because He spoke the truth to people, and that the Church has inherited His crucifixion (figuratively) because she has continued to preach His truth.
The foremost of all these truths is the God loves us, he said. He then recounted with much exasperation that many priests, he among them, minister to people every day who refuse to believe that God loves them. They think that it isn't even possible for Him to love them, for whatever reasons they have. He begged us, literally repeating the words "I beg you" three times, he begged us to believe that it was true. That God really does love us.
This, I believe, was the only success of my day. Not the homily, obviously, I couldn't have come up with that. But that I could believe it when he said it to me. Today I believed with all my heart the God does love me. After all, isn't the core of our faith that God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son that all who believe in Him might not die, but might have eternal life? We hold this in such esteem as Christians that we give it as the explanation for the Cross. God wasn't just looking for entertainment, He loved us, and so He gave us the only acceptable sacrifice to make up for all our sins against Him: His only Son.
This is a beautiful truth, and I believe that after tonight I will hold it all the more dear because it is true, and because someone took the time to beg me to believe it because he loves me, too.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Meditations for Holy Week: Tuesday/Wednesday
Wow, haha, I'm really not keeping up with these like I hoped to. I guess that's really only my fault, but no matter, that just provides time to let the thoughts ferment and form better.
Tuesday: So last night we had my absolute favorite religious sisters on the planet come to give a talk at the Newman Center, and it was great. Two of the Servants of the Lord and the Virgin of Matara talked to thirty or so students about the joy of the Cross, and the joy of our many daily crosses. I missed the beginning, unfortunately, but the part I heard was chiefly about how to bear the crosses we encounter every day, and how to handle them. The sisters also shared the struggles of their own daily lives, from being cursed out for wearing the habit (a rare occurrence, thankfully) to being annoyed by the personalities of some of the sisters they live with, to being assigned jobs that they absolutely hate. The easy way to deal with such matters, they informed us, was to complain about or avoid them. We could choose to do them, and thus learn how to handle bigger issues in the future, but I personally got the sense that even just doing something or enduring a trial for the sake of the thing itself was not the point.
I have observed in these two particular sisters some of the stresses of their daily lives, and some of their worries involving their families, their missions, and even just getting back to the convent in time for Evening and Night Prayer for the Liturgy of the Hours. They don't just bear their crosses like any old person would, they bear them joyfully, as if there was nothing they would prefer to this instance, because it gives them the opportunity to grow in grace and prayer. They did stress this to us briefly, but I wonder how many people took that away. We shouldn't just be enduring tough situations and then saying, "Phew! Glad that's over", but we should embrace these situations as chances to grow in Christ and learn to love Him more.
I know that's a tall order, and I'll be the first to admit that most of the time I fail, even when I try not to, but I think it's also a better way to view suffering, no matter how small or insignificant it may seem. There is some grace and happiness in being able to suffer joyfully for others, rather than lamenting our own frustration or sadness. There is something to be said for not running from those things we dislike or that scare us, but for facing them for the love of God and neighbor. I will certainly miss the joy and hope the sisters brought to my life when I go home, but their lessons will hopefully be preparation for the long summer I have ahead of me, and who knows? Maybe this will be the most fun I'll have had suffering in my entire life.
Wednesday: Ah Wednesday, my favorite day of the week. Not only hump day, but Adoration day! Each Wednesday I spend half an hour (sometimes more) in Eucharistic Adoration, and I love it tremendously. I was introduced to the practice in my senior year of high school, but I didn't truly understand it until this year, when I learned what it really was and had the faith that made it real to me. One of my roommates came with me at the beginning of the semester, and told me it was nothing special, which is exactly what I would have said a year ago, but now it is the highlight of my week, albeit a rather short highlight.
Adoration is my time to really talk honestly with God about what's going on in my life, and really to have out all my problems. Lately I've been doing mostly spiritual reading in Adoration, and thus a lot more listening to God than talking to Him. I consider this a vast improvement for my prayer life, in part because many times my attitude with prayer is, "Hey listen up, God, I gotta talk to You", as opposed to "Speak Lord, Your servant is listening". This was a lesson I learned from an older friend who saw his faith really take off when he made a conscious decision to listen to God rather than to talk at Him, and I have to say that the experience has also rung true for me.
This is probably one of my most regular wonder and awe moments, when I get to come face-to-face with God and talk to Him. I feel like a small child each time I recall that God Himself has deigned to come into the little chapel where I meet Him, and talk to me about anything in my life that I need to talk about. He doesn't remind me that He's on a schedule or that other problems are really more important just then, He lets me pour my heart out to Him, and He gives me the strength, grace and insight to get through my problems.
I think if I have any problems with Adoration, it's that if God isn't right in front of me, I forget that He's there to help. It is an aspect of my faith that I need to work on, remembering that Jesus said to His apostles, and indeed, to every one of His followers, "Behold, I am with you always, until the end of the age" in Matthew 28:20 (NRSV). It is most often when I don't see Him that God is using me or talking to me, so maybe starting with the Easter season, I will try to see God everywhere I don't see Him in order to appreciate being able to adore Him in person.
Tuesday: So last night we had my absolute favorite religious sisters on the planet come to give a talk at the Newman Center, and it was great. Two of the Servants of the Lord and the Virgin of Matara talked to thirty or so students about the joy of the Cross, and the joy of our many daily crosses. I missed the beginning, unfortunately, but the part I heard was chiefly about how to bear the crosses we encounter every day, and how to handle them. The sisters also shared the struggles of their own daily lives, from being cursed out for wearing the habit (a rare occurrence, thankfully) to being annoyed by the personalities of some of the sisters they live with, to being assigned jobs that they absolutely hate. The easy way to deal with such matters, they informed us, was to complain about or avoid them. We could choose to do them, and thus learn how to handle bigger issues in the future, but I personally got the sense that even just doing something or enduring a trial for the sake of the thing itself was not the point.
I have observed in these two particular sisters some of the stresses of their daily lives, and some of their worries involving their families, their missions, and even just getting back to the convent in time for Evening and Night Prayer for the Liturgy of the Hours. They don't just bear their crosses like any old person would, they bear them joyfully, as if there was nothing they would prefer to this instance, because it gives them the opportunity to grow in grace and prayer. They did stress this to us briefly, but I wonder how many people took that away. We shouldn't just be enduring tough situations and then saying, "Phew! Glad that's over", but we should embrace these situations as chances to grow in Christ and learn to love Him more.
I know that's a tall order, and I'll be the first to admit that most of the time I fail, even when I try not to, but I think it's also a better way to view suffering, no matter how small or insignificant it may seem. There is some grace and happiness in being able to suffer joyfully for others, rather than lamenting our own frustration or sadness. There is something to be said for not running from those things we dislike or that scare us, but for facing them for the love of God and neighbor. I will certainly miss the joy and hope the sisters brought to my life when I go home, but their lessons will hopefully be preparation for the long summer I have ahead of me, and who knows? Maybe this will be the most fun I'll have had suffering in my entire life.
Wednesday: Ah Wednesday, my favorite day of the week. Not only hump day, but Adoration day! Each Wednesday I spend half an hour (sometimes more) in Eucharistic Adoration, and I love it tremendously. I was introduced to the practice in my senior year of high school, but I didn't truly understand it until this year, when I learned what it really was and had the faith that made it real to me. One of my roommates came with me at the beginning of the semester, and told me it was nothing special, which is exactly what I would have said a year ago, but now it is the highlight of my week, albeit a rather short highlight.
Adoration is my time to really talk honestly with God about what's going on in my life, and really to have out all my problems. Lately I've been doing mostly spiritual reading in Adoration, and thus a lot more listening to God than talking to Him. I consider this a vast improvement for my prayer life, in part because many times my attitude with prayer is, "Hey listen up, God, I gotta talk to You", as opposed to "Speak Lord, Your servant is listening". This was a lesson I learned from an older friend who saw his faith really take off when he made a conscious decision to listen to God rather than to talk at Him, and I have to say that the experience has also rung true for me.
This is probably one of my most regular wonder and awe moments, when I get to come face-to-face with God and talk to Him. I feel like a small child each time I recall that God Himself has deigned to come into the little chapel where I meet Him, and talk to me about anything in my life that I need to talk about. He doesn't remind me that He's on a schedule or that other problems are really more important just then, He lets me pour my heart out to Him, and He gives me the strength, grace and insight to get through my problems.
I think if I have any problems with Adoration, it's that if God isn't right in front of me, I forget that He's there to help. It is an aspect of my faith that I need to work on, remembering that Jesus said to His apostles, and indeed, to every one of His followers, "Behold, I am with you always, until the end of the age" in Matthew 28:20 (NRSV). It is most often when I don't see Him that God is using me or talking to me, so maybe starting with the Easter season, I will try to see God everywhere I don't see Him in order to appreciate being able to adore Him in person.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
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.
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!
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!
Monday, March 21, 2011
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".
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".
Monday, March 7, 2011
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!
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!
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