THE SWEETEST WORDS

What are the ‘Sweetest Words’? How about, “As for you, your sins are forgiven.” ~Luke 5:20.



Or maybe you prefer, “Neither do I condemn you. Go, [and] from now on do not sin anymore.” ~John 8:11.



When we go to Confession, we have the opportunity to actually hear that our sins are forgiven. We hear the words of absolution said aloud. Whether we are aware of it or not, it is good for us as human beings to admit our sinfulness, to put it into words and then to be told we have been forgiven.



While Catholics are only required to go to sacramental Confession when they are aware of having committed a mortal sin, the Church urges the faithful to take advantage of the sacrament often. Once per month is a good suggestion. In preparation for fulfilling our Easter Duty to receive Holy Communion, we should first go to Confession even if we are aware only of venial sin.



The value of a Confession to our relationship with God is based on the recognition we are all sinners. That isn’t a popular statement to make today—if in fact it ever was. People want to be told they have done good, not bad. We are certainly called to lives of holiness. So . . . what is sin?

Sin is before all else an offense against God, a rupture of communion with Him. At the same time it damages communion with the Church. For this reason conversion entails both God's forgiveness and reconciliation with the Church, which are expressed and accomplished liturgically by the sacrament of Penance and Reconciliation. (Catechism of the Catholic Church 1440)

Jesus didn’t come into the world as Our Messiah, live, preach, suffer, die, rise from the dead and ascend back into Heaven with the promise to return again because we are a race of holy angels. He did all that because we are sinners and in need of Him. We know this whenever we ponder the mystery of a crucifix, the Real Presence or the Most Holy Sacrifice of the Mass.



What are you waiting for? Want some “sweet talk”? I know just the place to go for it. And this is what you will hear:

“God the Father of mercies, through the death and resurrection of his Son has reconciled the world to himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins; through the ministry of the Church may God give you pardon and peace, and I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”

BEAUTIFUL!

Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God

Recently I listened to Jonathan Edward’s famous sermon, Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God. I had heard of it yet never read it. My initial reaction was surprise. This was the sermon which provoked the 'Great Awakening'? I had to walk away and find something else to do. I prayed a lot the next day and fortunately it was my day off so I had the time to do it.

Also fortunately, the readings yesterday at Mass were about an incident where Jesus becomes angry. Perfect. This allowed me to prayerfully write this book review for goodreads:

'Reflecting on Edward’s sermon, there’s nothing technically wrong with it and yet still it doesn’t ring true. It doesn’t sound like the same God I have come to know through the Jesus I’ve met in the Gospels. Where is the Abba, Father we are supposed to address our prayers to?

Yes, Jesus does become angry in the Gospels. In the Gospel of Mark in particular, Jesus is portrayed as rather impatient, brusque even. He curses the fig tree—symbolic of barren Israel and a parable on the fate of Jerusalem—and it withers. He trashes the moneychangers in the Temple and then he teaches. He teaches. Like all good parents, he gets his children’s attention with a little anger and then proceeds to explain its meaning, why he lost his temper.

And why did he become angry? What are the wayward children doing which has led to this? What does Jesus tell them? That God delights in holding his children in Divine suspension until it is His pleasure to send them to the fiery abyss? No. ‘That the reason why they are not fallen already and do not fall now is only that God's appointed time is not come?’ No. Hear what happens in the Gospel immediately after the incident at the Temple with the moneychangers:

‘Peter remembered and said to him, "Rabbi, look! The fig tree that you cursed has withered." Jesus said to them in reply, "Have faith in God. Amen, I say to you, whoever says to this mountain, 'Be lifted up and thrown into the sea,' and does not doubt in his heart but believes that what he says will happen; it shall be done for him. Therefore I tell you, all that you ask for in prayer, believe that you will receive it and it shall be yours. When you stand to pray, forgive anyone against whom you have a grievance, so that your heavenly Father may in turn forgive you your transgressions." (Mark 11:24-26)

Peter sounds like a little boy excitedly reporting news to his favorite teacher, which in fact was exactly what was happening. Jesus told them to believe in God, to pray and to forgive each other so that God would be able to forgive them in kind. Does this sound like an angry God? Not to me. And if you go back and read that whole chapter slowly and in context, I promise a fuller picture emerges—as always happens when you sit down with the Jesus of the Gospels. He is desperate to talk to us. Angry? No. Passionate? Yes! There is love and deep compassion in his every word.

Yes, there will be justice along with mercy; that is in fact true mercy. Those who deliberately, with full knowledge, choose to turn their backs on God will get their heart’s desire.

I wanted to be moved by this famous sermon. Well, I suppose I was, just not in the way I’d hoped. God is a God of Love and Love is the most powerful force in the universe, more powerful than anger by far. Perhaps where Love is weak, we humans build up other things to fill the gap. I don’t know.

The thing I am most sad about, however, is that Edwards didn’t persuade me. We have no shortage of sin and I know it must cause Our Lord a great deal of anguish because he loves us all so very much. Sadly, Edwards is 100% right about the eternal suffering of those who are bent on refusing and denying God. They will surely get what they have asked for.

An excellent rendering of this classic sermon may be heard on Sermon Audio. However, I suspect the reader, David Bruce Sonner, presents a much more matter-of-fact version of this hellfire and brimstone text than that which was first given by Edwards on that July day in 1741.'

First Reconciliation

I arrived early. The church smelled good; the cleaning people were just leaving. There were fresh flowers. The First Reconciliation certificates were in the folder.

All that was needed was the list of penitents and the order in which they would see Father. At the last parent meeting I’d had everyone draw numbers for the sequence in which their child would receive the sacrament. Now I only needed to type up the list from the numbers. It took a few minutes. I printed it out, put it on a clip board and brought it out to our Narthex along with a freshly sharpened pencil.

Everything was ready for the children to sign in when they arrived.

One concerned little girl and her mother came early as arranged so that she could ‘practice’ one more time.

More families began arriving. The Narthex filled and was abuzz with excited chatter. Finally Father showed up and I asked his help with adjusting the volume for the background music which would be playing in the main church while the parents waited. Our confessional is off our daily Mass Chapel. One child would be in with Father and one more child would be waiting with the First Communion teacher in the Chapel at all times.

Everything went like clockwork. Everyone showed up—more or less on time—and even those who were a little late didn’t matter. The only glitch, an overlooked certificate, ended up being no problem at all. The mother was relieved when I apologized and said, “Is that all? I was afraid it was something serious.” And the little girl didn’t realize she was the only one in her class not to get a certificate because she was first and left before the other children—beaming. I’ll have her certificate by Monday when she returns to school.

So now that everything is over, why am I sad? The children came to Jesus in this wonderful sacrament. I did all that I could to facilitate the process. It was a joyful day and the occasion went well.

I don’t know. Maybe it’s just simple let down. Maybe it’s just me being selfish and not liking to see things end. But maybe it’s something else...

Sometimes I think it’s because on days like this, when so many people—especially so many young people—celebrate a sacrament together, we come so close to Jesus, to the amazing, transforming power of His Grace and then, we just have to go back to normal life again. We were so close to Him, so near Heaven, we could almost peak inside the door, but it slammed shut again disappearing without a trace.

He was there today. I saw nervous children going to their First Confession; He met His little sheep coming to be forgiven. I saw shining, smiling faces emerge from the chapel; He made their souls white as snow again. Thank You Lord Jesus for this wonderful day; may my sorrow now remind me to guard my thoughts, words and actions so that I may please you in all things.

I look forward to the day when I can see Your Beautiful Face shining back at me. I pray You forgive me my sins as well.

Day 14 - Jesus Irritates Me!

‘They came to the other side of the sea, to the territory of the Gerasenes. When he got out of the boat, at once a man from the tombs who had an unclean spirit met him. The man had been dwelling among the tombs, and no one could restrain him any longer, even with a chain. In fact, he had frequently been bound with shackles and chains, but the chains had been pulled apart by him and the shackles smashed, and no one was strong enough to subdue him. Night and day among the tombs and on the hillsides he was always crying out and bruising himself with stones. Catching sight of Jesus from a distance, he ran up and prostrated himself before him.’ Mark 5:1-6

Jesus irritates me! I feel rather guilty admitting this—all the more so because it’s true. That I didn’t choose the blog—or chapter—title doesn’t make the verity of it any less applicable to me.

I admit it. There are times Jesus irritates me. Or rather, I should say I get frustrated by things which happen to me. I think they are unfair, unmerited or unbearable, sometimes all three. When I refuse to accept the events and circumstances which God chooses to send me—at least those I cannot change—then I am refusing to accept Him.

One thing which consistently upsets me is hurting other people, especially those I love. In fact, it is at the top of my list of least favorite things. I really dislike causing loved ones pain. Probably because I have been hurt so often myself, I want to do all I can not to do the same thing to others. However, sometimes there are circumstances when everything conspires together in such a way misunderstanding seems almost inevitable. When that happens it takes everything in me not to get angry with God.

Recently I had such an event with a dear, dear friend. We’ve been friends for years. She wrote and asked me about a book.

It’s a popular new fiction book. I admitted to her that I didn’t like it. For starters, it’s in a genre which I don’t happen to care for. Secondly, although I agreed with the author’s position, I didn’t care for his presentation, development or literary style. Booklady that I am, I can get a bit esoteric and dense when it comes to books. I should have realized she just wanted affirmation of her choice of a book. I didn’t. I needed to be a friend. Instead I was literary critic. I hurt her feelings. I only realized what I’d done when it was too late. Needless to say, I felt like a heel.

Time was, I would have gotten mad at God. Or myself. It wasn’t His fault of course. My husband said it wasn’t mine either. It was just e-mail and miscommunication. If we’d been face-to-face, the misunderstanding never would have happened.

This time, however, instead of getting irritated with Him, I thanked Him. I didn’t want to thank Him. But I did it anyway . . . all the while I was crying.

After that I went to Mass and offered my Communion for my friend. I did the same thing the next day and the next.

And I called her. We talked. We’ve exchanged a dozen or so e-mails since and we’re better friends now than we were before the misunderstanding.

I used to get angry with God about so many things. The week before it was when my daughter forgot to return a call to my Confessor who needed directions to our home so he could come to her graduation reception. He was really hurt she didn’t call him back. I wanted to be angry with my absent-minded daughter for being so careless and slighting someone who is so dear to me. Instead I prayed and thanked God. My husband suggested we take Fr. John out to dinner tomorrow night. So we are. He seemed very pleased when I invited him to have this special night out with our family. Amazingly, we're even able to get all of us together on the same evening.

Anger into gratitude. It works!

Day 10 - In The Groove

‘They were on the way; going up to Jerusalem, and Jesus went ahead of them. They were amazed, and those who followed were afraid. Taking the Twelve aside again, he began to tell them what was going to happen to him. “Behold, we are going up to Jerusalem, and the Son of Man will be handed over to the chief priests and the scribes, and they will condemn him to death and hand him over to the Gentiles who will mock him, spit upon him, scourge him, and put him to death, but after three days he will rise.”’ Mark 10:32-34

Of the chapters which I’ve read thus far in Reverend Mill’s book, A 30 Day Retreat, this has been my favorite. In it he describes Jesus on the way to Jerusalem, knowing where He is going and what He’s about to do. He is on track and on purpose. His disciples, by contrast, couldn’t be more lost. They don’t get what’s happening, where they’re going or what Jesus is saying and doing. Put in common parlance, Jesus is in the groove and they are out of it.

Where does that leave me?

Am I getting this? Do I know where I’m going?

Do I stay on track keeping my eyes fixed on Jesus, or do I keep letting little unimportant things distract me?

When I catch myself getting off track, what do I do? Do I immediately take corrective action such as prayer and/or confession? Am I willing to admit when I’m wrong, to be humble, and to be last and the least of all?

Do I forgive as I want to be forgiven? Love as He has loved me?

Am I willing to share my faith with those who don’t know about Christ or might need to hear me witness to the Truth?

Do I go daily for spiritual sustenance? Attend Mass as often as I can, pray before the Blessed Sacrament, and say the rosary?

Do I keep studying and trying to learn, understand and grow in the truths of my faith?

Do I accept that being a Catholic Christian isn’t necessarily an easy choice, but it’s my only choice?

Do I?

Right now dear Lord, help me find that road to Jerusalem with You. That’s where I want to be—the road I want to take. Take my hand. I want to be ‘in the groove’ with You, not wandering lost somewhere. Basically Jesus I’m a coward and sinner, like the rest of your disciples. I probably don’t ‘get’ what is going on any better than they did, but with Your help I want to. Please help me. Hold on to me tight Lord. Keep me with You and don’t let me get in Your way.

Day 9 - The Long and Wending Road

‘Then he said, "A man had two sons, and the younger son said to his father, “Father, give me the share of your estate that should come to me.” So the father divided the property between them. After a few days, the younger son collected all his belongings and set off to a distant country where he squandered his inheritance on a life of dissipation.’ Luke 15:11-13

It’s been a long week. The 30 day retreat I meant to do every day has melted into the reality of the month of May with its tornadoes, end-of-school year awards ceremonies, graduations and other myriad of functions and obligations which must be met. And so it goes—the best laid plans, as the saying goes.

I have started almost a dozen posts on this Scripture story, which is a favorite. Sometimes, like Father Henri Nouwen,¹ I think I could write a book on that parable; it is so rich and meaningful.

Instead I’ll just share that our family is in the middle of its own prodigal child story. No, it isn’t one of my own children, thanks be to God. But I know the young woman's parents and they are at least as loving and well-intentioned as my husband and me, if not more so. I don’t see them as to blame for their daughter’s behavior any more than I believe we can take credit our grown children's successes. As parents, we all did the best we could. Then our children made their choices.

Recently, this daughter wrote her heartbroken mother an e-mail in response to this one:

“Dear R, I would love to hear from you, just to know if you’re all right.
Love, Mom”

R's reply:

“Hey, don't bother replying to this, but yes, my life is fabulous. It's done nothing but go uphill since I decided to ditch anybody that holds me back from getting what I want in life.

Hope you all have a great life, best of luck, etc. No hard feelings. Please feel free to forward this on to anybody I'm related to who hasn't yet got the clue that I turned in my club membership card a while back.

Tootles,
R

P.S. This was written by me, R, and not M². Just thought I'd throw that on there for all the low-expectation morons who missed the part where I stopped being 14 years old.”

This was forwarded on to us because my husband spoke up to this young couple concerning how they treated family members, thus earning himself the honor of becoming one of the ‘morons’ mentioned.

I don’t usually air family laundry. I don’t like to say anything bad about anyone. And yet, she herself suggested her e-mail be forwarded, which I read as a plea for help. I’ve changed the initials and won’t mention how we are related to this young woman. I just ask for your prayers for her parents, grandparents, siblings and for the young couple in question. Only God can change hearts and even He needs our cooperation, but I do believe in the power of prayer to work miracles.

I also believe in the story of the Prodigal Son. I should. I was something of a prodigal daughter myself once. Although I'm grateful I never wrote such a letter to my own mother, I also know I didn't grow up in this age of instant communication and, in my opinion, instant regret. Still I managed to cause her more tears, disappointment, grief and worry than she ever deserved. I traveled that long and wending road, made my way back to my parents, was forgiven and have had many happy years since, thanks be to God. By His Grace, I pray for the same reconcilation and reunion for this young relative.

Thank you for your compassionate understanding and God bless you for your generosity in joining us in prayer.

‘His son said to him, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you; I no longer deserve to be called your son.” But his father ordered his servants, “Quickly bring the finest robe and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. Take the fattened calf and slaughter it. Then let us celebrate with a feast, because this son of mine was dead, and has come to life again; he was lost, and has been found.”’ Luke 15:21-24



¹ Author of The Return Of The Prodigal Son

² Her husband of three years

Day 8 - The Man in the Mirror

‘Two people went up to the temple area to pray; one was a Pharisee and the other was a tax collector. The Pharisee took up his position and spoke this prayer to himself, ‘O God, I thank you that I am not like the rest of humanity--greedy, dishonest, adulterous--or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week, and I pay tithes on my whole income.’ But the tax collector stood off at a distance and would not even raise his eyes to heaven but beat his breast and prayed, ‘O God, be merciful to me a sinner.’ I tell you, the latter went home justified, not the former; for everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, and the one who humbles himself will be exalted.’ Luke 18:10-14

Today is Mother’s Day, that annual tribute to motherhood. I believe it’s a wonderful tradition—despite what my husband says about it being a ‘Hallmark Holiday’—because it honors all the sacrifices made for life, God’s greatest gift to us. In this culture of death in which we live, we need to take every opportunity offered to celebrate life and those who cherish, nurture and protect it. Let’s all give thanks today for mothers everywhere. God bless and strengthen them for their work in His Holy Service.

That said, as a mother myself, I am also painfully aware of my shortcomings: all those times I did not live up to my vocation. Yes, I know deep in my heart I've tried to do my best in raising my children, but I also remember occasions I wish I could forget when I didn’t listen or understand, when I put myself first, or when I wasn’t so loving as I could have been. And do I even need to say that when/if I could forget them, my own children would remind me of them? (sigh) Trust me, they do!

But it’s okay. My failures are there to keep me humble and remind me how much I need God’s Grace – and Mary’s intercession – while I strive to do my best for my family.

Still, on this day when everyone is telling me how “great” I am as a mother, I’m going to tell you ‘the rest of the story’. I’m going to rat or snitch on myself. This publican is going confess just one example of why she knows she always stands in need of God’s mercy.

When I was just embarking on my homeschooling career—many, many years ago—I had an extremely difficult time getting my children to sit and do their work on their own without my constant supervision. I knew that if this whole homeschooling ‘experiment’ – as I called it then – was going to work, my children were going to have to learn to be self-motivated and disciplined. What I didn’t know was how to teach that.

I preached at them a lot!

One morning I came back for the fourth or fifth time to find one of my daughters—I’ve forgotten which one—gone from her desk. Vigilante-like, Mom here, was all set to chastise the absentee scholar, the little miscreant. Without checking the circumstances and at the top of my lungs, I yelled out, “________, where are you?!”

The contrite child appeared shortly and looking down at the floor she said in a very small voice, “I was making your bed mommy.”

I dissolved. All my self-righteousness melted into tears and I went down on my knees and enfolded her in a hug of remorse. Then we went upstairs to admire her accomplishment. My eyes still tear up when I think of the lesson that God—using the love of my child—taught me that day.

This mom looks into the mirror through the eyes of her children and knows her true self.

“God, be merciful to me, a sinner!”

Day 2 - Love One Another

‘This is my commandment: love one another as I love you. No one has greater love than this, to lay down one's life for one's friends. You are my friends if you do what I command you. I no longer call you slaves, because a slave does not know what his master is doing. I have called you friends, because I have told you everything I have heard from my Father.’ John 15:12-15

The reason God gives us the commandment to love is because love is a choice, not a feeling. Love is a decision. It is a verb, an action word.

We can always choose not to love. We can turn our back on a brother or sister in need. We can hold on to a grudge, refuse to forgive, nurse old wounds. We can tell ourselves that this or that person has hurt me and doesn’t deserve my love.

And we may be right.

In my meditation today I recalled a conversation I had with my daughter’s boyfriend. He believes that none of us ‘deserve’ love, that all love is a great gift, to be treasured when and where it is received. Part of me agrees that we don’t deserve love. As God’s creatures, we can never merit the love He gives us, anymore than we can earn our salvation or justify our lives.

And yet, as a parent myself, I also know that a helpless infant denied love will not survive. We need love. It isn’t a question of whether or not we deserve it; we don’t. But we still have to have it. We are still commanded to give it to each other.

He gave us the commandment to love each other for our own good. I derive more tranquility, joy and gratification from the love I give than from the love I receive. Withholding love from someone brings neither peace of mind nor emotional satisfaction. It does shrivel the heart and shrink the soul.

Today I choose to love.

misshapen cup

Sometimes God grants me extraordinary graces. Well maybe He does it all the time and I just miss them. Today I noticed.

I am home alone today—a rare event for me these days—and I was listening to Brother Andre’s series on Mental Prayer. In it he was reading from Dom Eugene Boylan’s Difficulties in Mental Prayer which got me thinking deeply about my utter dependence on God, even for my own ability to pray to Him. What? I can’t even worship Him, love Him, tell Him I love Him without His help? No, no and no. I do know this. On a certain level, but in another way, how often do I really let that thought settle in, take hold of me and permeate everything I do, think and feel?

I saw myself—maybe for the first time, certainly for the first time in a long time—for what I am, a piece of clay, a lump of mud, a pile of dust. And yet God loves me?

The clay analogy made me think of my daughter who is taking a clay art class this semester in school. She recently gave me one of her rejected items, a cup. She was going to throw it away. She gives her nice pieces as gifts or keeps them herself, but this poor, misshapen cup she was going to toss. I rescued it from oblivion. After all, she made it. Its value lay in its creator, not in the creation itself—which brings me full circle back to my own soul.

My value lies not in the odd look my soul manifests due my own sinful nature, but in the fact that my Creator made me and KEPT ME! He didn’t choose to throw me away, though He certainly could have and based on the mess I’ve made of my cup (at times) He probably should have!

Instead, He keeps me and keeps on investing graces in me, whenever I ask ... and many times even when I forget to ask.

Today Lord, if possible, rewet and rework the original clay into something better. And yet, if it is for Your Greater Glory that I continue to be a misshapen cup, let me serve you as I am.

forgetting what lies behind

Have you ever had a conversation with someone which was so good you were torn between hanging on every word and wanting to grab a pen or a tape recorder so that you could capture every word?

I just had such a conversation. I don’t want to forget it, but already so much of it is slipping away from memory. It was more than the meeting of minds or hearts—although it certainly was that—it was the communion of two souls. After Mass today I very much wanted to tell a lady from our parish who I know and like, but don’t know as well as I’d like to know, that I really appreciated her rendering of the Second Reading from Philippians. It’s a difficult selection and she is a superb lector, but today I could hear the Holy Spirit speaking through St. Paul’s words and her voice. It was a God moment.

Before I had a chance to tell her what I thought about her lectoring, we started talking about women, our need to give, the importance and gift of being able to receive, and special women we both know. Then in a very natural way, the conversation turned to the loss of her husband four years ago and her subsequent walk with grief.

This was not one of those conversations with a woman looking for sympathy. Rather it was the shared insight from a truly Wise Woman.

The husband she described sounded very much like my own husband—a wonderful man, loving, considerate, generous, hard-working, always thinking of others before himself. He used to take care of everything around the house, from doing the grocery shopping to scrubbing the bathroom floors. After he died, she would find herself on her knees scrubbing the floors crying ... thinking ... remembering. There are some things in the past which shouldn’t be forgotten.

But when he died she found her real spiritual work began. She needed to learn to develop in areas which she didn’t even know existed, where he’d been strong for her. It was this inner strength, this holy wisdom, this deep spirituality which I heard when she lectored. I drank it in.

I thought too about my own dear husband and felt a moment of panic, sheer terror actually, as I thought of my own potentially impending future, a time to come without him. What would I do? How could I go on?

She spoke of kind people—dear friends—wanting so desperately to help her in her bereavement and how she helped them in allowing them to help her. We both had tears in our eyes and few spilled over as well. She apologized to me! I felt privileged and honored that she would share her story with me.

We talked about judgments and she said how we are all taught to judge everything, from the weather, to people, to situations. But what a different perspective if instead of judging we choose to look at everything as an opportunity from God to grow. “What do you want me to gain from this O LORD?” And she said oh so much more…

Finally I did get to tell her how much I enjoyed and benefited from hearing her lector today, but by the time I did, I had already gained so much more, well … anyway, it made her happy. And for that LORD, I am truly grateful!

‘Remember not the events of the past,
the things of long ago consider not;
see, I am doing something new!’

Atticus

Atticus is both the book’s title and the name of the main character. Given the name’s connection to a famous novel, we are supposed to associate the ideal father in To Kill a Mockingbird with this father of two grown sons. Atticus is the modern day retelling of one of Jesus’ most beloved parables, The Prodigal Son, or as it is known in some circles today, The Loving Father. The focus of the first title being on the sins of younger son, whereas by changing the title the locus of the story shifts to that of the mercy shown by the all-compassionate father.

Without giving too much of the story away, Atticus is a widower with two sons. The older son, Frank, has obligingly remained close to his father, married, and produced grandchildren. The younger son, Scott, is a rebel. He comes home for a brief – but happy – visit at Christmas and then returns to Mexico where he lives his dissolute life. The next thing Atticus learns, Scott has committed suicide. Atticus flies south of the border to attend to his son’s personal affects and arrange to have his body returned to the United States. What he finds is nothing like what he expected.

I first encountered the author, Ron Hansen, in Mariette in Ecstasy and I was amazed by his insight and story-telling ability. Once again, he has produced a fine work of modern Christian fiction. Unfortunately it will fail to make many Christian book-of-the-month club selections due to some of the more unsavory aspects of human life which Mr. Hansen has chosen to portray. This is a loss, but only for those who refuse to read books because they are easily offended. I can assure sensitive readers that Mr. Hansen never goes out of his way to shock through excess, which is what I take exception to in so much of what masquerades as literature these days.

Although it could just be the locale, Atticus occasionally reminded me of Graham Greene’s 1940 novel, The Power and the Glory. I think it was a bit more than the sun-baked Mexican landscape that had me thinking of Greene’s whiskey priest, however. No doubt the younger son, Scott and his unsavory lifestyle, especially his unwillingness to give up his mistress, was reminiscent of Greene's character. Hansen’s writing, although not yet on par with Greene’s, is exquisite. His book goes down like a cool drink on a hot day.

I’ve always loved the Parable of the Prodigal Son, but then I expect most people do. It’s easy to see oneself and God in it, which is the purpose of all of Scripture. We are called to locate our sinful selves in the place of every sinner in the Bible. This parable has the redeeming quality of a visible, tangible, all-forgiving God who rushes out to meet us—despite what we actually deserve. In Hansen’s book, the father persists in loving his son despite circumstances and actions which seem to render him all but impossible to love. Oh but for such a father when we are similarly unlovable!

Here is a passage from Atticus which says it all:

‘She told him, "When I was in college I read a folktale about a father pursuing a son who'd run far away, from one world to the next. The father called to him, 'Please come back!' But his son looked across the great gulf between them and shouted to him, 'I can't go that far!' So his father yelled to his son, 'Then just come back halfway!' But his boy replied, I can't go back halfway!' And finally his father shouted, 'Walk back as far as you can! I'll go the rest of the way!'"’

Yes Lord, I’m walking … and looking for You! Please come the rest of the way!

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cat cuddles

He looks up at me and cries plaintively. It means, “Pick me up. I am lonely.” Or, perhaps, “I need some affection, a hug—some of your bodily warmth and reassurance. Please hold me and rub me ... until I don’t want it anymore.”

I may read it, “He loves me.” And in his little cat-way, I suppose he does, so far as he is able. But I don’t worry about that. I know what he means. I need ‘picking up’ too. So I pick him up and in the process, he picks me up.

I hold him close, rub his soft fur, feel his warmth and listen to his gentle purr. He’s not a young kitten anymore, but neither am I and so we are well-suited to one another. We sit together for awhile enjoying each other physical presence. It’s nice, very nice and there’s nothing ‘wrong’ with it. When he’s had enough of me, he wriggles free, stops to rub and bump up against my thigh. His sign of affection is to put his kitty forehead next to you and just hold it there ... almost in a position of submissive adoration. It’s so sweet and tender. I just love it. We calling it “bumping”.

While I watch him lick his ruffled coat back into pristine position, I muse: wouldn’t it be wonderful if we humans could do something like this?

Just look up at the person we care about—but don’t begin to understand—and meow, asking to be held? And just imagine if that loved one, a troubled teen or a disgruntled friend or even a struggling co-worker, could hold us in their lap for awhile and rub (or rock) us oh so tenderly and gently for just a little while without fear of ‘weirdness’ or sexual misunderstandings or gossip...

I know I’m being silly, but I think so many of our human problems could be solved if we could just do this.

But we can’t—for obvious reasons.

So we have pets.

Still, when my cat and I have our next cuddle (in about an hour or so) I’m going to think about the person I’m having the most trouble understanding – or loving – and imagine cradling her ... him, offering myself unconditionally and without fear like I do with my cat.

Then I’m going to see myself “bumping” that person: putting my own forehead up against my neighbor in an act of submission, trust and love.

Of course it would never work in “real” life, but oh, isn’t it nice to dream about?

And just think what cat cuddles and bumps – even just those we do in our imagination – could do for our relationships with others?

This Jesus Challenges Me

I use force, and He says, Forgive.

I am afraid, and He says, Take heart.

I doubt, and He says, Trust.

I feel anxious, and He says, Be calm.

I desire to be left alone, and He says, Come, follow me.

I make my plans, and He says, Let's go this way.

I want security, and He says to me, You will be persecuted for my sake.

I want to live, and He says, Give your life.

I believe I am a good person, and He says, That's not enough.

I want to be in charge, to give the commands, and He says, Serve, obey.

I want to understand, and He says, Believe.

I want clarity, and He speaks to me in Parables.

I want poetry, and He speaks of Realities.

I want tranquility, and He wants me To be disturbed.

I think of revenge, and He says, Turn the other cheek.

I speak of peace, and He says, I have come to bring a sword.

I want to hide, and He says, Let your light shine.

I seek out the first place, and He says, Sit in the last place.

I want to be seen, and He says, Pray in secret.

I want to hang on, and He says, Let go.

I want to win, and He says, Surrender.

No, I don't understand this Jesus. He provokes me. He confounds me.

Like many of His disciples I, too, think I would like to follow a different teacher; one who would be more clear, and who would ask less of me.

But it is as true for me as it was for Peter. When Jesus asked the twelve, "Do you also wish to go away?" Simon Peter answered, "Lord, to whom can we go? You have the words of eternal life.

I wish I could claim to have written this, but I didn't. I can only say that every word of it is as true for me as it was for the actual author, a Kenyan priest. My friend, MAM sent it to me and I love it!

Five for Sorrow, Ten for Joy

Five for Sorrow, Ten for Joy refers to the total number of decades in the complete rosary—fifteen ... as it used to be before the addition of the five Luminous Mysteries. It is also Rumer Godden’s title for an incredible book about the lives of women, real women—suffering, tainted, fallen women, modern-day Mary Magdalenes. It is fiction and yet it is set in a very real historical context and based on an actual society of sisters, the Sisters of Bethany, many of whom were former prostitutes and prisoners who through Grace and the ministry of other sisters, gave their lives over to God and ministering to the poor, the outcast and the imprisoned.

The story centers around Lise, or Elizabeth Fanshawe, an innocent, young British woman caught up in the liberation of Paris at the end of World War II. Swept away in the delirious debauchery of the time period, Lise finds herself far from home, and totally dependent on a man who runs a brothel when the post-war madness finally ebbs. Oh, and she has the bad fortune of being in love with him as well.

From the beginning of the story we know Lise has a deforming scar on her face and that she has gone from bordello, to years in prison, only to enter a third form of ‘bondage’, a convent. But why? And how is such a transition possible? Who is Vivi? Why has Lucette followed Lise? What is the significance of the rosary to the English Elizabeth, raised Protestant, turned prostitute, then prisoner, finally cloistered nun? These are some of the many questions the story confronts us with as we try to put all the pieces together.

Ms. Godden’s novel is intriguing from start to finish, both as a story and as a commentary on human weaknesses, the longing for God and the never-ending struggle to overcome the self. Two of my favorite passages are these:

'It was a revelation to the aspirants that the sisters, some of them elderly impressive nuns, filled with quiet holiness, should publicly admit their faults. Could Soeur Imelda de Notre Dame, the calm saintly person, really have snapped sharply at anyone? Could Soeur Marie Dominique have lost her temper? “Then do you go on being you until the end? they could have moaned. “Even after all this trying and training?” “Always,” Soeur Théodore would have told them. It was a good thing Compline finished with a prayer to Mary Magdalen: “Intercede and pray without ceasing for us, Marie Magdaleine, you who are most close to our Lord Jesus.”' (page 156)

'“I wish I had your imperturbability,” said Lise.
It was not just a shell; Lise herself could keep her face and voice in control when in reality she was in turnmoil; this was deeper—the nuns were not perturbed over things like this. “When you have seen as much of God’s providence as I have,” said Soeur Raymonde, as any of the nuns would have said, “seen the unfathomable ways in which He works, if you have any sense at all, you learn not to question or to judge—only to trust.”' (page 212)

Prayer and trust: two simple words, two powers actions.

For those familiar with Ms. Godden’s better known novel, In This House of Brede, Five For Sorrow picks up some of the same themes and re-examines them in a new light. However, although both books deal with convent life, they are totally different stories. Which is better? I’d be hard pressed to say. They are both excellent!

time to remodel

Jesus said: “Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, you hypocrites. You pay tithes of mint and dill and cumin, and have neglected the weightier things of the law: judgment and mercy and fidelity. But these you should have done, without neglecting the others. Blind guides, who strain out the gnat and swallow the camel! “Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, you hypocrites. You cleanse the outside of cup and dish, but inside they are full of plunder and self-indulgence. Blind Pharisee, cleanse first the inside of the cup, so that the outside also may be clean.” ~~Mt 23:23-26

Remember when you were a kid and the teacher really ‘gave it’ to some kid—or group of kids—who really deserved it?! Didn’t you sit there in your chair and secretly (or not so secretly!) smile, feeling rather smug that you’d witnessed justice-in-action? It so often goes the other way that it’s nice when the “bad” guys get their due.

What am I saying? Even as adults, we rather enjoy watching our powerful enemies step in their own traps, embarrassed or brought to shame by excesses or crimes. So to have someone of Jesus’ impeccable reputation chastise the scribes and Pharisees in that way must have been satisfying for his audience.

And yet, I read—or heard—somewhere once that we’re always supposed to put ourselves into every situation in Scripture; that in order to derive maximum benefit from the stories and situations, we have to imagine ourselves capable of every sin committed.

We cannot view the scribes and Pharisees as “other” but that we are them.

Jesus is talking to us.
To me.
I am blind.
I am full of plunder and self-indulgence.
I am in need of cleaning, first on the inside.

Jesus’ harsh admonition in today’s Gospel is a personal invitation to ‘remodel’ ourselves ... myself from the inside out.

I know I have some serious work to do, but with His help, it can be done. He knows my Pharisaical insides and yet He loves me even so. Jesus’ words sound harsh, but just think how beautiful something is after it is remodeled—from the inside out. He alone can do that, because He alone KNOWS me.

It was no coincidence the Responsorial Psalm today is 139. Listen to these beautiful words and be filled with Hope, Joy and Peace:

R. You have searched me and you know me, Lord.
O LORD, you have probed me and you know me;
you know when I sit and when I stand;
you understand my thoughts from afar.
My journeys and my rest you scrutinize,
with all my ways you are familiar.
R. You have searched me and you know me, Lord.
Even before a word is on my tongue,
behold, O LORD, you know the whole of it.
Behind me and before, you hem me in
and rest your hand upon me.
Such knowledge is too wonderful for me;
too lofty for me to attain.
R. You have searched me and you know me, Lord.

Catholic Youth Witness

Sometimes our kids surprise us in good ways.

Saturday when my younger daughter, Michelle, returned from Falls Creek she was so tired she could barely keep awake during Mass. However, after Mass, she hopped in my car, opting to ride home with me rather than her Dad. We arrive at our parish for Vigil Mass in different cars out of expediency, because I get off from work just before I need to be at church which is very close to my place of employment, and not because we don't like each other or particularly like traveling separately. Usually dear daughter (DD) chooses to go home with Dad so she can get in some extra practice driving time; she’s hoping to test for her license next month. I was just flattered she wanted to see me more than she wanted to drive! And after a week’s separation, I confess, my mother’s eyes and ears were hungry for her face and voice.

Last year when she went to Falls Creek, I awaited Michelle's return with trepidation. I hadn’t wanted her to go. She was only fifteen. It had been a difficult year followed by an even more stressful summer. Although I stayed home with and homeschooled our children since infancy, they began attending public school that year—for many reasons. Michelle was in 9th grade; she began wearing make-up, cut and started straightening her hair. She began to look very different … from the outside. But what I wondered – and constantly worried about – was, what was going on, on the inside?

She’d wanted to go to this camp and it threatened to be the big issue of the summer. I asked around. People assured me Falls Creek was lots of prayer, music, preaching, fun and fellowship, but not much sleep. The Baptist counselors would ensure her physical and moral safety. I still had doubts about the spiritual environment. How would she weather that? Was she strong enough to withstand the pressure from 7000 non-Catholic Christians, some of whom would be bent on convincing her that much—if not all—she’d been brought up to believe was wrong? And yet, when was I going to ‘let her go’? When was I going to begin to trust her? She was a good girl, smart, honest, polite (mostly) and worthy of the opportunity. And, she wanted to go so very much…

After much soul searching, prayer, discussion and yes, some anguish, we agreed.

I waited and prayed.

Before Michelle left, I would have described her as an average Catholic, not especially devout perhaps but I knew she received the Sacraments regularly and read her Bible every night before bed. Like many young teens, although she’d been baptized and raised in the Faith from the cradle, she sometimes seemed to take her Faith for granted—or at least that’s how it appeared on the outside. However, that’s also how I’d describe her outward attitude toward family … and yet everyone (including Michelle!) tells me I’m wrong. She cares very deeply; it’s just not “cool” to show such things.

In any event, she returned … not only Catholic, but almost militantly so! The pressure to ‘give her life to Jesus’ offended my DD who was thoroughly convinced she had already given her life over to Jesus Christ. She stood firm—or perhaps stubborn…? Who am I to say? I wasn’t there.

She loved the music, endured the non-stop praying, and spoke of being exhausted. She joked about some of the things she saw and heard there, but took umbrage at others. Her overall assessment, “I’m glad I’m Catholic!”

In April of this year she received the Sacrament of Confirmation.

A few weeks ago when Michelle expressed a desire to return to Falls Creek, I was a little surprised. “I thought you said they prayed too much? And didn’t they try really hard to get you to ‘give your life to Jesus’?” Yes, yes, all that, she agreed, but she still wanted to go. Her friends were going. It was fun. They had a great ropes course!

Also, I knew this could be the last summer before she’d have a regular job which would probably preclude youthful things like camps. So… she went back.


“You know what one of the counselors said to me?” she began recounting her experiences from this year. “We were all dancing to the music and it was so great and everyone was having a wonderful time. And he leans over and says, ‘I bet you don’t have this at St. Philip Neri, do you?’”

Michelle apparently didn’t answer, but she did get angry. The man’s attempt to make a point backfired on him. Instead, she was offended and put off. “You know, Mom, I went there and listened to all that they told me all week long – even though I didn’t agree with a lot of it – and I didn’t tell any of them they were wrong to believe like they do. Why did he have to say that?”

Later she did have a one-on-one with two of the more receptive adult counselors and she told them that although she appreciated her time there, she still couldn’t accept some of their ideas.

For example, Michelle asked, “You mean if I was to kill someone after I ‘accepted Jesus as my Lord and Savior’, I’d still go to Heaven?” ‘Yes’ said the lady. “Well, I can’t believe that,” my daughter answered her. “I believe in sin and forgiveness and going to Confession. And I do believe there is Purgatory.” She told me that she went on to explain things to these adults such as Apostolic Succession, the Sacraments and the Real Presence.

“They didn’t have much to say except that I could always tell Jesus I was sorry anytime I wanted. I know that. But I explained why confessing your sins to a priest is the same as telling them to Jesus.” I wanted to stop the car, pull over to the side of the road and hug her. I kept on driving.

She told me she watched her peers – all of them but her – go up for the ‘altar call’ and still she didn’t go. Why? “When those other kids went up there this week, the adults asked them all these questions and they just kind of went along with whatever they said,” she told me. “But I accepted Jesus a long time ago. I just knew one day, I wanted to do what Jesus wants me to. I don’t remember exactly what day it was, but I know I came and told you.”

I’m sure she did too. I wish I had a better memory. I wish I could recall that wonderful day all those years ago. Sadly, I probably wasn’t paying attention. That’s why I’m writing all this down now … before I forget this incredible testimony. God bless you my dear daughter. I am so very proud of you!

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Priestblock 25487: A Memoir of Dachau

"This was but a prelude; where books are burnt human-beings will be burnt in the end." ~~the German poet Heinrich Heine in 1820

Although I visited Dachau years ago¹ and I've read many books--both fiction² and non-fiction³--dealing with life in concentration camps, I don't recall ever reading any individual accounts specifically about this particular camp, until I encountered this poignant diary by Father Jean Bernard from Luxembourg. Nor do I recall reading about the internment tortures reserved for priests and other Christian ministers.

As I was reading Priestblock 25487: A Memoir of Dachau it was hard not to recall the eerie silence of Dachau's vast empty spaces marking off where derelict huts had once housed skeletons. But for the Grace of God, Father Bernard, too, would have joined the many souls who died there. His memoir is unique in several respects and worth reading, no matter how many books you may have read about the Holocaust.

First, it is about what happened to Christian, both Catholic and Protestant, clergy at the hands of the Nazis. For those who may have thought the Jewish nation alone suffered during those terrible times, they need look no further. In fact, there were punishments vindictive guards delighted in reserving just for priests on special feasts and other holy days.

And yet the strength of the story comes from the author’s intelligence, compassion for his fellows, and lack of self-pity or belaboring the horrors. The suffering endured by these men is beyond imagining; that is sufficient.

However, for me, it was Father Bernard’s unwavering faith in Christ through it all which speaks louder than anything and is the most important reason to read this book.

Worth reading and rereading—a reminder of how blessed we all are...perhaps most especially in our priests!

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¹ 1985 to be precise, just after my husband and I were married. We went together; it was a trip we never forgot!

² The Boy in the Striped Pajamas, I am Bonhoeffer, The Book Thief, The Valley of Light and Angel Girl being some of the fiction I've reviewed here on my blog and on Goodreads.

³ Night, Man's Search for Meaning and Concentration camp Dachau, 1933-1945 are a few of the many non-fiction books on the Third Reich which I've read and reviewed; most of rest I've not gotten around to reviewing yet.

different point of view

Her eyes met mine as she walked down the corridor peering apprehensively into the kennels. I felt her need instantly and knew I had to help her. I wagged my tail, not too exuberantly, so she wouldn't be afraid. As she stopped at my kennel I blocked her view from a little accident I had in the back of my cage. I didn't want her to know that I hadn't been walked today.

Sometimes the shelter keepers get too busy and I didn't want her to think poorly of them. As she read my kennel card I hoped that she wouldn't feel sad about my past. I only have the future to look forward to and want to make a difference in someone's life. She got down on her knees and made little kissy sounds at me. I shoved my shoulder and side of my head up against the bars to comfort her.

Gentle fingertips caressed my neck; she was desperate for companionship. A tear fell down her cheek and I raised my paw to assure her that all would be well. Soon my kennel door opened and her smile was so bright that I instantly jumped into her arms. I would promise to keep her safe I would promise to always be by her side. I would promise to do everything I could to see that radiant smile and sparkle in her eyes.

I was so fortunate that she came down my corridor. So many more are out there who haven't walked the corridors. So many more to be saved. At least I could save one. I rescued a human today.


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It's All About Forgiveness

Last post I was talking about daily meditations. A free on-line service I subscribe to is called Women of Grace. Each day I receive an e-mail like the one in green below. It consists, as you can see, of a quote and a few sentences to assist with reflection—both of which fall within a monthly theme. The theme for December, appropriately enough, is forgiveness.

December 5, 2007

Forgiveness

"Our friends, then, are all those who unjustly afflict us with trials and ordeals, shame and injustice, sorrows and torments, martyrdom and death; we must love them greatly for we all possess eternal life because of them."~~St. Francis of Assisi

For Reflection:What a counter-cultural way of looking at the sufferings imposed upon us by others! How have those who have burdened me with pain and suffering become conduits leading me to eternal life? Can I, then, refuse, to forgive them?

LHLA and Women of Grace 800-558-5452 · http://us.f583.mail.yahoo.com/ym/Compose?To=gracelines@womenofgrace.com · http://www.womenofgrace.com/

Forgiveness. This seems the perfect thing to reflect on as we prepare to celebrate the anniversary of Christ’s birth. After all, that is why He was born into our world, to save us from our sinful selves. We are a forgiven people. . .

. . . a forgiven people who are in turn expected to share that same gift of forgiveness with everyone around us. One of the first things I figured out about Jesus—when I was just a little girl attending Mass and listening to the Gospel Sunday after Sunday—was that whatever He does for us, He expects us to pass on to our brothers and sisters.

Recently my youngest daughter entertained us with a bit of family history which was unknown to all except her, and which, I hope, pertains to this topic. Here is the story she related. One evening, quite a few years ago, when she was at the tender age of six or seven, she snuck down the hall after her bedtime and eavesdropped on my husband and I discussing her behavior that day. In particular, she heard me comparing her to the young man in the parable who initially says, “no” to his father, but then has a change of heart and eventually does his father’s command. (See Matthew 21:28-32, sometimes referred to as The Parable of the Two Sons.) In other words, I was making the wry observation that although my daughter may have been disobedient verbally, her actions belied her true nature, which was good. Perhaps she didn’t hear all of the conversation, or couldn’t understand the loftiness of the Gospel story comparison, but in any event, she thought she was being criticized, rather than praised. In her juvenile mind, life in our home was terribly unfair and she needed to run away . . . that night.

She gathered up her treasured possessions (a stuffed rabbit, a blanket and some toys—all the essentials) and went to sit by our garage door hoping (or so she says) that “someone would find her and ask her to come back.” She laughed at herself when she told this part of the story saying, “Isn’t that silly?”

My husband disagreed. “Not at all. It’s a perfectly natural human longing. We all want someone to go after us and to call us back.” Silently I mused, that is the universal appeal of The Parable of the Lost Sheep—that someone would love us enough to go after us. (Luke 15:3-7) I remember someone coming after me once and I remember how 'loved' I felt.

My dear spouse went on to tell a similar story of almost running away as a boy. Only in his case, his mother helped him pack! We all laughed again—although we’d heard this story many times.

Later my daughter said something which I think was highest compliment she could have ever paid our family.

“You know what I love most about this family? I know that here I will always be forgiven.”

Yes. Me too. That is the best part about our family. It’s the best part about any relationship—the sure knowledge that no matter what foolish things you do, how dirty and destitute you become, how abominably you speak, you will always be taken in, washed up, fed and loved again—warts and all. A rare and precious thing indeed.

All of my favorite parables are about forgiveness. Besides the one above about the Two Sons, I also love the one about The Sinful Woman in The Gospel of Luke. ‘Therefore, I tell you, her sins which were many, have been forgiven; hence she has shown great love. But the one to whom little is forgiven, loves little.’ (Luke 7:47)

And then, of course, there is my all time favorite, The Parable of the Prodigal Son, or as Father Henri Nouwen likes to call it, The Parable of the Loving Father. Very soon I must reread his book, The Return of the Prodigal Son, for the fourth or fifth time. It is awesome.

When I was younger, my empathy used to be for the Prodigal. He traveled to a distant country, used up all of his Father’s money and fell into a state of terrible degradation. I have suffered his shame many times over—the humiliation, the awakening, and finally the long road home to beg forgiveness. Other times in my life—when I’ve been in more self-righteous modes—I’ve had greater compassion for the Elder Son. I mean after all, he does have a point. Why be good and follow the rules, if Little Brother is going to break them all, come crawling back and get off scot free? What is the motivation for being good? Might as well join him in the cesspool, right?

But lately, my whole heart belongs to the Loving Father in the story. When we sin, we leave God (as the Prodigal Son did) or we ask God to leave (as the Elder Son did). Either way, we are saying, "I don’t need you anymore God".

Have you ever been told to leave? Dumped? Told you were extraneous to someone’s existence? Probably there isn’t a person over the age of five who hasn’t experienced this heart-rending and life-changing phenomenon at least once. It can be devastating. Depending on how much you love the person in question, you will know the depth of God’s pain when we do the same thing to Him.

Can God suffer? Do we?

If you have ever received a ‘Dear John’ or ‘Dear Jane’ letter, you know that you have no choice; you have to go. You may not want to, but you have to go. You cannot stay where you are not welcome. So you leave. Then all you can do is wait . . . and hope.

When I got married, my Mom wrote and gave me a letter which I still have. In the letter, she told me that Forgiveness would be essential to my marriage. While I still had St. Paul’s elevated and poetic words of 1 Corinthians 13:4, ‘Love is patient; Love is kind,’ echoing in my ears and newlywed bliss blinding me to all else, my Mother, much wiser, knew the score. She also knew me. At the time, I thought she was being overly pessimistic. Forgiveness? Of course we'll forgive each other . . . when we need to; but we're going to have such a wonderful marriage, so loving, so patient, so perfect. Yes, well, what hopeful new bride doesn't have such fantasies?

God bless St. Paul and all the other ambitious idealists out there. Don’t get me wrong. We need flawless concepts and high-minded values like, 'Patience' and 'Kindness' to aim for—just like old-time sailors needed the stars to steer by. But if abstractions are the night lights, then Forgiveness is the Ship we humans sail in. We wouldn’t last a day in the marital waters – or anywhere else for that matter – without it.

Because we so often fall short of the 'Patience' and 'Kindness' St. Paul set us up to expect from loving relationships, we need Forgiveness all the more. Who in their right mind – even at his best – can get through an hour, even with the most perfect person and still manage to meet all the criteria set out in those four power-packed verses of that loaded Epistle? (And on that score, let me just add that living with a so-called 'perfect person' - according to an extremely reliable, but for obvious reasons unnamed, source – has its own unique crosses.)

It’s as clear to me now, as it was to my Mom twenty-three years ago, that St. Paul was never married. He did, however, have some rather notorious run-ins with people himself. So the author, of ‘All Things Ideal in Love’ didn’t manage to live up to his own sky-high standards either. Thank Heavens!

But then I think St. Paul was describing God’s Love for us—the kind of Love that goes searching for us when we are lost. The kind of Love that won’t let go; which cleans us up when we are dirty; feeds when we are hungry; comforts us when we are sad; forgives us when we don’t deserve it and takes us back again and again and again. I want that kind of Love. I want to emulate that kind of Love. I want to learn how to give that kind of Love.

Am I there yet? No. Not even close.

The other night my daughters had another group piano lesson. They came out from their lesson and I asked them how it went? “Oh about like the recital last year—a public humiliation,” sighed one.

“I do so well at home. I practice and practice and I know the pieces, but then I get out in front of everyone and I mess up. Why is that?” my other daughter asked. Maybe because at home is where you feel safest, I pondered silently to myself. We always do and give our best where we sense the greatest security.

“I don’t know, except that I do it too," I answered aloud, "I know what I should do, but when it comes right down to it, I don’t do it either.”

Wait a minute, I thought to myself! St. Paul said the exact same thing! ‘I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate . . . . For what I do is not the good I want to do; no the evil I do not want to do—this I keep on doing . . .waging war against the law of my mind and making me a prisoner of the law of sin at work within my members.’ (Romans 7:14-15, 19, 23)

Sorry St. Paul! I guess I was harsh and hasty in judging you—two more of my faults—where is that list of my sins so I can write these down as well?

“All I know,” I went on, “Is that I’m glad God is more forgiving than most people, because I sure need it.”

After some more silence, another thought came to me. “I think the real value in failure is that it teaches compassion. If all you ever do is succeed - like those who play the piano perfectly - you don’t understand how it feels to mess up. But since you have experienced public failure, now you can be more understanding and loving and sympathetic to other people when you see them have a bad day or a lousy recital or even . . . something much bigger. There are plenty of times when things like that got me down and no one understood how I felt—which only made me feel worse.”

“And when we do finally get it right, they are going to be so surprised, aren’t they?!” said one of my daughters.

We all laughed. “You’ll amaze and impress them all!” I agreed.

“It’s a little bit like Life. You certainly don’t set out to make mistakes or to be ‘bad’, but sometimes we all fail. I know I have. I can never hope to be a Saint or even a saint—some days I’m just happy to get through. Maybe the best I can hope for is, ‘Most Improved Player’. I pray that when I finally get up there and face God, He’ll lean His head to one side, raise an eyebrow and say, ‘Well you had me going there for awhile. The first seventy years or so were really rocky, but you turned things around after that.”

With His Grace, maybe I won’t even have to wait for twenty more years.

‘A man had two sons; he went to the first and said, ‘Son, go and work in the vineyard today.’ He answered, ‘I will not; but later he repented and went.’ (Matt 21:28-29)

If you have the time, read this blog writer; he says what I was trying to say--twice as well and in a third as many words. http://www.tritebuttrue.com/blog/archives/2007/06/repentance_the.html