Visitors to the Vineyard, pt. 2

Before I left for Mass tonight I was working on a continuation to the previous post, Visitors to the Vineyard. I was writing about how when I left the church after hearing Jesus’ parable explained anew, I resolved to start PAYING ATTENTION to who crossed my path. That homily got my attention and opened my eyes like they had been washed clean in the waters of the Pool of Siloam. I’d resolved to start looking for and really listening to whom God sent my way...

And I have been doing just that. The trouble is that real listening is harder than you think. It’s very hard. So is processing what you hear and learn. I never thought myself a shabby listener before, but now I was trying to be an even better listener. ‘Visitors’ from God coming to ‘obtain...produce’ from my vineyard might come in the form of people needing help or work I need to do—but not necessarily. Work and help are just the obvious examples of our productiveness. There are also ways—known to God alone—in which we grow inwardly: fighting off secret temptations, surrendering our own wills in humility and obedience, struggling to become small, go last, take less or do without. This ‘reverse productivity’ is harder to appreciate because it’s so invisible. But it doesn’t make it any the less real. In fact, I’m inclined to think it’s the harder of the two—well it is for me anyway.

Before I finished the post I was writing—and this isn’t it—it was time for Mass.

The Gospel this week-end is Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead. It’s full of irony and missed messages. Jesus speaks metaphorically about the sleep of death and it goes over the disciples’ heads. He has to explain what He means plainly. Jesus wants to teach about the glory of God and Thomas talks about becoming a martyr. Meaning hangs like a thick fog over the entire story and yet nobody is listening to what Jesus is trying to say.

And in the middle of it all, Jesus weeps.

Tonight at Mass, Father’s homily was based on the premise, ‘And Jesus Wept’—the shortest verse in all of Scripture. But did Jesus weep as it says in the Gospel just because he loved his friend Lazarus?

Or were there other reasons why Jesus might have cried? I immediately thought of a pie chart e-mail a friend sent me recently entitled, ‘Why Women Cry’. Answer: 10% of the time because we're happy; 10% because we're sad; the other 80%, we don't know!

Could Jesus have been frustrated? Scared? Upset? Discouraged? Confused? Disheartened by his friends’ lack of belief? Their failure to understand Him? Did He experience a premonition of impending death? Was He feeling lost and alone in the middle of that crowd—their God who loved them and was about to die for them and they just didn’t get it.

Based on my own experiences this Lent, I’d say Jesus had good reason to cry. Real listening and communicating from the heart are the hardest things a human being ever does. We want so very much to be known and understood. It is probably the greatest and deepest longing of the human heart. And yet those thoughts and feelings which mean the most to us, are often those which frighten us and others.

Do we run the risk of sharing them? Or do we play it safe and remain quiet? Or do we just cry?

People don’t always want to listen or see or understand. In fact, we very often don't want to... I know.

I’m so sorry Jesus for all the times I failed to listen to You ... refused to listen ... that I made You cry.

Forgive me.

Visitors to the Vineyard

‘Jesus began to speak to the chief priests, the scribes, and the elders in parables. “A man planted a vineyard, put a hedge around it, dug a wine press, and built a tower. Then he leased it to tenant farmers and left on a journey. At the proper time he sent a servant to the tenants to obtain from them some of the produce of the vineyard....’ Mark 12:1-2

On March 7th of this year—two days before Lent started—I had this familiar parable ‘opened up’ for me. Although these are not the words of the sweet little monk who gave the extemporaneous homily on this Gospel, here is my poor rendering of his beautiful revelation:

We usually think of this story of Jesus’ as addressed to the Jewish people of Biblical times. They are the bad tenants who mismanage God’s vineyard, who beat, ‘treat shamefully’ and kill all the prophets sent to them over the centuries, until finally He, the Son is sent. Jesus is foretelling His own brutal death at the hands of those among the people who were jealous and afraid of Him. And certainly St. Mark confirms Jesus’ story has struck a nerve with the audience, for further on in the same narrative, the evangelist writes: ‘They were seeking to arrest him, but they feared the crowd, for they realized that he had addressed the parable to them.’ Mark 12:12

This can leave those of us who have come after with the comfortable feeling that in this parable at least we are the ‘good guys’. As Christians, Jesus isn’t talking to or about us.

But there’s another way of looking at this parable.

Suppose instead the vineyard is an analogy for each one of us. What if we are the vineyard? God has ‘planted us’ and leased us to ourselves—we remain His; we certainly do not belong to ourselves.

When the time comes, He will send His servants to us. They will come in many shapes and sizes. We will probably not recognize them anymore than the Jewish people recognized God’s messengers of old.

They will come to us as they did to the Israelites, as natural disasters (plagues), as war/acts of terrorism (foreign invaders), as the inarticulate (Moses), military leaders (Joshua), crazy men (Saul), boy upstarts (David), quarreling couples (Samson and Delilah), adulterous politicians (also David), beauty queens (Ester), weepy youths (Jeremiah), grumpy runaways (Jonah), loudmouth ascetics (John the Baptist), dreamers (both Josephs) and unwed mothers (Mary). If you take away their Scriptural significance, can you imagine a motlier group?

They are us.

They are also visitors to our vineyards.

How many have we ignored? Beaten? Verbally, if not physically? Killed? Either emotionally, spiritually or mentally?

God will keep sending them to us, to His vineyard. He did the planting. He is coming to collect His produce. Eventually the visitors will be replaced with the Visitor, Jesus.

Oh Lord, I thank You for that wonderful priest, Your son and the amazing insight You shared with him. I have had many visitors to my vineyard since that day: rude drivers and good friends; the disgruntled and self-satisfied; family and strangers. There have been many messages from You I welcomed, some I learned from, a few I still don’t understand and others causing me horror and great pain.

Whatever my feelings or thoughts, I thank You for helping me see that they all come from You. Please help me continue to accept each and every visitor You send, as someone sent by You to help prepare me for Jesus’ Second Coming.

Worth Doing

“If a thing's worth doing it's worth doing badly.” ~~G.K. Chesterton

Today they buried my friends, Rose and Dave. In spite of how violently they died, how much publicity the crime has received, and how packed the church was, it was a solemn, beautiful Mass of Christian burial followed by full military honors for Dave who retired from the Air Force after 24 years. The Freedom Riders turned out in large numbers to line the street with flags and stand at attention for the salute and playing of Taps.

The weather also cooperated. It’s a perfect spring day here in Oklahoma—the sun’s shining, there’s a crisp breeze and yet it’s still not too hot.

So why the quote?

The funeral was lovely, a fitting tribute to my unforgettable friend, Rose and her devoted husband—all anyone could have asked for and more.

This morning as I was getting ready to go, I felt so strangely at peace, more so than I’ve been since I first heard the awful news. I knew without a doubt I was supposed to be a Communion minister today. I’ve never been a Communion minister at a funeral before; very often they don’t need extraordinary ministers, especially not when you have two priests and a deacon presiding as was the case today. When one is required, usually it’s the Mass Coordinator. But somehow, it just seemed right. Rose was the one who told me I could bring Holy Communion to the homebound years ago when I couldn’t fathom such an honor.

“But what if I mess it up?” I think I probably asked her back then.

“How will they know?!” She probably answered. I can just imagine her thinking, “Silly rabbit! Stop worrying and just bring them Communion! These sick people need your help. Perfectionists! Yeesh!”

She gave me a pyx, a book of prayers, a bunch of holy cards and sent me on my way. I was hung up on doing things “right”. Rose didn’t worry about that so much. Oh sure she tried to follow the big rules so far as they went. But she was more about visiting the person, seeing that each sick friend—and anyone in a hospital bed was her friend, whether she knew them or not—had Communion if they were Catholic, and magazines, candy, fast food or whatever else she could smuggle into the hospital, if they weren't.

Today I was the only lay extraordinary minister at my friend’s funeral. This morning, I told her that if it was God's Will, I'd really like to do it. I guess it was. Anyway, like so many other things I know I’ve done, it was worth doing—however I did it—because it wasn’t about me. None of it is about us, which is why it doesn’t matter so much how well we do it, but the love we put into it. Rose—and God—know how much her gifts meant to me over the years. Oh sweet Lord, let me be a ‘Rose’ for others.

And now she gave me another gift by helping me discover the courage to do something else I’ve never done. Thank you dear friend. One of the most beautiful things about getting older and losing dear ones is that it makes your own death less scary. Each time I can count one more soul ‘over there’ to welcome me when it’s my turn. Not such a bad thing when you think about it.

Thank you God for letting me be Catholic. Help me keep on ‘doing it’...however badly.

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.

Letting go means finding

I asked God for all things that I might enjoy life. God gave me life that I might enjoy all things.

We’re snowed in again here in Oklahoma.

So I'm at home—working, writing, cleaning, doing laundry, etc. When I saw a big pile of stuff my daughter had put in the back room to donate to the next agency calling to pick up our ‘give aways’ I was inspired. Time to scour the shelves and closets looking for things I can ‘harvest’ and prepare to pass along.

Immediately I set to work.

Here’s something—a tape series on mentoring your teen. And how about this, some old homeschooling stuff. Don’t need that anymore for sure. So as I cleaned off a side table in the corner of the front room making piles, going through papers, books and things I hadn’t looked at in months, maybe years, dusting and rearranging I discovered some spiritual material from a long ago retreat which I could use for a meeting this week-end. Wonderful! Thanks God! I can’t remember the last time I saw that.

And then! Then!

My CAT NOTEBOOK! What?




My what? My Cat Notebook! This was given to me by my Mother-in-Law on the 28th of January 1988. It’s only a paperback book, roughly 8 x 10 consisting of (originally) blank pages, cat quotes and now bulging fat from all the cards, newspaper articles, stories, poems and miscellaneous truisms I’ve pasted in it. It’s a treasure chest of booklady wisdom collected over the years, meaningful only to me but very dear because of who gave it to me and all the odds and ends I’ve stuck in it. I’ve shared it with my husband, Mom, very special friends, and both my daughters at various times.

It has been “lost” for the past year or more. I’ve searched high and low for it but couldn’t remember where I put it, who (if anyone) I loaned it to or what could have happened to it. I tried not to worry but I missed it numerous times.

It made me smile. Another beautiful lesson: I needed to let go of some things in order to find what was lost.

Now! Let’s see what else I can get rid of! ☺

‘With the qualities of cleanliness, discretion, affection, patience, dignity, and courage that cats have, how many of us, I ask you, would be capable of being cats?’ ~Fernand Mery

And as I typed that last letter, my faithful CAT meowed to let me know he had followed me into yet another room ... as he has been doing all day long. ☺

Persistence + Patience = Progress

I did not want to get out of bed this morning. I was tired from yesterday’s exertions and it was warm under the covers. But I had an appointment to go meet with my trainer at the gym. Ugh! That was the very last thing I wanted to do. My days off from work were making me even lazier than normal.

If there had been a max on the snooze button, I would have reached it. Finally I got up. Was it Grace or my Guardian Angel? I know I don’t deserve the credit.

The snow was coming down in small flakes when I arrived at the nearly deserted gym. I admitted my lack of ambition to my trainer. “Good for you for coming anyway!” she cheered me on. While I appreciated her encouragement, I little thought I deserved it.

Surprisingly even though I had been mostly sedentary during the week, I had a good, if moderate, work out. No gold medals here unless they give them for showing up and hanging in there...

Later back at home, it was almost the same struggle to make myself pray.

I don’t feel like praying God. What is “praying” anyway? I’m just saying words... I guess this is what they mean when they talk about dryness... My prayers are like sawdust... Do they mean anything? Where is the inspiration? What is the point? Hello?! Are You even listening God?

You know some days God, I get a little irritated with You. You could make this a little easier, couldn’t You? I mean after all I am trying to do this right. Why don’t you at least tell me like my fitness trainer does, “Good for you for showing up and praying anyway!”

It would be nice to get some feedback. (sigh) Do you hear me God? I keep showing up and saying these prayers. Sometimes it feels like I’m just opening my warm house and letting all the heat out—to be swallowed up in the immense winter freeze outdoors. The ‘heat’ of my prayers seems to dissipate as fast as I generate them. What’s the point? Is there any?

My prayers are finished.

I pick up my phone and read a text from someone I spent a deal of time trying to help yesterday. I prayed for her, listened to her, talked to her, listened and prayed and prayed some more. Today she writes that what was troubling her yesterday is much better. She’s even laughing about what was causing so much pain.

As I read her words I realize I just got my prayer answer and my “atta girl”. They didn’t come the way I expected.

You never answer me the way I think You will God—but You always answer me. Thank You God! Forgive me for my lack of faith.

You are so faithful. I KNOW I can count on you. Why do I doubt? Have patience with me God.

Help me to keep ‘showing up’ every day, every day, and every day for my prayer time—no matter what.

In time, this patient persistence will equal progress; will result in an unswerving faithfulness that never questions You or Your purposes. I ask this in Your Son's Name.

See what the Holy Father says about Prayer.

God bless you dear readers!

“Can you drink the cup?”

‘Then the mother of the sons of Zebedee approached him with her sons and did him homage, wishing to ask him for something. He said to her, “What do you wish?” She answered him, “Command that these two sons of mine sit, one at your right and the other at your left, in your kingdom.” Jesus said in reply, “You do not know what you are asking. Can you drink the cup that I am going to drink?” They said to him, “We can.” He replied, “My cup you will indeed drink, but to sit at my right and at my left, (this) is not mine to give but is for those for whom it has been prepared by my Father.” Matthew 20:20-23

I just returned from retreat—my first ever work-related retreat. Our retreat master, a nurse by profession—who for the past thirteen years has been working for our archdiocese in a service capacity—is one of those dynamic people who radiates enthusiasm and joy. She chose the above Scripture passage for our theme.

Using the analogy of ‘the cup’ as representing our own life, or God’s Will for us, we were invited to examine holding, lifting and finally drinking the cup. In the first step, we had the opportunity to see how we accept and embrace the lives we are given—in all their idiosyncrasies, mystery, pain, wonder and totality. We were entertained by many stories, some happy, others bittersweet which served to remind that God fills our cups with many varied things.

The second step, lifting or tipping the cup, was the act of community. Last night we even had a little ceremony where we held, clinked and drank from matching stoneware chalices in a symbolic opportunity which showed us visually our connectedness to each other. The beauty and vitality in this transitional movement is that to reach the point of being able to ‘drink from the cup’ we must first recognize the other. Your cup is different than mine. It may look the same on the outside—or not—but it certainly contains different things on the inside. When our cups touch, I acknowledge you and you do the same for me. Such a simple, old-fashioned notion, but oh so desperately needed in the world today.

And finally, I drink of my cup. It is in this action I am joining Christ and accepting the Father’s Will in humble, trustful surrender. Some days it is easy to drink from my cup; other days it is not. But it remains mine and mine alone to drink to the very bottom.

I’ve been trying to take a retreat ever since I started this job. I’ve needed something like this for ages. So often I say, ‘I’m too busy right now. I can’t get away. I’ve got all this work to do.’

And it’s true ... I do have all this work to do. And even more things here at home that I need and want to do. That’s my cup: full-time job which is also a ministry; good marriage I want to keep strong; a busy family life and extended family close and spread all over the country; friends in town and out; a home to care for; and many activities I like to do.

It is a very full cup, but probably no more full than most other people today. Very gingerly I lift my cup to you. Tell me about your cup. Then we can tip our cups together and drink of Our Father's Will.

prayer journeys

I’ve often wondered if prayer is such a good thing, why is it so difficult to maintain? Oh sure it’s easy to begin to pray or say you’re to going to develop your prayer life or that you want to deepen your relationship with God through more consistency in prayer, but how many of us find that after a week or two, or maybe even a couple months we hit a wall?

Or maybe something big changes in our life, like a new job, marriage or baby and suddenly the time and routine which we’d formerly devoted to prayer, is now consumed by duties too important to neglect. We’re overwhelmed and it’s easy enough to let the prayer slip into whatever time and space is left over.

As for myself, I justified my recent neglect of private prayer by saying, “But I go to Mass almost every day. Isn’t that good enough?” No! The Mass is the chief or central act of communal worship in the Catholic Church and there is nothing which can replace it. I would not miss any opportunity to go to daily Mass, however, it is not a substitute for my individual prayer time with God. I need both. I need to go away from everyone and spend time alone with the Father—just as Jesus did so often, as we are repeatedly told in the Gospels. When I do this, I find a world within myself where He dwells. I discover that still small voice.

We are all on a spiritual journey. For most of us, I suspect, it isn’t along a superhighway. I know I’m traveling the back roads. Lately, I think I’m not even on a road at all. It feels like God has taken me out of any motorized vehicle and is leading me along an unexplored path through a wooded area. He has me by the hand but I can’t see the way ahead at all. Maybe it is night time or He could have me blindfolded. In any event, the effect is the same; I’m completely dependent on Him to take me where He wants me to go. For someone who is a planner and organizer, this is not a comfortable position to be in. I have to trust Him utterly. I can’t stop praying—not because I’m good or self-disciplined but more out of a sense of desperation.

I don’t know if this means my prayers are less efficacious because they are as necessary as drinking water or breathing, but I suppose it doesn’t matter. I do wonder sometimes how many different levels we pray on. When I am very relaxed and praying the rosary, I’ll be contemplating Our Lord’s actions in one of the mysteries and yet I am also aware of being very conscious of my plea to Our Lady, “Pray for us!” Today when that happened, I wondered if one was the spirit and the other the mind or if they were both just simultaneous thoughts of the mind. I suppose that's not really important either ... just my random musings. Of course, that’s not to say, there aren’t other times, when I’m not concentrating on any level, so please don’t think I don’t have my fair share of distractions. I do!

I’m still very much a child of prayer, taking stumbling steps.

Oh Jesus, You have brought us safely thus far. Please continue to watch over us as we continue on our individual and collective journeys, always traveling toward You, the only and ultimate destination.

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 13 - How Do I Read?

‘For whatever was written previously was written for our instruction, that by endurance and by the encouragement of the scriptures we might have hope. May the God of endurance and encouragement grant you to think in harmony with one another, in keeping with Christ Jesus, that with one accord you may with one voice glorify the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ.’ Romans 15:4-6

How do I read?

What a thought-provoking question!

In case you don’t know by now, I’m not choosing the titles of these blog posts. They are coming from the titles of each chapter in the book by Reverend Mills. Often they are a meditation unto themselves—as is the case here.

How do I read?

How we do something—as we all know—makes all the difference in everything that we do. Most actions accomplished half-heartedly, aimlessly or with a distracted mind might as well be left undone. We all know what God thinks of lukewarm lovers. Be on-fire for Him or be gone.

So again I ask: how do I read?

S lowly, taking time for each thought, each phrase to dissolve into me.
C arefully, being as gentle with a word as I would with The Word.
R eflectively, savoring subtle meanings, like delicate flavors of a fine wine.
I ntrospectively, letting everything I read filter down through my journey.
P rayerfully, seeking the Father, through His Son, by the power of the Spirit.
T hankfully, bowing humbly before the Source to all Life and Grace.
U niversally, acknowledging my nothingness except as His child.
R everently, loving Him utterly for all He has done; striving to do the same.
E veryday! Everyday! Everyday!

How I read is as important as what I read.

Day 11 - God Doesn’t Give Handouts

‘Jesus began to teach them that the Son of Man must suffer greatly and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed, and rise after three days. He spoke this openly. Then Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him. At this he turned around and, looking at his disciples, rebuked Peter and said, “Get behind me, Satan. You are thinking not as God does, but as human beings do.” He summoned the crowd with his disciples and said to them, “Whoever wishes to come after me must deny himself, take up his cross, and follow me.”’ Mark 8:31-38

There’s an old Chinese proverb which says, “Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime.”

I’m a teacher. It’s my vocation, my charism; it’s in my blood. I taught my baby sister to read when she was three and I was thirteen and then went on to organize a summer neighborhood nursery school camp for her and her little friends which I ran for the next three summers. I wasn’t going to charge for it, but the mothers of the tots—children I babysat for—all insisted. Still my profits were nil because I reinvested every nickel I made in treats, art supplies and games for the kids. In the military I was a part-time instructor. When I got out it was to homeschool my own children. Now I’m the Director of Religious Education for my parish. What can I say? I love to learn and I love to share that love of learning with others.

Some lessons are harder than others. One of the hardest is this one: God, and your fellow man, are here to give you a hand up, but not a hand out. There’s a difference—a big difference. Ultimately, my destiny is my own responsibility. It is the result of my own choices. Every time something happens to me, I have a choice. I can accept what happens or I can whine, complain, and blame others for my circumstances. I wish I could say I never resort to those childish forms of behavior—that I always cheerfully accept whatever circumstances I encounter. I wish that were true, but it isn’t . . . yet. I’m still working on it.

That’s why I like this chapter so much. I need this reminder. In the next hour or the next day, something will happen which I don’t like. I can focus on those things or I can keep my eyes on what I can do, my next goal, what lies ahead.

My oldest daughter graduates from high school tomorrow. I’m feeling many things as I look ahead to this milestone. Fortunately I’ve been so busy lately; I haven’t had a moment to think about my feelings concerning this event, which swing from excited to sad and from proud to lonely all in the space of five minutes. Last night we went out to help some friends who were hit hard by the May 10th tornadoes clear trees. My house needed cleaning and I was tired from a full day at work, but somehow—with His Grace—I found the energy to do everything. Best of all I forgot about my daughter growing up, graduating and moving away.

Life changes and moves on. Today I went to a funeral—always a good reminder of the brevity of this life. I know that mine is going by at a break neck speed! In the meantime, if I can lend someone a hand up, I hope I do.

And I pray that somewhere along the line I taught my daughter to fish—literally and spiritually.

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.

Embrace Life!

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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Max and Benedict

Shhh! Don't anyone tell but I got this book for my pastor for Christmas.

Today I read and really enjoyed it. Personally I think it's better than Joseph and Chico, Ms. Perego's first children's book about Pope Benedict XVI. I'm not sure exactly why but I think because it doesn't read like a biography forced into a children's story. For me, Max and Benedict seemed to flow. It sounded like what it was, 'a bird's eye view of the Pope's daily life', a story told by a little bird about a gentle, quiet, scholarly man of the cloth.

My pastor (who doesn't want anyone to know what a nice guy he is) leaves bird seed just outside my office window most mornings. I know it's him because I've 'caught' him doing it a few times. A little bird must have told him I like to watch the birds ... or did he just catch me staring out the window so often he figured it out on his own? The secretaries tell me he'd planned to cut down the tree and bushes in our little shared courtyard sanctum and turn the area into office space. Now he's putting out birdseed?

Yes, we do need the office space, but we need that little bit of private nature even more.

I hope that Max in Jeanne Perego's charming little tale wins his heart and convinces him to keep the birds. Perhaps among all the birds feeding outside our windows, there is a little Max observing, singing and telling a story of our parish and the kind pastor who pretends to be so gruff ... but really isn't.

Read and share this sweet story. Thanks to my friend and the parish 'Cookie Monster' for the recommendation! And may you have a very Happy Birthday dear Lyn!

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Enough Crosses

Tonight my husband and I were discussing our daughters and their boyfriends. As is usually the case when this subject comes up, we marvel over how different things are today—compared with how they were when the two of us were in high school light years ago. Then we review the current relationships situation and finally we move on to possible outcomes. This evening my husband took the doom-and-gloom perspective; usually that’s my role.

Listening to him, it suddenly occurred to me, “What do I want for my daughters?” Not just in these teenage romances, nor even their education objectives or career goals, but what are my dreams for my children for the rest of their lives? Do I even have any? Have I envisioned their future? How do I love and pray for them?

I thought about parents who want or expect their offspring to become doctors, lawyers, priests, mothers, musicians—without taking into account God’s plan for those children. Do I do that? I don’t think so; I hope not.

I started seeing this ‘letting go and letting God’ philosophy from a much broader and bigger vantage point. So what do I want for the girls?

I don’t know.

Some days I don’t know how to work out my own life, what I should do next, if I need to change this or get rid of that—how can I possibly be qualified for this huge responsibility of parental authority figure? In one sense I’m not qualified and never will be. But in another, I’m qualified by virtue of the fact that these children have been given to me by God.

After some thought I told my husband, “It all comes down to this: I want them to go to Heaven. I don’t know how they’re going to get there. It may be that like their silly old mom, they have to go down some dead-end streets, over a few waterfalls, even a cliff or two, take plenty of detours and always always always carry a cross ... or two.” So in the end, the ‘how’ doesn’t matter. It’s the getting there that matters.

I’m a mom who loves her children. Very much. But even so, I don’t love my children anymore than the Lady of Sorrows. Without Her Son’s Cross none of us could ever reach Heaven.

My oldest daughter collects crosses and crucifixes of all sorts. She has quite a collection as you can see. She started her collection at her First Communion when she received several crosses as gifts. Since then, we’ve continued to give her unusual crosses as gifts for other special occasions. It has made me more aware of the Cross as sacred symbol.

On this the Feast of the Exaltation of Holy Cross, I pray my children, husband and I have enough crosses to get us to Heaven.

What is that?

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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