Rejoicing when I don't want to

It seems there's so much wrong in the world right now, and in our state, and country, and town, streets, neighborhoods, and classrooms, that is frustrating. So much injustice. So much hurt. So much blame to go around.

So much bothering me right now- babies being slaughtered, people being killed, people being hurt, people hurting in so many ways, that I was finding it really hard to pray today.

I just wanted to shout at God that it wasn't fair.

And that's when I was reminded that He knew that. That He knew it wasn't fair. That His Heart was broken, too, and that He didn't understand why any of His children could act the way they did. He knew, and He came into the world anyway. He came down and suffered beside us, instead of fretting and worrying and shouting from afar. He came not only to conquer death, but He came to give us hope. He walked this path in this world we live, but He walked it with no sin. He suffered beside us and along us, and so much more than us, while He was himself blameless.

He willingly choose to enter this world, knowing the hurt, the pain, the brokenness that existed. And He choose to come anyway. He chose to love anyway.

Sometimes the not being able to do anything when a loved when is hurting is just so incredibly hard to watch. Not being able to take away the pain of losing a spouse. Not being able to "do" anything when it seems that someone you love so very much is spinning a world of hurt, and has been for so long, that the person doesn't seem to notice the hurt anymore. And it's really tough when you want to shout out the help, to instead help them to learn to laugh again. It's really, really hard, to go down into the hurt. At least for me. It's so much easier to stay out of the pain and try to pretend like everything is all fine and dandy. It's so easy to be selfish.

Because in the middle of my trying-really-hard-not-to-be-angry-but-still-being-angry attitude, I heard the Psalm at mass tonight. "Let us go rejoicing to the house of the Lord." Rejoicing? When people are hurting?

Well... the Gospel had something more to say about that:

LK 8:19-21
The mother of Jesus and his brothers came to him
but were unable to join him because of the crowd.
He was told, “Your mother and your brothers are standing outside
and they wish to see you.”
He said to them in reply, “My mother and my brothers
are those who hear the word of God and act on it.”

Yes. Rejoicing. Rejoicing that God loved us enough to come and suffer beside us. Rejoicing that He told us that when we act on His word, we are His family. When we act. When we do what he did. When we go into the sad parts, and the hurting parts, and offer ourselves. And that we should rejoice because Our God does understand how hard this is.
So my prayer today ended up changing from whining to asking for the strength to push in. Even if it is just hugging someone. I need to do more. I need to step outside the selfishness of "me" and find ways to help.

The sum of the little things can outweigh something larger

Sometimes strangers can leave quite an impression.

I'm at a debate tournament this week... which means staying in a hotel, and going back and forth between other hotels with several thousand debate students, coaches and judges.

On the first day, I was cheerfully greeted by a custodian who was cracking jokes and succeeding in getting most of the people around him to smile. His joy was contagious. That was the most noticeable thing about him. The second most noticeable thing was the crucifix around his neck.

And then... seeing him again yesterday, again cheerful, again spreading joy. Again wearing the cross of Christ.

That's not the type of witness you see everyday. But that's the type of witness that makes a difference.

You see, this man's day had been made so much more difficult by the swarm of 500 people waiting to use the elevator that he also needed to use. But instead of complaining... instead of being angry, he chose to use the time as an opportunity to spread joy.

He was carrying a cross... and that's what made the crucifix around his neck stand out all the more powerfully.

He wasn't doing a mighty deed of courage, or performing some large sacrifice that would be noticed by those around him. He was offering a small sacrifice with joy... maybe so routinely that he no longer saw it as a burden. And that's what made it so powerful.

I read a powerful quote yesterday about the importance of the little things.

"A drop of rain is also a small matter; yet every rain, the heaviest as well as the lightest, is made up of drops."

Those "small drops" can sometimes be the most difficult things to do... not because of the difficulty they pose. In fact, the ease of fulfilling some of these is part of what can make it difficult. Difficult to see the importance. But without that, without the little things, the bigger things grow impossibly hard.

The little things, frequently done, add up to a lot. The great things look grand... they're things we aspire to, and see as praiseworthy. They're things we see as worthwhile. The little things are hard in their littleness. In the humility required to embrace them. The little things betray a lifetime, not a mere moment, of virtue when we see them.

And this person was able to point that out through his actions. I wish I'd thanked him for that witness, for teaching me a lesson without preaching, without thinking about it. Because in those two short encounters, I was blessed to see that little acts can be so much more powerful than great ones.

Trying to listen

This morning I was getting ready to leave for work, and opened the door to the porch only to notice a bird flying frantically around. I quickly stepped back and shut the door, not wanting to let the bird come into the house! I went out the other door, and opened the door to the porch from the outside, hoping that it would notice and fly out the door. The bird noticed the change. But he didn't fly for the open door. No, this bird flew directly... into the window. This process repeated itself several times, as I heard three or four thumps, only to look each time and see the little bird perched safely on the windowsill.

I had to leave for work, which meant shutting the door, and leaving the little bird to fend for itself.

Ok... so... entertaining story. But, then this afternoon happened.

I walked into the church after work, and, noticing that a gentleman was praying near the tabernacle, went to a pew and began to pray. A few minutes later, the gentleman left the area, beginning his usual walk around the church to pray.

A few moments later, I noticed he was standing beside me. I glanced up. "Well?" He started, then paused, looking at me. "You can have Him."

I smiled, and a moment later, got up... because yes... I did want to spend some quiet time with Jesus. But this man's act... well... that struck me profoundly.

So I went over to pray, but I had a really hard time focusing, as this encounter kept popping into my mind. When's the last time that I "let someone have Jesus"? Or do I tend to treat this relationship as one that I don't want to let others into? That I don't want to share?

As much as I SAY that I want others to have that encounter with Him, do my actions really show it?

And then the morning came flooding back to me. At first, my thoughts were just on how a bird is a beautiful symbol for the Christian people. This is particularly evident in painting from the middle ages. The tie-in to the Eucharist... especially with pelicans. A parish near me, St Mary's in Oskaloosa actually has a pelican carved into the altar. The thought used to be that a pelican would, when it couldn't offer its babies the nourishment they needed, tear into its own flesh and feed them its blood to sustain them. What appears more helpless, and is thus a better image than the way we so desperately come to our Saviour than that image of a baby bird, mouth wide open so that He can feed us from His very self? (Pelicans have always been my favourite bird... learning this legend just made them more fascinating to me!)

Pelican feeding young window

But the image of the bird crashing into the window kept popping into my mind. So I reflected on that a bit more. And as the image grew clearer, so to did the message. This bird was desperately trying to get back outside. To get out of the trap. And he was trying oh so very hard to do so. But he was only willing to fly back and forth from window to window, and not to fly out the door wide open that he didn't know anything about.

But it's so shiny and pretty! Ouch! I just want to go outside!

Yep. That sounds familiar. And that thought shook me. Because in trying to find God on my own, and not looking at the door He has opened, well, I'm bound to keep crashing into the glass. Seeing the outside, but never able to get there.

So... that door is there. And unlike me to the bird this morning, God's not going to shut the door on me and leave me alone to find my own way through it. The door will be open... I just need to find a way to stop stubbornly aiming for the window.

Set the world on fire

I wasn't intentionally pondering St Catherine's famous quote this morning because it was her feast day.

It's well known, and with good cause. This single quote seems to sum up the life and message of this mystic saint, and doctor of the Church.

St Catherine challenges all Christians to live a life of discipleship. Of radical trust and encounter. Of mission and service.

Frankly, her words should shake us. They are very bit as radical and terrifying today as they were in the 14th century. The world is different, but her battle cry to all the baptized is not.

By virtue of our baptism, we are all called to "set the world ablaze".

And we are called to do that each day. In each opportunity given to us.

Sometimes, that means speaking out.

And sharing the truth.

It always means cultivating our own interior life of prayer. It always means deepening our relationship with Christ. Sometimes, I think it's easy to get wrapped up in the things that need to be done... and it's so very easy to move the box "God" down further on the list. Maybe that's just like any other checklist I write, where the most important thing is always the thing I put off the longest. But in this case, it never postpones something, it actually slows me down with all the other things! Because the God part of life isn't separate from the rest of life.

He's there, beside us always. Even when we don't sense Him. Even when we are simply so unaware of what the lack of His presence would mean that we just continue on, blithely ignoring Who surrounds us.

Set the world ablaze. You. Me. That guy you see buying the same thing at the supermarket each Tuesday. The girl who walks with her eyes cast at the ground. The little boy playing in the pool. You. Me.

We are charged with setting the world on fire. We are charged with spreading the Gospel. Today. Each day. We can't do that without a fire in our hearts, burning with love for God. We can't do that when we choose to live lives of lukewarm complacency. We can only do that if we commit. If each day we ask God to make the fire in our hearts stronger, so that it cannot be contained.

St Catherine of Sienna, pray for us.

The Beauty of God's Creation

Sometimes I get so wrapped up in my thoughts that I forget to look around and see the sheer beauty God gives us in nature.

As I was driving home tonight, three deer ran out in front of my car. Gorgeous animals. Strong. Sleek. Graceful. Beautifully built.

I braked. And mentally paused a bit.

A few minutes later, I had to pull over to take this shot.

The artistry of God's handwork is only complimented by the simple beauty of the country church.

Simplicity is a beautiful thing. It's clean. And pure. And innocent. And such a great symbol for how our hearts should be in the light of our Lord.

Now if only that tacky looking sign weren't there ruining the beauty ;) I jest... but that too, speaks of our tendency to overcomplicate the beautiful and the simple. Sometimes the sunset alone is enough.

Mercy and trustful surrender

Sometimes I think one of the most difficult things about being a Christian is not just the laying down of my desires on the altar and the picking up of my cross, but in getting outside of myself enough to even see which things are my desires and which are God's.

For the last year, I've been one of those people who walks in a church and almost immediately the tears start. They might not be constant... but I've learned to bring some kleenex! The words in prayer don't come very often. And sometimes as I am there, trying not to draw attention to myself, not to cry, and to focus, I'm just so taken in by the awesomeness of God... that the tears just won't stop. I've learned that its a different sort of prayer, and while it might not be the rosary, or the words I think I want to say to God, it's what I need at the moment. To just be in the presence of my Lord.

So today was one of those days. I was blessed to be able to attend the last hour of a Divine Mercy Celebration including confession, adoration, benediction and the singing of the Chaplet of Divine Mercy. I've never been to an event quite like this and it was a truly beautiful thing to see so many Catholics gathered in prayer. The church was packed! Such a great sight!

I've found the message of St Faustina and Divine Mercy to be compelling since I first picked up a pamphlet on it at my parish during high school. It was the first novena I ever prayed, and I recall at the time, finding the words of the prayer to be profoundly beautiful and packed with meaning. Fast forward 6 years from then, when I rediscovered it with a greater Eucharistic devotion. The very idea of the prayer- that we are offering Christ to God. That we, lowly, sinful, fallen people, can offer Him to God.


Wow. Talk about Mercy. He doesn't just forgive us our sin, He raises us up. He invites us to put our hands into His. To put our fingers into His side. To look in His eyes. He isn't a God lords His greatness over us. Instead, He calls us toward Him. He came down from heaven, not just to save us from our sin, but to open the gates of heaven to us as well. O happy fault of Adam, indeed!

For the rest of my story to make sense, some backstory from this week is involved.

The other night, I introduced my seventh graders to this devotion. We've talked about sin, and confession, and mercy, and the Eucharist before. But with the celebration of Easter last Sunday and the octave this week, it seemed the perfect time to bring it up again. The kids, as usual, had some fantastic comments and questions (I'm a fan of the socratic method... which means the kids also know that they can ask any question and I'll try to answer it or find out by the next week. Questions are encouraged!) So towards the end of this conversation, I played the song "Love Was Stronger" by Audio Adrenaline. It wasn't my original plan (I'd been intending to play Matt Maher's "Christ Is Risen") so I didn't have the lyrics printed for them, but as I was driving to run errands before class, the song came on the radio and fit the theme for the evening so perfectly, that I had to incorporate it in. (Sadly, we never did get around to the second song... guess we'll use it this week!)


Audio Adrenaline - Love Was Stronger Lyrics
From the album Love Was Stronger (Single)

I was a child of wrath
An enemy of the King of Peace
But love was stronger
Love was stronger

I tried resisting grace
The son of God still took my place
Cause love was stronger
Love was stronger

You are stronger than my sins, You carried
To the cross with resurrecting love

Love
Love was stronger
Love
Love was stronger

When You had called me in
My flesh was weak, my heart was dead
But love was stronger
Love was stronger

I was in a foreign land
You made me a citizen in You
Cause love was stronger
Love was stronger

I am the one who pierced Your side
I put every thorn on Your head
Through the feet and through the hands
I placed all of my sins
But love was stronger
But love was stronger

From the cover of
Fr Michael Gaitley's Consoling the Heart of Jesus

That last verse was were most of our focus went. And then I showed them several images of Divine Mercy, including my favorite, to the side. We talked about the image, read the Gospel account of blood and water gushing forth from the side of Jesus.

And then, I talked a little bit about Divine Mercy Sunday, the indulgence offered. They were more with me for the entire class period than they have been the rest of the year. I threw the lesson together somewhat quickly. It wasn't very well prepared and I didn't plan exactly where the discussion would lead. Three hours before class started, I decided we should talk about the Divine Mercy chaplet. And 2 and a half hours before class started I drove 45 minutes away to get the prayer card... and some glow-in-the-dark rosaries (they are kind of cool!)... and Holy Water bottles.

And it was the best lesson all year. Not because of my preparation, or planning, by any means. I'd been considering this lesson for over a week, but hadn't figured out any of the details. Two of the kids hugged me and thanked me. Seventh grade boys thanked me for talking about confession, and giving them a rosary and prayer card. Not exactly the typical response (though we do have super awesome wonderful students who generally are very eager to study the Faith).

And that brings me back to today. I was holding the crucifix from my rosary and reached up to hold the one around my neck as well. And then I looked down, and realized that I was holding two crosses. And it was then that I realized that I've been trying to carry two crosses. And that since I don't know which one God wants me to carry, I've been stumbling along, dragging them both, sometimes trying to drop one of them, but never, ever, offering God the other. So today I laid that cross on the altar. I asked God to take that cross away from me if it wasn't the one He wanted me to carry. Because if I can trust Him to make a single lesson work when I didn't know what to do, I can certainly trust Him with this much larger thing. Divine Mercy, indeed, to so willingly accept what I was so reluctant to offer!

O blood and water which gushed forth from the side of Jesus as a fountain of mercy, I trust in You! Jesus, help me to trust You more.

On Trusting God

I titled this blog "I'm Diving In" three years ago. It's funny, because, today,  I'm still struggling to dive and not just stand on the edge and test the waters out some more. To keep staring at the murky waters and hope that they suddenly become more clear. I like the temperature of the water. It feels safe. It feels comforting. It's even really pretty when I look out at it from safely on the beach. But climbing up the ladder... taking that dive. That's terrifying.

Diving in is scary. Especially when you can't see the bottom. It involves trust. It involves faith. It involves courage to trust that there really is a plan and that it will really work out.

Over the last two weeks, I've had the realization more and more that at some point, I'm actually going to have to jump. And I've slowly taken all these baby steps. It doesn't look nearly as terrifying anymore, because I've taken a few more steps each time before backing down again and starting back upward.

The thing is, standing on the beach looking out at the water doesn't have nearly the same effect as being in the water, swimming. One doesn't stand on a diving board without wanting to swim.

Over the last week, I've seen this story, or similar quotes from it at least a half dozen times. I shared one quote on Facebook, and immediately after scrolled down through my newsfeed only to see it again. It's an account from Brennan Manning on an encounter with Blessed Teresa of Calcutta.

“When John Kavanaugh, the noted and famous ethicist, went to Calcutta, he was seeking Mother Teresa … and more. He went for three months to work at “the house of the dying” to find out how best he could spend the rest of his life.

When he met Mother Teresa, he asked her to pray for him. “What do you want me to pray for?” she replied. He then uttered the request he had carried thousands of miles: “Clarity. Pray that I have clarity.”

“No,” Mother Teresa answered, “I will not do that.” When he asked her why, she said, “Clarity is the last thing you are clinging to and must let go of.” When Kavanaugh said that she always seemed to have clarity, the very kind of clarity he was looking for, Mother Teresa laughed and said: “I have never had clarity; what I have always had is trust. So I will pray that you trust God.”

Wow. Yes. That really is the goal. To trust.

Something Father said tonight at Mass struck me. He was speaking specifically about the conversion of 5000 after Peter spoke in Acts 4:1-12. He reminded us that it's not our job to convert people. It's our task to speak the truth. For some reason, I guess that really hadn't sunk in before tonight. Jesus didn't commission us to save anyone. We are completely incapable of that. But he did ask us to spread the Good News. Not all those present who heard Peter speak converted. But the Spirit was at work. And Peter had faith. He didn't stand around and convene a meeting with the apostles to discuss strategy. He preached the truth. He shared his knowledge of the resurrected Lord, the One who can save.

So lots of trusting to work on I guess. And a few more steps up the ladder.

Step one, ironically, is to hit publish. After writing this post, it occurred to me that I had another post from 10/30/2014 with the same title, yet blank. So a baby step up the ladder. Step by little step.