Who Crucified my Lord?

The answer is me.  Yep, sobering isn’t it?

Tomorrow is Palm Sunday.  It is the day we remember Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem to a hero’s welcome.  It is amazing how quickly the tide turned.  One day, they wanted him to be king and the next, crucified. On this Sunday, we will read the Lord’s Passion.  We will hear the story of how our King was welcomed with pomp and circumstance only to be crucified a few days later at Calvary.  What Happened?

I’ve heard this story since I was little.  As a kid, I looked at it much like a bad guy/good guy situation.  The people killing Jesus were the bad guys.  If I were there, I would be fighting them.  I would be leading the charge to protect Jesus.  I would be among the good guys.  With my child-like innocence, it is easy to lump myself in with the good guys because of the simple fact that I love Jesus.  I wouldn’t want to see him get hurt.  Yep, my child-like self had no doubt that I was a good guy.

Hearing this story as an adult is totally different.  How can a crowd turn like that?  How can you love Jesus one minute and hate him the next?  As I ponder these questions, I can’t help but wonder what role I would really play in the story.  It seemed that few people actually knew who Jesus was and fewer were willing to stand up and protect Him.  Would I really be as bold as I imagine?  Or would I silently watch with the rest of the crowd?  Or, perhaps, I would be chanting for his death in the heat of the moment.

As we see in this gospel story, it was the Sanhedrin that led the people to distrust and reject Jesus. They were the typical human beings. They were too proud to acknowledge Jesus' authority. They were too self-involved to look at the bigger picture. They were so involved with going through the motions of the law that they missed the spirit of the law that was embodied in their midst. They didn't want to give up their power. They didn't want to become humble. They would not open their hearts to God's love. Pride and selfishness is what drove them to influence the people and have Jesus nailed to a cross and die.  And these are the same traits I struggle with every day.   When I allow myself to take credit when I shouldn't, when I’m too proud to admit a mistake, or when take control when I should put it on the altar, then up goes the wall between me and my God. I become one of those people 2000 years ago, standing in the crowd, chanting for Jesus to be crucified.

Oh, Father, forgive me for who I am.  Show me the places in my life that are not filled with your light.  Give me the courage to empty myself completely to your love.  Grant me the grace to see the face Christ in those around me.  You are all that I crave.  My desire rests in your will.  Make me worthy of the life Christ won for me at Calvary.  All glory and honor belong to you, forever and ever. Amen.

Time for Lent

I had a brilliant idea this year- one that would make Lent more meaningful for my whole family.  There are no words to describe my excitement as I planned to pitch this idea to my unsuspecting loved ones.  So, at dinner last week, I presented the Lenten plan- we would, together as a family, choose a sacrifice and carry it out.  And throughout Lent, we would share our experiences and therefore, grow closer to each other and the Lord.  I know, it’s a pretty awesome idea!  Or at least that is what I thought…  While both my teenage son and little son gave me that “Seriously, Mom?” look, my husband stammered out “Well, honey that sounds like….fun?”  I pushed through their less-than-excited reactions and started with some suggestions- candy?  Soda?  And then the conversation quickly digressed.  As the other males were throwing around ideas like broccoli and homework, my little son brightens up and says, “I know, let’s give up church! Then we would have more time to play!”  Yep, we have a lot of work to do this year with Lenten Catechesis.  However, this little five-year-old has a point.  He is making an astute observation about how we manage our time.  In his own way, he is saying he wants more time to just be five.

As our culture marches forward in this post-modern age, we do so busier than ever. I don’t know about you, but my time seems to be spent before I even have a chance to possess it. My schedule sweeps me into motion like a rain swollen river, taking me on a wild ride until my head is finally deposited on the pillow at the end of the day. And when I look back at my ever so busy day, I wonder when I will ever really have time to just be. Time is ever so precious and we are starved for more of it.

So, I have to admit, when these special seasons in the Church roll around, I get a little anxious. How much busier will I be? How much more time do I need to commit to make the season meaningful for myself and my family? Is it even possible to find more time between the soccer and baseball practices, dance and gymnastics classes, band and academic competitions? How will I fit it in?

As we approach this season of Lent, we also need to remember that time is not something we are guaranteed to possess. But, time is a gift from God. And like all the blessings he bestows on us, we are called to give in return. Lent is the season when we are called to seek God out. We are called to know him more fully and more completely. We are called to sacrifice so that we can walk closer with Christ and know God on a deeper level. So, instead of chocolate or Dr. Pepper, why don’t we sacrifice some of the busyness of our lives? Let’s give up a favorite activity, and then use the time we gain for the glory of God.  Let’s make time for God during Lent.

Christmas Magic

I don’t know about you, but Christmas season always takes me by storm.  I barely have enough time in my normal life to get all the things done I am responsible for.  Pile the Christmas duties on top of that, and I am one big frazzled mess by the 25^th finally rolls around.  This year has been no exception.  In fact, I sort of threw in the towel.  My house got decorated in the middle of December.  I didn't even bother with Christmas cards.  I didn't bake a single Christmas cookie.  The presents were wrapped less than 24 hours before they were opened.  And you know what?  It was okay.  In fact, I actually had time to observe and reflect.  So, you think I would have come up with a better answer when my little son asked me what we are celebrating at Christmas time.

We were sitting in the crowded Church on Christmas Eve well before the start of Mass.  We arrived just in time to sit in the choir loft.  Those arriving after us were invited to sit in the hallway, so I was quite grateful for our choir loft seat.  This was not our parish church as we were visiting my parents.  My little son took in all the unfamiliar sights from the kneelers to the altar.  He even perused the hymnal.  After a few minutes of observing the crowded church, he looked at me and asked, “What are we celebrating, Mommy?”  He was astute enough to realize that something special was going on- this was “special” church. 

“We are here to celebrate Jesus’ birthday,” I told him.  And that was all I said.  He seemed satisfied with the answer but I could tell that he thought this “special church” was a little too much for a birthday celebration.  Or maybe he thought that it was weird that Jesus was having his birthday party in church without balloons, presents and cake.  Either way, as Mass started, I realized my answer was lacking.

Christmas used to be my favorite holiday.  But as I have grown in age and faith, Easter has become my new favorite.  This year, as the hustle and bustle hummed around me, I reflected on this change.  Why has Easter surpassed Christmas in my favorites?  What happened to the magic of Christmas?  I think it would be easy for me to point out the obvious: Christmas has been hijacked by consumerism.  Christmas is more about preparing for the presents than it is about preparing for the birth of Christ.  Retailers use Christmas to sell, sell, sell.  And us Americans buy, buy, buy.  It’s inescapable.  Even if I wanted to return to the true meaning of Christmas and forego the outrageous gift-giving, I can’t.  I can’t do that to my kids.  As I was venting on this topic to my husband, he politely disagreed with me.  He pointed out that Christmas brings joy to our culture.  It inspires us to give and find the good in one another.  I couldn't argue with him.  Although Christmas is consumed by our consumerism, it does bring out the best in us.  The atmosphere in our country is pointedly different at Christmastime.  So, why is the magic gone for me? 

My inadequate response to my little son’s question at Mass on Christmas Eve really got me thinking.  Was I truly bitter about the hijacking of Christmas by consumerism, or did I not fully understand what Christmas is all about?  Holy week and Easter are about an awesome reality- Jesus’ radical display of love, obedience and faith on the cross.  AND it’s about His defeat of death and thus, His gift of life to us.  AND, it’s about His gift of the Eucharist.   The Easter season of the Church is HOLY.  Our identity as Christians is all wrapped up in Easter.  Now, Christmas is just Jesus’ birthday.  Right?  Is that really what we are celebrating?

I am reading A Holy Longing by Ronald Rolheiser.  In his book, Rolheiser explains in depth about the meaning of the incarnation.  He speaks of the significance of the incarnation and it’s reality in our world today.  I think I have always looked at Jesus’ life on earth from a quasi-historical perspective.  He was born, he lived and walked on the earth, he died, he rose from the dead and then he ascended into heaven.  What I have failed to focus on is the reality that Jesus still lives here.  In my Baptist upbringing, I was taught that when you are saved, Jesus comes to live in your heart.  As I have converted to the Catholic faith, I never doubted the truth that Jesus lives in my heart, but I also never connected the significance of this with Christmas or it’s subsequent impact on the world.

You see, at Christmas, we celebrate the incarnation of Christ- the arrival of God into humanity.  Sure, it is the birth of Christ, but, more importantly, it is the arrival of Christ into the world- a world in which he still lives.  Before the incarnation, God did not exist in the world as he does today in Christ.  That fact didn't really occur to me until I started to think about my little son’s question.  Christmas is a very significant event in Christianity because it is the arrival of Christ into humanity- a position he has not vacated.  That is what we celebrate- Christ’s life intertwined in ours, his life in our hearts.

Just as Christ gave us his complete life on the cross, we are called to do the same.  Our lives are spent converting our hearts to the reality of the incarnation- to the reality that Christ lives in our hearts and in the hearts of the rest of humanity.  Our response to the incarnation is to live out the Greatest Commandment- Love God with all your mind, heart and soul and then love your neighbor as yourself.  This requires us to put our own desires on the back burner and seek the desires of Christ- not only the desires we find in the Christ of our own hearts, but also in the Christ we see in others.

So, Christmas is the celebration of Christ’s birth.  It’s a celebration of Christ’s arrival in humanity- his arrival in our very lives.  It’s a celebration of Christ’s presence in our world.  So, the question is will we let Christmas infect us?  Will we surrender our desires and let Christ pour his love into our souls and then let it flow out to touch others?  As we put away our Christmas decorations and roll into the New Year, are we going to truly live the life we celebrate at Christmas or was it just another birthday party?

Crazy Lovin'

So, I have to admit that I am not the same woman I was in my twenties.  When I was in my twenties, I remember looking at the older adults and thinking, “I’m not going to be like them.  I’m always going to be hip, stylish and fun!”  Well, I was wrong.  The other day, I shockingly realized that I am one of them. In fact, I could be there fearless leader.  When did I grow up and how could I have been such a silly and naïve twenty-something?

Do you remember those reality make over shows?  I felt bad for the women who when on those makeover shows.  I mean, really.  How embarrassing!  Her friends and family think her personal style and upkeep is in need of such dire help that they call a reality TV show.  And then the show “surprises” her by telling her on national TV how bad her problem is.  Of course the payoff is the make over and shopping spree.  When I was younger, I always felt sorry for that poor woman.  But now, 12 years, one husband, two kids and a career later, I am hoping someone calls one of those shows for me.  It would be so nice for someone to tell me what to buy and then give me the money to buy it.  I remember when I loved to go shopping.  I loved trying on clothes.  I loved finding a good deal and wearing the latest styles.  Now, all I want to do is get in, and get out with something that fits and is as cheap as possible.  And if it takes me longer than 10 minutes, I am instantly irritated.  How did this happen?  When did I morph into the lady I always felt sorry for?

My taste in TV has also changed.  I used to watch network TV, religiously.  I was always hooked to the most popular TV show and could carry on a decent conversation about TV around the water cooler.  Now, in a rare moment when I actually watch TV, I enjoy Swamp People, Duck Dynasty, and anything on the History channel.  I haven’t a clue what they show on ABC or CBS.  Oh, and movies?  Forget it.  Somehow, my attention span has been drastically reduced.  There is rarely a movie that I can sit through without going stir crazy or falling asleep.   I sometimes wonder if an adult can develop ADD.

So what has changed over the past 12 years?  Well, I think I can easily blame this on my kids.  Yep, it is definitely their fault.  It has been 12 years since I have been in a dressing room all by myself or even to the bathroom by myself.  It has been 12 years since I have been able to watch anything on TV without interruptions.  It has been 12 years since I have been able to walk leisurely through a department store or a mall.  It’s been 12 years since my husband and I have really, truly slept a good, solid, peaceful 8 hours in a row.  These kids definitely move you from a serene place where you feel like you have control over your surroundings to a place where your world is turned on its head at least 387 times a day.  That’s got to do something to a person’s sanity.

Yep, crazy is a good word to describe what these kids do to you.  They eat the food off your plate, paint your walls with sharpie markers, turn your last pair of black pumps into matching battle ships in the wading pool, teach you the value of having the poison control number glued to the phone, test the structural integrity of all your furniture, and are sure to teach you a lesson about “borrowing” your Mother-in-law’s Lexus without her knowledge.  So, I guess it is rather remarkable that I am not completely bonkers.  Well, I’m not sure I can say that with conviction.  Let’s just say that I haven’t been institutionalized…yet. 

And, without a doubt, I would do this “kid thing” all over again.  You see, that my friends, is proof of God’s existence.  Because even though they have turned my life upside down and inside out, I love the little boogers more than I can express in words.  It’s love when you see the beauty in the picture your toddler drew on the wall with your set of colored sharpies.  It’s love when you see the ingenuity in your little son’s little mind when he figured out the black pumps would make the best boats because they didn’t have holes like the pink ones.  It’s love when you walk into the living room and are truly enamored with the complexity of the fort your son created with all the clean and previously folded laundry.  Yes, my friends, that kind of love has to come from something greater than me.  That kind of love is divine. 

God gives us the gift of children to reveal to us the nature of who he is.  Many times over, the bible calls humanity the “children of God.”  And if we really think about it, in our experiences with our children, we see that God is showing us how much he loves.  We love our children without hesitation, through tough moments, unconditionally, and forever.  And so it is with God.  St. Paul tells us that nothing can separate us from the love of God.  Now that I am a Mother, I get that.  In fact, I get it more and more each day, every day, and all the live-long day.

So, yes, I am older.  I need a makeover.  I need sleep.  I could use a few dollars in the bank and I probably need more time for myself.  But, I am not in want of love.  And I thank God each day for this great opportunity to know what true love is, how to love and how to be loved- like crazy.

Freedom From Purses

Do you notice the women who come up to receive the Eucharist with their purse?  I have always wondered about that.  It seems to be common practice, but why?  I should probably throw out my disclaimer that I am not a cradle Catholic, so I wonder about weird stuff that normal Catholics probably don’t think twice about.  But, why do they bring their purse to communion?  Are they afraid it will get stolen if they leave in in their seat?  Are they planning to leave right after communion?  Are they just following a common unwritten practice all cradle Catholic women innately have?  I have always been puzzled by it but too afraid to ask one of these women.  It seems kind of rude.  It’s like asking, “Did you really mean to wear that dress to church today?”  Yep, rude.

So, let’s change the subject.  The Pope has declared that this is the year of faith.  As we enter this year, the Lord has really laid the Saints on my heart.  He has challenged me to read their stories and admire their beautiful faith.  And, of course, all this story reading has gotten me thinking about my own faith.  Do I have what it takes?  If I were Stephen, would I have the courage to be stoned to death because I love Jesus?  If I were St. Lawrence, would I have the courage to be cooked alive because I love Jesus?  If I were St. Thomas More, would I proclaim my love for Jesus all the way to the end when they cut off my head?  Do I love Jesus more than my own life?  Do I trust him enough to lay my life at his feet like these martyrs?

Sure, it is easy to say that I do.  I have spent many hours on my knees in surrender.  At every Mass, I lay down my life with the words of the Suscipe.  At the moment, I have given up my career in education for a much less lucrative career in youth ministry.  But I have never been tested like these martyrs were tested.  I do not have to fear for my life simply because I am a Christian.  I am blessed to live in a country where that fear is not a reality.  But what if it was?  What if the Christians in my town were rounded up by a crazy person and threatened with execution if they did not renounce Christ?  What would I do?  Truth be told, I don’t know what I would do.  I am a wife and a mother.  I am a daughter, a sister, an Aunt and a Godmother.  I have family and friends whom I love and people who count on me.  Could I trust them to Jesus and allow myself to be killed rather than renounce my faith and my love for Christ?  Do I trust the Lord that much?  I have ties to this world- strong ties. I have things that I love to do and places I love to go.  I have friends and family who make each day better than the next.   I am blessed beyond measure.  But with those blessings come ties.  Don’t get me wrong, these are good ties, but ties none the less.  

So, now that I work at my church, I have my own small space in the office.  And often, I leave my belongings in there before I go to Mass.  That way, I can be completely hands free and I am not concerned with leaving my stuff.  This experience has been great.  I didn’t realize how much I was distracted by keeping track of my stuff.  There is freedom in coming to Mass without my belongings.  As I have been experiencing Mass with this bit of freedom, I realize that this is what the Martyrs felt- freedom.  They had to.  In order to give their lives as they did, they had to be free from all ties. 

So, how do we get the freedom found in the spirit of a martyr?  We have to trust.  We have to be willing to not be in control of our own lives.  And we also have to be willing to not be in control of the lives of those we love- especially our children.  We have to trust Christ absolutely and completely with EVERYTHING.  There is freedom in that trust.  When we trust Christ like this, then we open ourselves up to His love in new and more profound ways.  This is where the faith of a martyr is found.

So in this year of faith, we need to approach the altar with love AND trust.  We need to trust the Lord as much as we profess to love Him.  When Jesus sent the disciples out two by two, he told them to take nothing for the journey (Matthew 10:5-15).  They didn’t have to worry about keeping track of possessions as they traveled because they left them behind.  They trusted the Lord with all they had and went about to do his will.  This is what we are called to as well- trust the Lord and do His will.  Before we can do His will, we have to let go of our ties and trust.  If we truly love the Lord, then we will.  We can only love the Lord as much as we let go and trust him.  The martyrs show us what it means to completely trust and thus, love.

So faithful Catholic women, let’s leave our purses behind.  (Seriously, leave them at home if you need to.)  Approach the altar with just the clothes on your back and the shoes on your feet.  You don’t need anything more for the journey than an open and trusting heart. Our ties to this world are strong and comfortable.  So, let’s get uncomfortable for the Lord.  In this year of faith, let’s experience the freedom found in absolute trust of the one who has already given us His life.

                “Therefore, I tell you, do not worry about your life….” (Matthew 10:25)

Fear and Joy

The school year has started and so have the faith formation programs.  I coordinate the middle school program at my parish.  I recently took a class on prayer and sacraments for this job.  In this class, we did a lot of praying and sharing about our past prayer experiences.  And that got me thinking about how I got myself all wrapped up in this youth ministry thing.  Yep, it all started with a prayer and I have ended up in a place I never dreamt I would be.

I went on a retreat called Christ Renews His Parish (CRHP).  Great retreat!  If you every have such an opportunity, do not pass it up.  Anyhow, when you go to this retreat, you have the option of being on the team that gives the next CRHP retreat.  And that is where I was.  I was the CRHP weekend coordinator and therefore, I had one of the grave yard shifts for adoration.  But this isn’t probably where I should start.  You would benefit from a little back ground information.

I didn’t grow up in the Catholic Church.  I was raised in the Southern Baptist Church where I was very involved throughout my teenage years.  The church was my second home and my peers and youth ministers were my second family.  Then, my junior year rolled around.  I started asking questions and really challenging the theology of the Baptist church (which is a completely normal thing for a teen to do).  I asked a lot of questions and engaged the youth minister in a few heated debates.  That is when the distancing began and I started slowly walking away.  By the end of my senior year, the adults at the church were done with me as I was done with the Baptist church.  And when I finally left, they didn’t call me to make sure this is what I wanted.  I sent a letter asking to be removed from membership and that was it.  The girl who sang in the choir, sat on the youth council and even lead music in worship services was leaving the church and they didn’t see the need to talk me out of it.  I had to conclude they were happy to see the debater go.  They were tired of their theology being challenged on a weekly basis by a know-it-all teenager.  Imagine that.

So, I carried this hurt around for years.  I never really dealt with it because I concluded it was God’s plan.  God wanted me to experience the fullness of the Catholic faith and made sure all ties were cut from my childhood church.  But after many years of avoiding participation in a community beyond showing up for Mass every once in a while, I had to come face to face with it at CRHP.  If I was going to embrace a community at this retreat, something I desperately needed to do for my own sanity and spiritual growth, then I needed to face the fear of why I wanted to run away.  I had to look at my brokenness and find forgiveness in my heart for the adults who betrayed it.  I was in the middle of this process when I found myself alone with the Blessed Sacrament in the middle of the night.

I was praying for the next step.  I was asking God what he wanted me to do.  Where did he want me to serve?  I was at the end of the CRHP formation process and soon the weekend that my team was facilitating would be over.  Now that I was investing in the community once again, where should I serve and what should I do?  Youth ministry was always something I thought I would never do because of my past and the fact I wasn’t raised in the church.  Not only did I have a falling out with my youth minister that led me to leave my childhood church, but as a convert, I felt like I didn’t know enough about the Catholic faith to teach youth.   Nope, I was too broken and inexperienced for youth ministry and anyplace else seemed like a better fit.  But that is not what the Lord thought.

There I was before the Blessed Sacrament.  I had left my career as a middle school band director the year before and I felt like I was in the position to really lay down my life.  I wasn’t tied to anything professionally.  Serving the Lord was my greatest desire and I was filled with great joy to surrender myself so recklessly.  And that is where I was.  I was surrendering and experiencing this joy when the Lord hit me with a ton of bricks.  He said, “I want you to work in middle school youth ministry.”  All of a sudden, I couldn’t quite catch my breath and I started shaking.  “Really, Lord?  Seriously?”  And, like a paper doll under a ton of bricks, I crumbled.  I started in with the litany of why that wasn’t going to work and how I wasn’t fit for the job.  But He didn’t stop asking.  He wanted me to trust Him because He knew me better than I know myself.  He knew the wounds I carried around, wounds that left lasting scars, and yet he still wanted me to serve in this capacity. He could see something I couldn’t.  So, I surrendered.  And luckily, I pulled myself together just in time for the next holy hour shift to begin and in walks the middle school youth minister.  “Really, Lord?  Seriously?”

I spent the next two years as a volunteer on the core team for the middle school faith formation program.  During holy week of my second year on the team, I felt the Lord calling me again.  My youngest son was just one year away from Kindergarten which meant I needed to figure out what I wanted to do when I grew up.  Was I going back to teaching or was did I want to change careers?  By this time, I had some experience in youth ministry and I really enjoyed it.  Despite my past experience and my convert status, I fit in well with the youth.  It seemed like the perfect place for me to volunteer.  Actually getting a paying job in the field didn’t seem feasible since I didn’t have the correct degrees and let us not forget that I am not a cradle Catholic.  Anyhow, I remember it so clearly.  Our pastor was preaching on Easter morning and in his homily, he challenged us to participate in the resurrected life of Christ.  In order to do that, we needed to die to ourselves and surrender our lives as Christ did.  And that is when the Lord whispered to me that he wanted me to surrender once again and do the youth ministry thing for real.  Again, ton of bricks, but this time there was an unexplained joy behind them.  I trusted Him so recklessly the first time around and things turned out great.  So, why not?  If it was the Lord’s will, then I would get a job.  If not, then I would continue to volunteer.  It seemed like a win-win situation.

That week, I asked my friend, the middle school youth minister how one would go about seeking a job in youth ministry.  At this time, our youth ministry staff was undergoing some change and little did I know, the parish leadership was restructuring the program.  My friend, the middle school youth minister was discerning if she should step into the newly created Youth Director position.  If she did, who would step into her role?  Who would run the program she poured her heart and soul into for these past few years?  My name popped into her head and later that week, my email popped into her inbox.  Yes, my friends, that is the Holy Spirit at work.  Long story short, here I am in my second year filled with joy doing what the Lord has called me to do.  And in this service, a healing has taken place.  I’m more whole, more complete.  The lasting scars have faded.  Five years ago, if you had told me I would be working in youth ministry, I would have stepped outside to see the flying pigs.  Never did I imagine that this is where I would be.  Never did I imagine I would find such joy in serving the Lord in the one place I most feared.

So, be not afraid.  “Trust in the Lord with all your heart.” (Proverbs 3:5).  Because, “I know well the plans I have in mind for you, says the Lord, plans for your welfare, not for your woe!  Plans to give you a future full of hope.” (Jeremiah 29:11)  And when we trust and place our hope in the Lord, we “will soar as with eagles’ wings; [we] will run and not grow weary, walk and not grow faint.” (Isaiah 41:31)

All glory be to the Father, Son and Holy Spirit. As it was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be, world without end.  Amen.

The Love of a Show

My little son hates Mass.  His 5 year old body and brain just cannot understand why we go to church to sit still and pray.  “Praying is soooooo boring!” he very audibly announces every time we walk in the church.  He is also master of the how-many-songs-are-left-before-it’s-over countdown.   He happily broadcasts it live during Mass every week just in case you care to catch it.  As you can imagine, this isn’t reflecting well on me, a youth minister at the church.  Trying to keep his dislike of Mass under wraps is like trying to hold back frenzied bargain shoppers on the day after Christmas sale.  My only solace is to find another family with loud kids and sit behind them. 

So, when the Feast of the Assumption rolled around, and we were going to attend Mass in the middle of the week (gasp!), I decided to give my youngest some warning to ease the blow as much as possible.  I explained to him that we were going to a very special Mass at church because we were going to celebrate Mary’s assumption into heaven.  Then, I explained that Mary was so special that she didn’t die like people normally do, but instead, God took her straight to heaven.  To my surprise, he seemed genuinely interested in this story.  For the rest of the day, he asked me at least once an hour when we were going to Mass.  He actually WANTED TO GO TO MASS.  I was floored.  This was a miracle, indeed.

When we arrived to church, he did not go through his usual litany of complaints.  He sat down without whining.  And he seemed really interested in watching what was happening on the altar.  I was beside myself.  Who was this child and what did he do with my son?  All this paying attention and not complaining lasted for about 30 minutes and then he announced he had to go to the bathroom.  So, we went.  When we were waiting to go back into the sanctuary, he looked up at me and said, “Mommy, when do we get to see Mary go to heaven?”  So, that was it.  He was here to see something miraculous.  Watching Mary go to heaven peaked his interest just enough for him to set aside his disdain for Mass and watch the show.

How often do we do the same?  How often do we expect God to put on a show for our benefit?  How often do we find ourselves discouraged when the show we expect doesn’t materialize?  I know I’m guilty.

God desires our love like our bodies desire oxygen.  He desperately wants us to participate in the love of the trinity.  In order to fully participate, we have to choose it.  We have to desire Him as he desires us.  And, if you look back at salvation history and the passion of Christ, you see how desperately God desires us.  He knew from the beginning, before he created, that we would betray him.  He knew he would take on our humanity, enter into history as a vulnerable baby, teach us about his love and then show us how much he loves by giving us his life- his perfect, unstained humanity- so that we may be reunited with him and participate in the love of the trinity for eternity.  But we have to choose it.  We have to want to love God as he loves us.  And we have to choose it without tangible, obvious miracles that unequivocally prove the existence of God- miracles whose sole purpose is to prove the existence of God.  No, we have to choose to love God out of faith.  Then and only then, do we participate in the agape love found in the trinity.

Now, don’t get me wrong, miracles do come into play.  Once we are in that personal relationship with God and we desire His love and presence more than we desire our own lives, he opens our eyes to the miracles.  We begin to see God in the little things- in the beauty of a sunset or the complexity of the human body.  We see him working in the lives of those around us and moving in the difficult situations we face.  We feel his warmth and peace in the moments when stress threatens to overwhelm us.  You see, when we love God as he loves us, then our eyes are opened to His reality and our lives find meaning and purpose.

So, love God recklessly.  Don’t get caught up in the desire for a show.  We are not made for this world.  We are made to love and be loved for eternity.

Fires, Valleys and Ministry

Well, I have survived my first year of working in ministry.  I wish I could tell you it was all hearts and rainbows, but no.  It has been tough.  Some of the challenges I expected, but there were others I did not expect.  And the toll the challenges have taken on my own spirituality have been greater than I was prepared to face.  But I got through it, and I learned a lot about myself, God and His infinite mercy.

Working in ministry is like fighting on the front lines.  People are not afraid to tell you exactly what they think- whether that be about the Catholic Church in general, or your own style of teaching, prayer or presentation.  People are not afraid to tell you how you should be spending your time or what you should be doing to nourish your own relationship with God.  It is like I have a bull’s-eye for all comments, criticisms, and suggestions on my forehead.  And although I welcome such interaction, it can be exhausting to say the least.  I miss that I can no longer just blend in the background.  Nope, I always have to be on the front line with a smile on my face.  Although I expected the front line was hard, I didn’t expect the toll it would take on me.  Had I not been surrounded by people who could help me filter out the good from the bad, who could help me figure out the useful criticism from the not so useful, I fear I would not have made it this far. 

Being on the front line has ushered me into a whole new level of humility.  You see, I am a performer.  I am a trained classical musician.  As a musician, I live in a world where I perform and then people tell me how great it is and then my teachers would tell me what I could do better.  I carried these expectations into my career as a Band Director where the world was very similar.  And, when I started in youth ministry, which is a lot like teaching, I subconsciously carried these expectations into the world of ministry.  These expectations do not work in this world.  Ministry is not about the instant gratification the stage naturally gives.  It’s more like gardening.  Instead of performing on a stage, I am the instrument by which the Holy Spirit plants seeds, waters the seeds, fertilizes the seeds, and makes sure they get enough sun.  And unlike the stage, I do not have complete control over the garden.  I don’t know what happens to the seeds from week to week.  I only know what I do with them on Wednesday night and I rarely see the seeds grow and bear fruit.  Both the losses of control and instant gratification made me very uneasy and I had a hard time figuring out why I was struggling.  But then one day I realized the true issue.  When I am on the stage, it is all about me.  When I am in the garden, it isn’t about me at all- it’s about Christ and the seeds. I didn’t realize how much self-worth I had wrapped up in the stage, how much of my identity was defined by the stage.  My brain knew that it wasn’t about me, but my ego didn’t come to realize it until much later in the game.  In order to stay on the front lines, I had to let go of who I thought I was and face who I really am.  And that was quite humbling.  In fact, it still is.

I often think that my relationship with God is like a moth to a flame.  He is a roaring bonfire and I am the tiniest insect drawn to the beautiful light from the depths of the dark forest.  For reasons I can’t explain, I am drawn to God and mesmerized by His presence.  Like many people, my relationship with God is marked by mountain tops and valleys.  On the mountain tops, I don’t care if the fire burns me.  I am happy to lose myself in the fire.  I am happy to let the fire consume me.  But in the valley, I am suddenly aware of the fire’s heat, and I feel like I just need to take a step back and gaze from a distance.  Even though I get cold and long to be close to the fire, I can’t go there.  The fire is too much for me to bear.  The dark forest is quite inviting.

In this humbling first year of ministry, I have spent a lot of time in the valley.  So much so, that I fear I will never find the mountains.  And the guilt I have in the valley is great.  In my humiliating moments, I should be running to God and seeking his comfort.  I should be practicing what I preach.  Instead, I have withdrawn and hidden myself.  I am ashamed of who I really am now that the stage is gone and I wonder if I am worthy enough or even qualified to be a gardener.  But here in the valley, God has shown me his infinite mercy.  Even though I do not desire the fire as I feel I should, he has shown me that the garden is exactly where he wants me to be.

This Sunday in Mass, after my usual litany of apologies for not being near the fire, I saw Jesus standing next to me in the valley.  With his arm around me, we gazed at the fire in the distance.  In all of his radiance, he looked down at my face, smiled and said, “It is normal for you to fear the fire will burn you.  But, you don’t need to fear it.  I have covered you with the living water.  I have made it so that you can be in the fire and experience its splendor.  You are covered with my blood.”  Although I haven’t made it all the way back up to the fire on the mountain, I no longer feel so alone.  The forest isn’t quite so inviting and the journey up the mountain isn’t quite so daunting.  But most of all, the fear of the fire is being replaced with desire as it pulls me into its glorious splendor all over again.  

Lessons from Ga-Ga

At this year’s middle school PHAT camp (meeting People, Hanging out, Adoring God, and Touring the metroplex), we built the most awesome thing ever: a ga-ga pit.  Ga-ga is a game played in an octagon shaped enclosure with a 3 foot wall.  This project was exciting because I was in on it from the beginning.  I saw the kids fall in love with the game on a retreat.  I saw the idea to build a pit at the church born in the imagination of a fellow youth minister.  I witnessed all the planning of the pit construction- from the miraculous donations of materials right down to the angel who showed up at the 11^th hour with the expertise needed to actually build the structure.  I watched the youth dig out grass, haul wood, and hammer nails in 100+ degree weather.  Finally, at the end of the week, the pit was built and the game was on.  How could I not get in on the fun?

I jumped over the wall.  Immediately, I felt a twinge of a familiar pain in my lower back- my back hasn’t been quite right since the birth of my youngest.  Naturally, I ignored it.  I wanted to play.  The pain was just a twinge and I can certainly get over it.  So, I played.  In order to play, one must spend the majority of the game in a crouched over position protecting one’s feet and shins while in constant motion- probably a chiropractor’s worst nightmare.  It was fun although I was easy prey.  The kids relished getting the adults out quickly and, in my case, somewhat easily.  Anyhow, I played a few rounds.  When I stood up and straightened out my back after the final round, I realized how dumb I had been.  I was in serious pain.  I spent the next two days on the sofa or in a hot bath- two days to come to terms with the fact I am no longer a spring chicken.

This summer, I turn 35.  I can’t claim to be in my early thirties and that makes my twenties seem like ages ago.  In addition to my back issues, my eyes seem to be losing their youth (It’s either that or my arms are getting shorter).  And, after trying different kinds of make-up with no success, I am now seriously shopping for that magic cream to erase the lines around my eyes.  But the real stinger was when I realized the high school youth that out-played me at ga-ga were born the year I graduated from high school.  Yes, I am O.L.D.

My two boys are 7 years apart.  I had my oldest when I was 22 and my youngest when I was 29.  As a 22 year old mom, I was certain I was the youngest parent ever.  I felt as if I had no clue what I was doing.  The mommy wars scared me half to death and in an effort to over-accommodate, my poor son was sheltered from everything from T. V. to candy.  When I had my youngest, I was a 29 year-old seasoned parent and educator.  So, my youngest has gotten to play in the dirt, taste everything from chocolate to dog food and been educated thoroughly in the ways of Spongebob and his square pants.  So, I guess age has loosened me up a little but I’m not sure it has made me any wiser or better at parenting.

When I was younger, I thought that when I reached this point in my life, I will have had a few things figured out.  But the truth is, I don’t.  I know that my experiences have brought me maturity, but I still don’t know if what I’m doing with my children is the “right” thing.  Will my older son be wiser or make better decisions because I made so many of his decisions when he was younger?  Will my younger son be more of a risk taker or have more confidence because I let him explore things more independently?  I don’t know, only time will tell. 

In the meantime, I should probably stay out of the ga-ga pit.  A visit to the eye doctor would be wise.  And hopefully, I’ll find that eye cream soon. But, most importantly, I’ll keep hitting my knees and loving these two boys with all my heart.  That is the best thing this not-so-wise-35-year-old Mommy can do- love them and lead them to the source of love itself.

Behold the Sacrifice

I close my eyes as I hear the sound of the consecrated host breaking.  The Priest holds up the broken Eucharist and calls us to behold Him.  Behold the one who takes away the sins of the world.  Behold the perfect sacrifice.  Behold the suffering servant.  Behold the mystery.  Behold our Lord. 

As I behold Him, I am swept to the foot of the cross.  Here I am watching pure love die.  Here I am watching my Lord struggle to breathe.  Here I am watching my Lord’s face wince as he pushes and pulls on the nails.  His wounds from the scourging are fresh, open and bleeding.  Blood from the thorns runs into his eyes.  Behold Him.  His pain is great, raw and deeper than I can begin to imagine.  It is more than just the physical pain that plagues him in these moments.  His heart is also breaking. As he hangs there dying, his most loyal are absent.  All that he has taught seems to be for nothing.  All that he has done- healings, walking on water, calming the storm, feeding the thousands- all of it has fallen on deaf ears and hard hearts.  They do not understand who he is.  Behold him.

Oh, Lord, why am I here?  Why are you showing your suffering to me?  My heart breaks to see your pain.  It is hard to understand this place.  It is hard to understand what is going on here.  Oh, Lord, your suffering is too much to behold.  You are my love, you are the meaning to my life, you are the air I breathe.  To behold you here, dying on the cross is excruciating.  To behold you here, suffering through the punishment I deserve is agonizing. 

Blinking back tears, I stand and take my place in line for communion.  For the past month, I have had the same experience at Mass.  I am to the point where I am not sure I even want to come anymore.  I do not want to see Jesus suffer like this.  Why is he showing this to me?  I receive our Lord in the Eucharist with all of this on my mind.  And as I resume my place at the kneeler, His voice rings through my heart, “My child, this is love.  My pain is great.  My suffering is more than a mortal man can bear.  My heart is breaking.  But, my love for you is greater than this pain.  If you don’t know the depths of my pain, then how can you know the depths of my love?”  Oh, my Lord, forgive me.  Give me the strength to behold your sacrifice and make me worthy to receive your love.

I recently had a teen ask me, “If God loves us, than why is there so much pain and suffering in the world?”  This is valid question that I am not going to pretend to know the answer to.  I think it is safe to assume that every human that ever lived has suffered.  Some have suffered more than others.  I don’t think there is a quick, blanket answer that would explain why people suffer.  But, I think it should speak volumes to us that the Lord came to this Earth to suffer.  He not only experienced suffering on the cross, but also in the desert when he was tempted and in the garden when he prayed with the Father before he was arrested.  He wept when he learned of Lazarus’ death.  He dealt with rejection and ridicule throughout his ministry.  And let us not forget his 30 years before his public ministry began.  Growing into manhood is not easy.  Yes, Jesus suffered.  Through his suffering, we see how suffering has purpose.  When we find the purpose to our suffering, then I think we also find hope and the true meaning of love.

To tell you the truth, until recently, I never really understood the concept of suffering.  I accepted the fact that I will suffer.  And I reasoned that the suffering the Lord wills for my life will help me die to my fallen nature so that I may rise with Christ.  But, beyond this broad concept, I really didn’t understand it.  I didn’t get what it meant to “offer up” my suffering. Then recently, I had a migraine a few hours before I was supposed to be on stage in front of 175 kids and adults at youth night.  I was trying to decide what I was going to do.  Should I accept the fact I may not be able to get on stage and come up with plan B?  Or, I should pray for a miracle and ask God to take the migraine away so that I may do his work with ease.  It was in that last idea that I realized my opportunity. The image of Christ dying on the cross flashed in my imagination.  In that moment, I prayed to God thanking him for the opportunity to be obedient despite my suffering.  I would be there on the stage in the midst of the migraine and with a smile on my face. The Lord showed me his love and now, I will show him mine.

Working in ministry is not an easy career path.  I’ve only got one foot on the path and I can see the sacrifices and challenges my family will face.  Since my husband is a teacher, we are already financially challenged.  Choosing to be on this path full time will not bring much financial hope to our horizon.  But I know this is what the Lord is asking me to do.  I used to think that if the Lord wanted me to choose this path, he would make it easy.  He would take away the financial challenges and, therefore, the path would be easy to choose.  But then I realized that the suffering I endure on this path has purpose.  This is my opportunity to choose God despite the suffering.  This is my opportunity to love God in the midst of financial pain and turmoil.  Sure, I could choose the easy path.  But, with this path into ministry, I choose to suffer and to love God in the midst of it- just as he loved me in the midst of his suffering on the cross.

Through the cross, Christ shows us that suffering and sacrifice go hand in hand. And that is why Christ asks us to be his hands and feet in this world of suffering.  He asks us to lessen the load of our neighbor out of love.  He asks us to love our neighbor without expectations.  When we love like he loves, then we can expect to suffer.  And when our neighbors see us suffer for their sake, then they know just how much we love them and, perhaps they come to know just how much Christ loves them. I have always understood this concept.  This concept is central to a life of service in ministry.  But, in the light of my recent prayer experiences, I have come to understand this concept in a new way.  When I suffer for the sake of another, in a small way, I suffer like Christ suffered.  He is sharing with me the depth of his pain.  And with that perspective, I can gain a new understanding of the depth of his amazing, intoxicating love.

"That shall be my life, to scatter flowers--to miss no single opportunity of making some small sacrifice, here by a smiling look, there by a kindly word, always doing the tiniest things right, and doing it for love." --Therese of Lisieux

Surviving Christmas

As a “good” Catholic mom, I should be writing a post about the true meaning of Christmas.  I should be writing about how I am teaching my children about giving rather than taking.  I should write about spending more time praying than shopping.  I should write about growing in faith rather than growing in debt.  However, I would be misleading you.  As usual, I am an anxiety-filled shell of a woman hunkering down in her Christmas cluttered home, furiously wrapping countless presents from another budget-busting Christmas shopping disaster while yelling at her sugar hyped-up children as they fight over God knows what.  Yep, I’m a mess.  And the fact that I am such a mess in a season where I should be preparing for our Lord makes it that much worse. 

Although I love my fellow Catholic bloggers, I cannot STAND to read their “true meaning of Christmas” ramblings.  Yes, I know the true meaning of Christmas.  I know that it is a season of giving and finding joy and peace in that giving.  I know it is a season of preparing to welcome our Lord into this world.  But, I am convinced that these people who give us this wealth of information and Christmas season advice either don’t have children and families or are heavily medicated.  Here, in this day and age, Christmas has taken over EVERYTHING- from the coffee at Starbucks to the music in the dentist’s office.  And although it is great that such a large number of people in our society celebrate this season, Christmas has become something bigger than we can contain or control.  Christmas is that bull no cowboy hopes to draw.  All you can do is get on and pray you make it to the 25^th.

As I was driving today in the lovely holiday traffic trying not to call the person who nearly took out my front end a word I did not want my four year old to repeat, I was thinking about how hard it is to find balance in this season.  We are called to be in the world but not of the world.  How do we do that during Christmas?  How do I not let the anxiety of shopping in an over-crowed mall get the best of me?  How do I figure out which social events to attend and which to pass up in favor of family time?  How do I teach my kids that the exciting part of Christmas is the arrival of Jesus and not Santa?  How do I live in the Christmas season but not be of the Christmas season?  Every year, I struggle with these questions.  And every year, I say, I’m going to do A, B and C next year.  But, guess what!  It rarely happens.  There are so many factors I cannot control.  There just doesn’t seem to be enough time in the day, money in the bank and patience in my being.  The world’s Christmas gets the best of me every year and reading about how everyone else has it all figured out makes my inabilities that much more depressing. 

But I have to remember that feeling when Christmas finally arrives.  I can finally get off the bull and dust myself off.  I've made it.  We open the champagne and give the kids their presents, which assure us some peace and quiet for at least the rest of the morning.  And in that time, I can finally relax.  There are no more presents to wrap.  There are no more Christmas programs to plan or attend.  There are no more cards to send out.  There are no more cookies to bake.  All that is left to do is go to Mass and be with our Lord.  And that is grand.

But on a day like today (one where I worked a full and challenging day and then braved the holiday crowds with my spoiled, cranky children), all I want to do is spend the next 24 hours in the total silence of the adoration chapel.  And while I am in there listening to the sweet nothings He whispers to my heart, I want time to stop.  And elves to address and mail my Christmas cards, decorate the outside of my house, finish my shopping under budget, wrap all the presents, bake the Christmas cookies, clean my house and make a week’s worth of meals.  They can also do all the things I forgot to put on this list because my brain is Christmas-fried.  Now, that would be REALLY grand.

Men: Step Up and Surrender

I went to a ministry conference last weekend and I learned something rather profound.  Men are created in the image of God.  And God made women to be the perfect companions for men.  So, since men are created in the image of God that makes women the perfect companions for God.  I never realized that.  Logically, that makes perfect sense.  And it explains a lot concerning the spirituality of men and women.

In my experience, I've noticed that men seem to have a harder time with spirituality.  It doesn’t come naturally to them.  They have a hard time surrendering to a God they can’t see with their eyes and touch with their hands.  They have a hard time trusting in their faith and defining themselves by that faith.  I think some men see it as a sign of weakness.  Men are made to provide and protect.  They have a hard time admitting that they need to be provided for and protected.  The walls a man must tear down in his heart in order to embrace Jesus as his Lord and Savior are tall and thick.

Women, on the other hand, are made for God.  And that would explain why more women are in the pews.  More women are at prayer groups.  More women are enrolled in bible studies.  Women have an easier time finding God in everything around them.  They have an easier time in prayer.  They have an easier time with surrender.  In fact, I always thought it brilliant that God designated men to lead the church.  Because if the church was led by women, then men would be lost.  They would not be drawn into the Church if there were no male leaders to serve as role models.

This morning, on Facebook, I asked my friends what I should write about for today’s column.  Yep.  That’s right.  I had nothing planned.  ‘Tis the life of a procrastinator.  Anyhow, one of my friends suggested that I write about how the importance of the father’s role as spiritual leader of the family.  This is a topic I have been thinking about since the conference and then last week, our adult cluster group engaged in this very discussion.  Yes, indeed.  Men need to be the spiritual leaders of the family.  But why?  Why is important that they fill a role their wives seem to fit more naturally?

Have you ever prayed with a group of men?  I mean really prayed.  Like on your knees, face to God, heart and soul poured out on the altar prayed with a group of men.  It is pretty awesome.  I have had this experience at our Holy Spirit prayer group which is a charismatic prayer group in our parish.  I don’t think you have really experienced prayer until you have prayed with a group like this.  And our group has several core members who are men. They make it AWESOME.  I don’t know why but they do.  And then there was the time I visited my parent’s Baptist church.  All the men came to the front of the church, got on their knees and prayed.  They prayed hard for rain.  I thought for sure that it would be raining when we left their church service.  Indeed, there is something remarkable about the prayer of men. 

In the family, the most natural role for the man is provider and protector.  I am not saying that women can not provide or protect, but I think men feel more comfortable filling that role.  Therefore, it is pretty remarkable when the man looks to God to be his provider and protector.  That makes an impression upon the rest of the family.  If my Daddy, who provides the family’s income and is trusted with the family’s well-being, can give up that control to God, then I can trust God too.  I can believe in the God my Father depends upon.  A father’s faith in God sends a strong message to the family.

So, I challenge the men to stand up and be men.  Be an example of one who lives a faith-filled life.  Show your wife and your children what it means to love God.  Show them how to surrender their very lives to the God who surrendered his life to us.  It will not be easy.  You are not made to surrender.  The walls you must tear down are tall and strong.  But your family needs you to do it.  They need you to lead them to the Lord.  Your wife is God’s perfect companion which makes you, who is made in the image of God, her perfect companion.  But you can’t be the man she needs you to be unless you allow God into your life.  Surrender those walls.  Pray with your family.  Show your children how to trust God.  You are the person that will bring them to Christ. 

Laying it Down

“Whoever finds his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.”- Matthew 10:39

I realize that it has been a while.  To say that I have been busy would be the understatement of the century.  These past two months, I have been losing myself.  I’ve given away my time.  I’ve given away my talents.  I’ve sacrificed my sleep, meals and moments with my family.  As I type here, I am beyond exhausted.  But I have never been more satisfied.  I have never been more sure of my path in life.  I have never been more complete.

Two months ago, I accepted a youth ministry position in my parish community.  I coordinate all the middle school youth events.  And yes, I realize that this confirms that I am actually crazy- special kind of crazy.  These kids are growing fast.  They want to find their place in the world at any cost.  They are questioning all the truths they have ever been taught.  And they are doing it in a rapidly changing and somewhat confusing world.  These young people seem lost, afraid, and unsure of themselves.  Yet, they are excited to be at the beginning of this great adventure.  And the Holy Spirit has called me to show them just how much God wants to be on that adventure with them.

The Lord has always spoken to me in grand ways through the sorrowful mysteries of the Rosary.  Through Mary’s eyes, I have seen the passion of the Lord.  I have seen the pain and suffering He endured for our sake and the love that drove Him to it.  That experience has taken me to a deeper understanding of that incredible infinite love the Lord possesses for us.  Now, once again, the Lord is using these mysteries to speak to me- to teach me about discipleship.  He is showing me what it is really like to give away one’s life and to lay it all down at the foot of the cross.

My garden was the chapel.  It was two in the morning.  It was just me and Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament.  In that moment He told me what He wanted me to do.  He wanted me to be a core member on the middle school youth ministry team.  I tried to talk Him out of it.  I tried to tell Him that a girl with such a negative experience in her own high school youth group did not need to be involved.  I was damaged goods.  And the fact that I wasn’t raised Catholic made me all the more unfit for the job.  But He said, no.  He wanted me to do it.  So I did.  And while I was that volunteer, he kept bringing me back to the garden.  He kept showing me where I really fit.  He kept working through me in ways I never dreamed possible.  And then He asked if I would do this for real- if I would be a youth minister.  I balked.  I didn’t have the education or qualifications.  All I had was a music education degree.  He said that didn’t matter.  A position for middle school youth ministry became available in my community.  So I applied.  I was really doing it.

As disciples, we are called to teach as Jesus taught.  We are called to share our lives just as He shared His.  And in order to truly do that, we must come to terms with our own failings.  We must admit where we fail, work through that failure and allow God to have it and use it for His glory.  We must embrace humility and accept our crown of thorns.  Yesterday, I wore mine in front of 50 middle school kids.  I told them a story of how I deeply hurt a friend when I was their age.  I allowed God to use my unflattering story to speak to their hearts.  It was not easy.  It was not fun.  But I happily wear that painful crown for His glory.

Life in ministry is not easy.  I got a taste of its demands as a volunteer.  But, in the last two months, I have experienced how great those demands can be.  It is time consuming.  It takes a lot of planning, prayer, and love.  It takes sacrifice.  I will not get rich in this line of work.  In fact, I can't even give up my day job for it.  Time has become a precious commodity.  Have you heard of the I am Second campaign?  Well, I’m not second.  I am third- God, others, me.  And between this ministry, my family and my day job, the others usually get the time.  Which leaves me a sleep deprived, financially challenged, and well drained shadow of a person.  But that is my cross.  It is the cross He asks me to take up and carry.  And He fills me with such joy, peace and love that I can carry it.  I can do the impossible.  And I do it for His glory.

I am a performer and I am addicted to the stage.  The attention the stage brings is intoxicating.  The natural high of a great performance is what I live for.  And I have discovered that it is what I have to die to.  It is not about me.  It is not about my message.  It is not about my agenda.  It is about His.  I have to put myself aside and speak the words He wants me to speak.  I have to seek Him out and listen to Him in the voices of others.  I have to be open to changing the plan as the Holy Spirit desires.  I have to get off the stage and let Him be the star of the show.  Last night, I got off the stage.  I adored the Blessed Sacrament alongside 50 middle school kids.  And all I had to do was worship.  He moved in that room- in those hearts in ways my words cannot.  All I had to do was be in the back of the room and worship with all my being.  My humanity wants that stage, but I must die to the stage so that He may be glorified.

Now, my more astute readers may have noticed I skipped the scourging at the pillar.  Although, I can find the garden, the crown of thorns, the cross and the crucifixion in my ministry experience, I can never step into the scourging.  I have always viewed the scourging as the undue torture of my Lord because of my sin.  I know that the entire passion experience was how he defeated our sin and won our salvation, but the scourging was hardest to watch.  My Lord was transformed from a strong, healthy man to weakened, bloody mess.  His pain in that moment was more than a normal human could bear. I think He has given me an understanding of His pain so that I may have a glimpse of His love.  And that awesome love is what keeps me going.  The love that drove him to accept that pain and become a bloody mess is what I pray he fills me with in abundance.  So much so that it may overflow from my life and touch the hearts of others- all for His glory.

My biggest role in this ministry is to live this life- not just teach about it.  It’s like swimming.  You can’t teach a person to swim through lecture and study.  You have to get in the water and swim with them.  And you can’t do that if you don’t know how to swim yourself.  We have to have a relationship with the living God if we want to pass along our faith to others.  We have to live the life and then share that life.  In doing so, we are greatly blessed.  The peace, love and joy that flows from sharing in the life of Christ is an intoxicating experience.  And that is the payoff to living a life of discipleship in ministry and giving up your life for His glory.

Glory be to the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  As it was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be, world without end.  Amen.

Sing, Dance and Forgive

“Dance like no one is watching.  Sing like no one is listening.  Love like you have never been hurt.  And live as if this were heaven on earth.”

The above quote has been my motto these past few years.  It fits my personality well because I am that crazy girl in the crowd who will happily do just about anything if it will bring a smile to someone’s face.  I am content to oblige to most requests - from singing karaoke in a crowded bar to eating spam out of the can because I lost a bet with a room full of teenagers.  Yes, the first two in the motto are easy.  I am happy to dance (on a stage) like no one is watching and to sing (into a microphone) like no one is listening.  But the last two in the list are a challenge.  I imagine those last two would be a challenge for most of us.

One of my facebook friends recently asked this question: Is it really wise to love like you have never been hurt?  I have been thinking a lot about her question.  She has a valid point. When you have trusted another with all of yourself and was betrayed, then the hurt is profound.  That hurt makes a lasting mark on your heart.  Is it even possible to trust and even perhaps “love like you have never been hurt”? 

Although I am very blessed to have never been significantly hurt by those who are closest to me, I have been hurt by people whom I trusted.  But relatively speaking, I think that we would be hard pressed to find anyone who hasn’t been hurt or betrayed by another.  My experience happened many years ago when I was on my way out of the Baptist church.  The ministers I was close with made no effort to speak with me concerning my decision to leave the Baptist church.  And considering my relationship with them in the end had been rocky at best, I had to conclude they were happy to see me go.  This was a hard pill for me to swallow because I knew they fought hard for all their members.  If someone stopped attending church, he or she could expect a visit or a phone call.   I was not called.  No one tried to visit me.  Not even one of my friends in the youth group.  Nope.  I could almost hear them yelling “don’t let the door hit you in the butt on the way out!”  At the time, I just moved on.  I concluded that the lesson learned was to not get close to a Christian community again.  From that point on, it was just going to be me and God.  I didn’t need brothers and sisters in Christ.

I think my reaction to this hurt is quite typical of most people.  When we are hurt, our “fight or flight” instincts kick in.  We protect ourselves.  We analyze the experience, learn our lesson, and take the necessary steps to avoid that pain in the future.  Although that can be healthy - it’s only healthy to a point. If we choose to hold onto the hurt and not forgive the person(s)/act(s), then we cannot be truly healed.  We will carry that garbage around and let it burden our souls and affect everything about us.  Why is that?  Why do we have to forgive in order to be free of the burden?

When we harbor past hurt and pain, we justify the resentment and hatred we hold towards the people who have inflicted that pain.  And that resentment gives birth to the fear of loving or of being loved.  The only way to let go of that fear, is to forgive the person and act from which the hurt was inflicted.  Through forgiveness, we regain the freedom love requires. 

But more important than our freedom to love is the fact that the act of forgiving is what Christ commands us to do:

Then Peter approaching asked him, "Lord, if my brother sins against me, how often must I forgive him? As many as seven times?"  Jesus answered, "I say to you, not seven times but seventy-seven times.  That is why the kingdom of heaven may be likened to a king who decided to settle accounts with his servants.  When he began the accounting, a debtor was brought before him who owed him a huge amount.  Since he had no way of paying it back, his master ordered him to be sold, along with his wife, his children, and all his property, in payment of the debt. At that, the servant fell down, did him homage, and said, 'Be patient with me, and I will pay you back in full.'  Moved with compassion the master of that servant let him go and forgave him the loan.  When that servant had left, he found one of his fellow servants who owed him a much smaller amount.  He seized him and started to choke him, demanding, 'Pay back what you owe.'  Falling to his knees, his fellow servant begged him, 'Be patient with me, and I will pay you back.'  But he refused. Instead, he had him put in prison until he paid back the debt.  Now when his fellow servants saw what had happened, they were deeply disturbed, and went to their master and reported the whole affair.  His master summoned him and said to him, 'You wicked servant! I forgave you your entire debt because you begged me to.  Should you not have had pity on your fellow servant, as I had pity on you?'  Then in anger his master handed him over to the torturers until he should pay back the whole debt. So will my heavenly Father do to you, unless each of you forgives his brother from his heart."   (Matthew 18:21-35)

In this parable, Jesus teaches that if we don’t forgive one another, then the heavenly Father will not forgive us.  I don’t know about you, but I find it terrifying that at the end of my days, I may stand before the Lord and He will say, “You did many good things and you loved me deeply, but you did not forgive.  Therefore, I cannot forgive you”.  And boom: there, I am separated from God for eternity.

But, for the sake of argument, let’s set the fear factor aside.  In another teaching on forgiveness found in Matthew 5:23-26, Jesus tells us not to come to the altar if we harbor anger in our hearts towards another.  I was always confused by this teaching.  Just because I am mad at Cindy or Johnny doesn’t mean I am mad at God.  How are trusting God with my heart, and trusting Johnny with my heart related?  But as I have grown older and somewhat more mature and a little more experienced in the art of love, this teaching has become a little clearer.  I think the reason he says this is because we cannot be open to the love he offers us if we fear the vulnerability love requires. When we hold onto the hurt and pain and thus the resentment and perhaps hatred, then we cannot even begin to trust our hearts with anyone else- even God.  At the altar, Jesus gives us his heart but we cannot experience His love unless we are willing to give up our hearts in return.  That is the definition of love- giving one’s self wholly and completely to another.  Therefore, we cannot truly receive the love Jesus offers us at the altar if we hold onto our hearts for fear of letting go.  When we choose not to forgive, then we separate ourselves from God here and now.  And if we continue to hold onto it throughout our lives, that separation can reach into eternity.

I think that once the dust settles and we see the merits in forgiveness, then most of us desire to forgive.  But actually forgiving is a challenge.  In most cases, we have to let go of our pride.  In my situation, I had to let go of the glory of being right.  I had to let go of the idea that the work I did in that church deserved some sort of recognition by the leadership and its members.  I had to conclude that the reason I was Catholic was not because I stepped away from the Baptist community, but rather because Jesus brought me exactly to where he wanted me to be.  While I wallowed in all the hurt and anger, He found me, comforted me and showed me the beauty of the church He established 2000 years ago.  And then He waited for me to realize that I could not fully experience His love unless I was willing to let go of my hurt, my justification, and my pride.  Once I forgave, I was able to hand Him all of my heart and be embraced by the community through which He loves.  I was able to be reunited with Him.

So, is it wise to love like you have never been hurt?  I think so.  It’s not easy.  It’s not natural.  But it is quite necessary if we want to really live.  How sad would life be if we always guarded our hearts and never allowed ourselves to be loved?  How sad would life be if we never experienced the love and freedom brought forth in forgiveness?  How sad would it be to go to Christ’s table and never partake in the love for which he died?  How sad would it be if we choose to be separated from God here and now and then into eternity?  Yes, it is wise.  Partaking in God’s love is where we find life’s meaning, purpose and most of all, pure joy- it is heaven on earth.  And how glorious will it be when we stand before the Father and He says “I forgive you, my good and faithful servant.”

A Journey Through Time

Life is a journey.  We are travelers through a land called time.  Because time is always moving, so are we.  We are always in motion.  We do not stop.  On this journey through time, we see beauty and horror.  We experience joy and sorrow.  We find peace and unrest.  Time’s terrain is rugged.  Its climate is unpredictable.  In one moment we find ourselves on top of the highest mountain and the next drowning in the cold, deep sea.  Just when we start to feel comfortable in the warm sun, storms arise.  Warm days give way to cold nights.  Time is a harsh land.  Those who journey here are shaped and molded.  Time leaves it mark and the travelers are forever changed.  But, what happens when we get to the end of time?  What lies beyond time?

This journey through time is our opportunity to get to know God.  We experience Him through His exquisite creation.  We see him in the faces of our fellow travelers.  We feel him in a child’s kiss or a mother’s touch.  God is present with us in time.  He is wooing us to His kingdom.  He is showing us glimpses of Himself in the hopes we will travel through time to where He is. 

For those of us who choose God on this journey, it does not guarantee the journey will be easy.  You see, we are not made for this world.  We are just traveling through it.  God allows time to shape us and mold us.  God uses time to grow us into the people He wills for us to be.  He prepares us for the wedding - the day when we will unite with Him in the kingdom at the end of our journey through time. 

Like any traveler, we need to be nourished.  We need to eat and drink and rest.  And God knows this.  Our physical world is a reflection of the spiritual world.  Just like we need water and food for our physical bodies, we need similar nourishment for our souls.  If we are to keep traveling to His kingdom, we need spiritual sustenance on this journey through time. 

“For just as from the heavens the rain and snow come down and do not return there till they have watered the earth making it fertile and fruitful, Giving seed to him who sows and bread to him who eats, so shall my word be that goes forth from my mouth; It shall not return to me void, but shall do my will, achieving the end for which I sent it.”  (Isaiah 55: 10-11)

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.  He was in the beginning with God.  All things came to be through him and without him nothing came to be.  What came to be through him was life and this life was the light of the human race; the light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it.” (John 1: 1-5)

(Jesus said)”Do not work for food that perishes but for the food that endures for eternal life, which the Son of Man will give you.  For on him the Father, God, has set his seal.” (John 6:27)

“So Jesus said to them, “Amen, amen, I say to you, it was not Moses who gave the bread from heaven; my Father gives you the true bread from heaven.  For the bread of God is that which comes down from heaven and gives life to the world.”  So they said to him, “Sir, give us this bread always.”  Jesus said to them, “I am the bread of life; whoever comes to me will never hunger, and whoever believes in me will never thirst.” (John 6:32-35)

“Jesus said to them, “Amen, amen, I say to you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you do not have life within you.  Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise him on the last day.  For my flesh is true food and my blood is true drink.  Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood remains in me and I in him.  Just as the living Father sent me and I have life because of the Father, so also the one who feeds on me will have life because of me.” (John 6: 53-57)

So, what is the sustenance God provides for us as we travel through life?  His son present in the Eucharist.  At every Mass, we take a journey through time.  We arrive at the cross.  We witness His sacrifice.  We celebrate His resurrection.  Then we experience His life as we receive the Eucharist.  Christ gives us nourishment for the journey.  And He hopes we will stay on this ill-traveled road and make our way to His kingdom where He will make us an everlasting gift to the Father.

A Light in the Darkness

We walked towards the empty chapel.  Although my kids have been in the chapel before, it has always been brief and filled with people.  This will be the first time I am able to really talk to my oldest son about what is in the chapel- who is in the chapel.  The lit candle flame above the tabernacle danced with the darkness as we entered the sacred space.  Its small light seemed to miraculously touch every corner of the dim room as if the darkness stepped aside to admire its joyful dance.  As our eyes drew in its beauty, I leaned in towards my son and softly said, “When that candle is lit, it means Jesus is in the tabernacle.”

“Really?” my son answered.  As his eyes turned from the candle to the tabernacle, he fell to his knees.  The candle’s light danced on his awestruck face.  Then he closed his eyes, bowed his head and began to silently pray. 

I came to the chapel prepared to explain why Jesus was there.  I came there ready to prove to my son that He does reside in there.  I came ready for a debate.  Instead, I found myself humbled by the child whose faith required no explanation.  He didn’t need my answers.  He knew his King was on the throne in that little chapel.  He was awestruck.  So, he knelt.  And he prayed. 

As I watched him, I wanted to reach back through my years and grasp that child-like faith I once carried.  I wanted to just believe without the head full of knowledge confirming what my young heart already knew all those years ago.  I wanted to kneel beside him with an innocent and awestruck mind and not worry that the world calls me crazy.  I longed for the child-like faith free the doubt and fear my fallen human nature easily harbors.

As Christians, we go through peaks and valleys.  We have our mountain top moments and we have our moments where we feel alone and abandoned.  Lately, I have been in the valley.  It’s not my first time here.  And I know it won’t be my last.  I know these moments in the darkness are my opportunities to love the Lord anyway.  They are my moments to rise above the despair and stay obedient and steadfast on this journey.  But unfortunately, I fail.  I fail to pray.  I fail to hope.  I fail to believe.  I feel the fiery arrows of the evil one coming toward me and I fail to put up my shield.  I fail to call out to my God.  And I lay down in defeat and wonder if I’ll ever have the desire to rise again.

 While my defeated spirit stood in that dim chapel longing for a child’s simple faith, I began to watch the light dancing above the tabernacle.  I realized how powerful the candle’s small light is against the darkness.  I observed how its joy chased away the fear darkness holds.  I saw how easily it reached the blackest corners of that sacred space and how beautiful it made everything it touched- especially the face of my faith-filled child.  That beauty stirred up the hope I had surrendered.  His unquestionable faith stirred up my will to believe.  And the desire to hit my knees and call out to my God began to bubble up inside of me. 

Although I am still in the valley, I am rising to find my armor.  I am lifting my shield.  I am opening my eyes and waiting to see the light the Lord has placed in my soul.  I have hope in the beauty the light brings to this life.  And soon, I will be looking for the next mountain.  I will be ready to climb.

“What came to be through him was life, and this life was the light of the human race; the light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it.” (John 1:3b-5)