The 4th Joyful Mystery: The Presentation

I have said many times (and still claim it as true) that the 2nd Joyful Mystery - The Visitation - is my favorite of all the Rosary's mysteries. However, today it was the 4th that brought the most fruitful meditation.

There is a lot going on this mystery. There are many characters: Joseph, Mary, the infant Jesus, Simeon, and Anna.

Simeon has been waiting to meet the Messiah. He has been told that he will not die without meeting the Messiah. He bears with him the weight of that gift: constant searching, patient waiting, deep trust. As he and Anna are blessed to meet the Son of their Lord, Simeon's words call to attention the suffering that Mary will endure.

There is a lot of weight in this moment.

What Mary and Joseph have to present is the Christ Child. Jesus Himself: recently born of Mary. He is God, and He is a real and tangible symbol of what Mary and Joseph have chosen to make of their lives. He is (among many things) the fruit of their surrender.

There is a lot of weight in what they present.

What they are presenting is worthy of the moment. What they brought to God in the temple that day was something worth a joyful presentation. It was a great and powerful fulfillment of Simeon's long waiting. It was something so clearly right and good that it could withstand the sorrow of Simeon's words to Mary - that her own heart would be pierced.

This is what we need in our lives. Something worthy to present to God. Notice how the surrender of Mary and Joseph led to the gift of a worthy presentation.

When we surrender our lives, when we work to let God build our offering to Him with His own hands, that's when we can present to Him joyfully. That's when we become the instruments through which He fills the longing of man. That's when we are able to withstand the sorrowful message the world often brings.

Lord Jesus, create in me a worthy presentation for You.

A New Perspective

I just got home from a Reconciliation service. The priest began his homily by talking about the memory loss caused by Alzheimer and Dementia. He described the way that many who suffer from those diseases have forgotten who they are. They may not remember their family, what they like to do, or how to do things like receive Communion at Mass. They need people in their lives who can remind them of what they've forgotten - what they cannot remember on their own.

They've forgotten who they are.

Often times in our own lives we too forget who we are. Think for a moment about who we are. We are God's children. We are the objects of a great and perfect Love.

When we walk in the opposite direction of God - when we sin- we've forgotten who we are.

The Sacrament of Reconciliation is not only about God calling us back to Him and forgiving us. It's about God reminding us of who we are.

We are an Easter people. We are a people of the resurrection. Even when we sin, we are still a people meant to be alive in the glory of the risen Christ. How often we forget who we are.

When I don't do something because I'm too afraid, when I'm so caught up in what's going on in my life, when I'm distracted by so many loud things around me, I forget who I am.

God wants to remind us of who we are. He wants us to remember that we are good and holy and that the reality of who we are lies in His great love for us, not in our sins and failures.

What a quick and powerful prayer it is to ask God to "remind me of who I am."

My Life on Repeat

I don't know when I wrote the following (there was no date). I found it while reading through old journals from college. It is uncanny how very similar this entry is to the words I prayed in adoration today.

A piece of my then and my now...

Lord Jesus, sometimes I think I know what Your Spirit is prompting me to do. Other times I am sure that I don't have a clue. I sit before You now at neither extreme. I'm unsure of Your plan for me, but I do not feel completely lost. I know what I want, but I'm afraid to ask for it. I'm afraid that You might give it to me and that I will somehow loose sight of You in the process.

It reminds me of my favorite St. Faustina quote...

"Let all my desires, even the holiest, noblest, and most beautiful, take always the last place, and Your holy will, the very first."

How Easily I Forget

I allowed myself to get lost in blog world this morning. I let a blog I check daily lead me to a blog I've never read, which lead me to another blog I'd never read, where I saw a comment by a blog I had only read once before...as I said, lost in blog world.  While there I was reminded of something so easily forgotten.  I was reminded that genuine openness and honesty in sharing truly inspire.

This blog has been relatively quiet. I've been busy, my students have "Santa-Brain" (today's snow probably won't help that situation tomorrow), and the St. Andrew novena has me reflecting on this liturgical season with a frequency that seems constant. However, I love writing. I love articulating what is going on inside of me. And without ever ignoring humility or failing to give all glory to God, I believe that by sharing here others may be inspired.

Thus I write today.

Givenness. I'm told by my computer that it is not a word. Fine. I'm using it anyway. God calls me to be fully given. Fully given to Him, to my family, to my students, to those around me.

Givenness. He calls me to it.

Given. I am not.

I am not fully given to my family because most encounters with them are a rushed change of clothes, a quick grabbing of food, and a run out the door to the next thing on my schedule. I am called to slow down, to give.

I am not fully given to my students because I am afraid of losing the rest of myself in loving them. I worry that if I give fully, I'll become consumed and miss other opportunities. They are so undeserving of such mistreatment on my part. I am called to give.

I am not fully given to my friends because (1) I don't see them much in social situations, (2) some of them live in different states and communication is hard, and (3) I am afraid of the cost of love. I dread the consequences (which though hard, will only make friendships stronger, holier, and more reflective of God's love for us) of total honesty and accountability.

I am not fully given to God. Though I discern in prayer and He grants many graces, I do not fully know His plan for me. While I trust that it is good, I do not fully surrender. Abandoning myself completely to His holy, divine will is scary because odds are my own vision is not His, and His will be harder (and much, much better - but that does not provide me with the immediate comfort it should). Fully giving myself to Him is the only way for me to be happy. But can I say yes to the suffering that is the cost of such love? Perhaps a better question is WILL I say yes to the suffering that is the cost of such love?

Givennes. To be fully given.

That is my prayer.

That Person

I struggle in my prayer to give myself, as I truly am, to God.

I'm fairly certain .... well...as certain as one who tries to remain completely open to God's will can be (i.e. not certain at all) that God does not intend for me to approach Him alone for the rest of my life. In other words, I was made for union with man. (The reasons why I have the amount of timid, uncommitted belief I do is a story for some other time.)

So, being made for such union, I frequently find myself asking God how much time I must spend longing for it. I try to gently remind Him ;-) of that for which I was made.

However, God, in His infinite wisdom and perfect love, has me single now.  He is calling me to a life of something else for the time being. I find it hard to embrace big dreams in Him while waiting.

Around the time of graduation, I was preparing to say many, many goodbyes. I was comforted by great peace in a vision of a life in which faithful servants of God continuously come into my path and leave.  They leave because God calls them.  They leave because of their openness to His will in their lives.  They leave because the Father beckons.

As the Kingdom of God is built up around the world through the "yes" of all these people I envisioned walking in and out of each others' lives, there would be joy.  I saw myself going wherever He called as well.

Right now though, I wait.

I love that vision. But I struggle to give myself fully to it.

It is a joyful life, yes, but the good Christian knows that the joy comes only as the fruit of suffering.

I've found myself waiting, unaccountably it seems, for that one person who would always be at my side - the one person who would walk in and not out, whose call was the same as mine.

As I confessed this in prayer to our loving and gently compassionate God, He whispered His response to the silence and stillness of my heart:

That person you are waiting for...it's me. I am the One who will never leave as others journey away.  That person is me.

Abraham and God

Note: At the time of publication, the background template on my blog is in need of repair. However, now is not a time that I'm interested in fixing it.

I loved the first reading at mass today. I listened to the words while imagining a scene at which I had to smile.  It was all tos familiar. Abraham asking God if He would in fact be subject to the demands of justice. Returning again and again with a new question - each time beginning by stating that he has no real right to ask anything of the Father, much less to question His ways.

How often my prayers begin the same way. "God, I know that I shouldn't ask but..." "I know it isn't for me to question but..." "God, I need the grace to trust you and have stronger faith but ...."

God's response in the reading was one of patience. In fact, it almost seemed as if He enjoyed this opportunity to teach and reassure Abraham of His justice, His love, and His mercy.

God wants us to know Him.

In the Gospel reading, the apostles (going through the Son to the Father, which is -as scripture tells us - the only way to know the Father) ask Jesus to teach them how to pray.  He teaches them to first give honor and glory to God and to accept God's will, not their own. From this we can learn that in approaching God in humility, in humble surrender, we can come to know Him better.

The Abraham in us all can be satisfied.

Fallen Away

I don't know the statistics. I'm not sure I really want to. I do know that many, many Catholics fall away from their faith.

I've said on many occasions that, at this point in my faith life, it would take a whole lot for me to turn my back on my faith. From my perspective, though I have much, much more to learn, I've grown a lot in my ability to trust God. I've found that loving God and His will even when it doesn't make much sense to me is the only thing that actually makes me happy in this life, and the only thing that will lead me to the next.

In his letter to the Romans, St. Paul is in anguish over Jewish rejection of Christ. He notes that to the Jewish people God gave so much: sonship, glory, the patriarchs, the law, and the promises. Yet when God sent the Messiah for which they had been waiting, they rejected Him.  When I read that, I can connect in some way with Paul's anguish. It is sad.

What if it is my story too?

Continuing through Paul's letter, he talks about the Gentiles being grafted on the tree. He warns them not to be boastful.  He cautions them to remember that their faith is a gift. It is a manifestation of God's glory and goodness. It is through no power of their own. It is because God holds them their, through His faithfulness.

I have to remember this too. Those lessons I have learned in faith and trust are gifts. I've learned them only because God has allowed it. I learn them only when I listen well. To His voice. Not mine.

My prayer is that I heed Paul's warning. My faith is a gift. I should not boast.

It is God who holds me here.

Oh How I Need Him

A month or so ago, I went through a period of a couple weeks where I listened to Danielle Rose's song Give and Take each night while I laid in bed praying.  The lyrics are beautiful, and I found that they really helped me put my life in perspective. Throughout the song, the lyrics encourage a desire to surrender everything, to give up anything necessary to be close to God.  Not only that, but to do so joyfully, praising God for the blessings that remain.

One night, as I prayed I told God, with a mixture of guilt and desperation, that I just couldn't do it. My love for Him was lacking something necessary. And in that moment, in my mind, I saw Jesus on the road to Calvary.  As I told Him that I wasn't enough, that I couldn't do it, He looked back at me and said in a tender, yet sorrowful, voice, "I know."  And He turned around, and continued carrying the cross, to His death, for my salvation. Because I couldn't do it.

Last night, during adoration at XLT, I was meditating on the story of the loaves and fishes. I placed myself in the character of the young boy.  I imagined myself working hard to catch those fish. I imagined getting the bread and preparing to take both back to my mom. All the while, in the background of the scene, but constantly making its way to the forefront of my mind, I saw a large crowd, gathered around one Man, listening to Him preach.  As the disciple approached me, telling me that this man was the Messiah and that He wanted to feed everyone gathered there, and then asking me if I would give what little food I had, the story stopped.  Suddenly I wondered, was this all the food the boy had?  Did he give his whole basket, or just some so that there would still be food to take back to his family?

Since I was imagining myself as the boy, I had a decision to make. Would I give my whole basket?  But how could I? I mean, wouldn't Jesus want me to still have food to take to my family?

I stood in line for Reconciliation as the band played The Stand. One of lines says "So I'll stand, with arms high and heart abandoned, in awe, of the One who gave it all..." Of the One who gave it all.  I couldn't give my whole basket; I couldn't give it all. But Jesus, He is the One who gave it all.  He held nothing back.

My Father in Heaven knew, eternally, that I could not do it. That He would have to send His only Son to do it for me. As I struggle to find joy, to be at peace with praising Him for what remains what I give all to Him, and I as sit there, holding on to my basket, trying to justify not giving Him the whole thing, He picks up His cross, walks the road to Calvary, suffers and dies. And His Father responds to His offering by continually showering grace upon me in my imperfection.  All of this so that, one day, I may be close to Him, when nothing, not even the failures of my life, will stand between us and our love.

Oh how I need Him.

I Am Not She

Dearest Love,

Christmas is approaching.  As I journey through this season of preparing for Your humble yet glorious birth, I am reminded of the depth and power of Your love for me.  I want to try to express to You something of what my relationship with You means to me.

Life is not easy.  I am young, but I learned this lesson long ago.  So often my relationship with You suffers from shallowness of waters.  Many times, I am consumed by this world and its difficulties.  While Your love for me transcends into eternity, I myself am unable to move beyond the confines of this world.

I have said, on multiple occasions, that I cannot imagine my life without You.  I have said that all is confusing enough with You in my life.  Tonight, I question how much I have actually let You in.  I cannot deny, nor do I wish to, that every good thing in my life is a blessed gift from above, and that every good action is done only because of Your grace.  However, I wonder how much I am actually living this life without You.

In the depths of my heart, I think that I love You.  And I think that love is motivated by genuine intentions, that it is pure and selfless.  But how pure of a love can it be if I’m not allowing it to change me.  If I ignore promptings that are likely to be from You, I am no closer to You than had I never heard them.

I have learned a lot about You these past three and half years.  I do believe that You have wanted me to do so.  Somewhere along the way, or maybe this was a problem before these years started, I stopped asking to be transformed.  Many of my prayers became nothing more than thoughts directed at no one in particular.

I wanted to write a letter in which I could express to You how much I love You.  I wanted it to be filled with the beautiful language of which You are deserving.  I wanted to detail, in small ways, the joys and sorrows of this life we share together.  Instead, I am left lamenting.  The words necessary to express what I am like on the inside are not the words I long to use.

My Jesus, my sweet, loving Jesus, I am broken.  There is far too much of me, and far too little of You.  And I hear You calling Lord.  I hear the tenderness of Your beckon.  But my response is not coming easily.  My soul is nearly collapsing under the pressure of this moment.  Lord, I do not know how to say Yes.  Mary, Your Mother, my Mother … our Mother, lived so beautifully and so perfectly that for which I do long. I do. But I am not she.  I am not she…

But she will pray for me Lord.  And those who lived the faithful life before me will beg for me at the feet of Your Father.  And slowly, very slowly, my heart will change.  Do I believe that?  Will I live like I do?

I am here Lord.  My soul is fighting against the strong jaws of my flesh.  They want desperately to snap shut. To block You out. To remain the same.  They are trapped in the heavy chains of fear. And my soul is struggling. Struggling.

I need Your grace Jesus.  My Love.  I cannot ask for it enough. I cannot desire it enough.  I cannot be enough.  But Your grace is enough.  It will be enough.  It is enough.

Meditation Assignment: Romans

For my meditation project, I chose to commit to weekly scripture reading. I had, in the past, been committed to the daily exercise of meditating on scripture, and I had been blessed to enjoy its many fruits. For reasons that are actually nothing more than worthless excuses, I fell out of this habit. That was a year and a half ago. I have made many feeble attempts to pick up the practice again, but I have found little success. I entered into this assignment with much excitement. Finally, I would have to be dedicated. I would have to follow through. This is homework after all.


I began by spending some time prayerfully considering where to begin my reading. Over the summer, I found myself frequently inspired by the second reading at mass. Since this is usually from one of St. Paul’s letters, I chose that as my starting point. I decided to start at the beginning. Romans 1. It didn't take long for me to realize that this wasn’t going to be as easy as I had hoped. I didn't get very far before I was lost in my head. What was Paul talking about? What do his words mean in terms of justification? Does he support a belief in predestination? What was it that Luther said about this part? Do our works really matter? Stop. I needed to stop. This wasn’t what was supposed to be happening. I was supposed to be opening my mind and my heart. I was supposed to be allowing God to speak to me. I needed to stop making everything an intellectually theological debate.

According to the catechism, meditation is supposed to deepen my faith. It should convert my heart and strengthen me to do God’s will. Instead, it was confusing me in my faith. It didn't even have a chance to reach my heart because I was so caught up in my head. I couldn't hear God’s will through what I was reading. I was getting discouraged.

Perhaps the obvious decision would have been to choose something else in the Bible. Whether it was pride and stubbornness or some sort of noble determination is debatable, but either way, I stuck with Romans. I decided that no matter what happened during my prayer time, I was going to end on a good note. I would end with a resolution – something from the scripture I had read that I could incorporate practically into my day that day.

This proved to be a big help to me. Knowing that the resolution was coming at the end helped me to focus during the process. I began reading the chapter for the day slowly, trying to consider its words carefully with my mind and my heart. Through that process, I discovered a new trust in God. I knew that not all of the words had to make sense in my head. I knew that I could struggle with the theology and everything would still be okay. I learned how to trust that while God’s words will always contain greater depths of meaning than I could hope to grasp, He will always send His Spirit upon me to enlighten me. He will always lead me to the understanding necessary for me to grow closer to Him.

This served as a metaphoric reminder to me for my life. I was not in a good place spiritually throughout the duration of this project. My life seemed like a dark abyss that was approaching with increasing speed and against my will. I couldn't see where God was taking me. I couldn't understand how He was working in my life. However, just as I learned to trust Him in my prayer, I learned to trust Him (again) in my life.

God’s will is not that much clearer to me. The abyss is still there. But my mind has learned to listen to my heart a little bit better, and, by uniting them in prayer, I have been given the strength to trust God in the moment. To ask myself what He wants of me now. Today. Whether Paul thought we are justified by faith or by works can wait. There is something more important, because today, God is calling me to be quiet, to approach Him in humility, and to listen.

Judgment Day

I was home this past weekend and had the opportunity to watch the funeral mass of Ted Kennedy as well as the brief prayer at the Capitol building and bits of the burial. I found myself proud to be Catholic. There was something empowering about seeing three former presidents as well as the current president present at Mass - though I know they are not in full communion with the Church. I felt proud to know something of the power and meaning behind the rituals they witnessed. I was honored to believe with all my heart in the Real Presence of Jesus Christ in the Liturgy they attended. I was pleased to be part of the Body of Christ, the Universal Church, that mourned and prayed with a faithful family.

 I know that Ted was pro-choice, but this did not taint the celebration of his life. There was much focus on his passion for helping people, on his sense of responsibility to them, and on his natural tendency to turn to Our Lady of Perpetual Help in times of great need. We thank God for the good he did fight for in his life. We remember that we do not know the state of his soul upon death; we did not hear his last Confession. And we can celebrate the man that he was knowing that his soul is in God's hands - the judgment is reserved for God alone, which is the only place it ever really was.

Tonight I had the always needed opportunity to reflect on my own entrance into eternity - the day when I will stand before my Lord and He will take me through all of the good that did and all of the evil that I did. The terrifying loneliness of that moment leaves me feeling hollow inside. I have done so little good and so much wrong. There is something deeply unsettling when thinking about souls. Every person that I encounter will one day either be in the eternal bliss of Heaven or the eternal damnation of hell. There is no time for trivialities.

Following my reflections, I had the opportunity to pray the Chaplet of Divine Mercy. I have never prayed that prayer with so much of heart. In that moment of judgment, all we can offer God in defense of ourselves is His mercy.

THE DIVINE MERCY CHAPLET (On Rosary Beads)
Begin with One Our Father, One Hail Mary, and the Apostles Creed

(On the mystery bead) Eternal Father I offer thee the body, blood, soul, and divinity of Your dearly beloved Son our Lord Jesus Christ: in atonement of our sins and those of the whole world.

(On Hail Mary Beads) For the sake of His sorrowful passion: have mercy on us and on the world. (Repeat for each decade)

Close with: Holy God, Holy Mighty One, Holy Immortal One: have mercy on us and on the whole world (Three times)

Are You Leaving In Peace?

That question has been on my heart the last couple of days. As I prepare to go back to school tomorrow morning, I find myself doing major reflecting on my summer. There is a list of things (some big and some insignificant) that I intended to do that I did not.

I never went fishing, never shot a gun, never went horseback riding. The pile of books planned for summer reading is almost the same size it was when summer began. The writing I planned to do is saved in a document that was touched far less frequently than I had hoped. My room is far from the organized vision I had for it.

There is an even longer list of things I did (some big and some insignificant) that I had not planned on doing. Women's Night with the youth group was one of the biggest ways God blessed my summer. A couple random road trips with my family made the bonds of family stronger. Conversations that I never expected to have made the summer nights just a bit sweeter. However, these lists are not really the source of my reflection. My greater concern is whether or not I'm leaving in peace.

Am I at peace with the ways I have chosen to spend my time? Do I have peace in my friendships or are there too many things being left unsaid? Am I at peace with God? Have a nurtured my relationship with Him, or do I need to beg for His forgiveness for all the ways I did not? Do I leave the Parish in peace? Have I served it in the way God has asked me to? Have I build relationships in the way He intended? Is there peace in my home and with my family?

The time that I was physically in my house this summer was minimal. I spent a fair amount of time at work. I spent vast amounts of time doing youth ministry stuff. I had the occasional outing with close friends. There was a time when Pete called needing help with Steubenville stuff and work called needing help on the same day. I chose to help Pete. In that moment, I felt like I had begun making decisions the way I hope to make them for the rest of my life. Youth group was more important to me. And even though the work at the store probably would have been less stressful and I would have been paid, still I knew that youth group was more important. I really believe that it was what God was calling me to make my primary vocation this summer. I'm very much at peace with all of the time I chose to invest in the program.

I've been learning a hard lesson this summer about communication. This is mostly because I'm unhealthily afraid of intimacy and vulnerability. The thought of someone knowing what I'm thinking sends me into a state of paralyzing fear. God continues to place people in my life that challenge this fear, and He frequently rewards me with the peace and freedom of honest communication. This summer was no exception to that. Are there some things being left unsaid? Yes. And probably more than just a few. But I do have peace; it's the kind of peace that comes with knowing that even though I am imperfect God's grace is changing me. I have grown, and I will continue to do so.

Daily mass was far less of a reality in my life than it should have been. While I did frequent the adoration chapel, the source and summit of my faith was neglected. A lot of times it was because of sheer lack of virtue. For this I will make amends with God. Did I choose virtue at every turn? No. Did I follow through with everything His voice prompted me to do? No. Did I learn how to hear Him better? Yes. Do I regret the times I failed to listen? Yes. Do I have peace? Yes. Although it is only because I know that mercy redeems.

This summer I fell in love. The object of my affection? Assumption Parish and the life that is present there. Do I have peace? Yes. However this peace is marked with great anticipation. In many ways as I journey back to college I do so in the hope that I will grow in ways that will allow me to serve the Parish even better.

And my family? That is a bit more complicated. Is there peace? Perhaps. But in many ways my family life is characterized by conflicting values and opinions of what is best. I'm assured only by the fact that I believe God is working. He'll stretch my ability to be a good daughter.

There is deep sadness in my heart as I say my goodbyes and work to pack up my things. I'm temporarily leaving a life that I love in order to pursue a life that I hope I will grow to love. The beautiful thing is that there is an even deeper conviction that what I'm doing is God's will. I know that I could never be the person God created me to be without this last year at Benedictine. I hope that the power of God's grace meets the fertile soil of an open heart - even when my sadness leads to doubt.

Visionary Award

"This is a young adult woman, 18-30, who sees what others may not; a woman who sees reality from another perspective, makes connections others miss and has the courage to call others to change."

Today the Archdiocese of St. Louis is acknowledging the lives of 22 women by giving them this award; I'm honored to be among those women.

I hope to be a young woman of great vision. I hope that those words can describe me not because I'm idealistic or because I think up creative solutions to problems. Rather, I hope those words describe me because I strive to be in tune with God's vision.

I hope that I do see reality from another perspective; I hope that it is because I'm seeing it through the eyes of God, not my own. I hope that throughout my time on earth I will be able to see that all of life's joys, regrets, blessings, and suffering are deeply connected to God's vision for not only my own salvation, but also the salvation of all of mankind.

Today at the reception which followed the award ceremony, a man in his seventies came up to me and told me a story about how he had come to realize the Gospel of Christ is alive. He began by telling me that he and I had something in common, because he too is in love. He ended by telling me that when he saw the pictures in the Review, he knew that each of us were the living manifestation of the Gospel he knew to be alive. He reminded me that while it is true that I have vision, it is also true that I am young. In many ways that man's life is a far greater testament to the Gospel than my own. He has lived through more; he has suffered through more. I do have hope and vision. But I also have no idea.

I have great hope in the beauty of a holy marriage ... but I do not know the struggle and hardship that is part of giving your life entirely to another.

I have great hope in the beauty of carrying life within me ... but I do not know the insecurity and discomfort of being pregnant.

I have great hope in the beauty of natural childbirth ... but I do not know the pain of labor.

I have great hope in the beauty of being the sustaining factor in the lives of my babies ... but I do not know the confinement and difficultly of nursing.

I have great hope in the beauty of inspiring my students ... but I do not know the stress and frustration of teaching.

I have great hope in the beauty of a life lived for God and God alone ... but I do not know the pain and suffering that leads to the victory of the cross.

But I do know this: any vision for beauty is a gift from God, and His grace will carry me through the parts about which I have no idea. His grace is bigger than my youth. And His vision is one in which joy and peace surpass all suffering.

That elderly man was right about one thing. I am in love. Somehow, in someway, I have fallen head-over-heels in love with the King of Kings. And I know that it is with that love and through that love that I'll see God's vision become reality.

To Be Truly Healed

How many times do we really experience healing? So often it seems that people settle for less than true healing. We pretend to be satisfied by endings that only vaguely resemble true healing.

If we really believe in a God from whom the circumstances of our lives are a gift, then when we experience hurt, we should seek the growth God intends for us through it. We should seek the purpose of His allowance of such things in our lives. We should seek to be healed of our pain by Him, because it is through His healing that we will come to experience the full extend of the peace and joy that God wants for us.

I think that part of the reason healing is so difficult is that it often (initially) involves more pain. This makes sense when we understand that God works through our pain to perfect us. So much good would come from truly being healed that the extra pain is almost a necessity. I think it all comes back to the fact that it is hard to understand God's ways. It is hard for us to consent to more pain, because it is hard for us to trust and hope that God has a bigger plan. And it is hard for us to trust and have hope because the reality of God's plan is so much greater, so far beyond, our meager human understanding. So much so that even when we do find peace, we cannot fully understand the magnitude of what we are experiencing.

Every time we encounter pain we stand at a crossroad. It is the crossroad between a lackluster way of living that involves covering up and pretending and the embracing of the life-altering pain and grace of true healing.

God Became Man...

...and dwelt among us. I had one of those moments yesterday where truth that I have known for a long time hits me a new way. It happened unexpectedly at work. I was walking into the back room and suddenly more of the weight of the Incarnation fell upon me. When I think about what humanity is, my tendency is to think about all of the ways we've gone wrong. It is far easier for me to reflect on how we should be better than it is for me to reflect on how we already are good. Just look at a little bit of salvation history. God creates Adam and Eve. He (the God who is far greater than His creation) sees it all as good. Man breaks under the weight of his pride and falls into disobedience. God renews His covenant with man through Abraham. Man fails. God renews His covenant with man through Noah. Man fails. God renews His covenant with man through Moses and gives the 10 Commandments. Man fails. All of salvation history is the story of covenants and failure. Throughout that time humanity becomes more and more selfish and less and less consumed by God. So what does God do? He decides to become one of us. He decides to become man. God becomes man in the fullest sense of the word. He becomes the very people who have failed throughout history. He enters into the chaos that His creation has become in the very form of the being through which the chaos entered. And He takes the full weight of our sin upon Himself. He spends His life on earth loving us, caring for us, teaching us, and healing us. Then, He picks up His cross, walks the road to Calvary, and He dies a bloody and humiliating death for our sins. It's obvious which end of the covenant is really committed to our salvation. We have a God who has done everything He can and has ensured, by His very life, that nothing can stand in the way of our salvation. Nothing but our own choice.

Corpus Christi Confusion

I know this is a week late, but I left for Project Life last week without making time to blog about this. Last Sunday as I was sitting at mass reflecting on Christ's sacrifice, I began to feel repulsion at the whole idea. I was mentally comparing Christ's sacrifice with the animal sacrifices of the Old Testament. In those sacrifices, the priest would hold on to the head of the animal in a ritual that was supposed to transfer his sins to the animal. Thus, when the animal was sacrificed, payment for those sins was made. In the same way, Christ takes our sins upon Himself, and He is slaughtered in the same bloody mess as the animals of the Old Testament. It was at this point that my reflection became a bit too much for my comfort level. The vast humiliation that Christ's suffering includes is not something I would want for anyone, much less the Love of My Life, my Savior and King. I didn't want the cross. I didn't want the Eucharist. I knew that without those things there could be no salvation, but how could I let Christ suffer in my place? How could I let the cross be my fault? Last Sunday, I learned something new about love. My capacity to be loved by God increased, because I gained a greater understanding of just how minuscule my understanding of love is. For reasons far beyond what I can comprehend, God sent His Son to freely choose to die for me. Through the paradox of the cross, the glory in the humiliation, somehow salvation is offered to me, and I become the recipient of a Love that is more glorious and true than any other love. It is truly amazing.

Now and Eternity

A few weeks ago, I was praying about goodbyes. I had to say goodbye to some very amazing people who won't be returning to my college next year. A few days before the goodbye, God provided me with great wisdom about the situation. He taught me that our goodbyes are just as important as our hellos. The life we are living on earth is being lived so that we can one day get to Heaven. Every step of our journey is designed to lead to union with God. I love the people I had to say goodbye to. They have made a tremendous impact on my life, and I consider it a great blessing to have been able to be part of theirs. I know that our relationship will change. Sometimes we will talk, sometimes we will see each other, sometimes we will write, sometimes we will know what is going on in each other's lives, and sometimes we won't. And that is okay because in reality, now is not when I want to see them. When I really want to be with them is when we are forever worshiping our God in Heaven. This new path that they are taking is necessary to perfect them for Heaven. The path that I am still on is necessary for my own perfection. I'm more than willing to sacrifice every role in their lives (and theirs in mine) if it means that we will be closer to our ultimate end, closer to eternity. The goodbye was a very emotional one. I'm convinced that God gave me this insight a couple days in advance because He knew I would not be able to hear Him speaking to me through the emotions of the actual day. However, because of His providence, I was able to focus on this wisdom and not fall apart completely. (Note the completely) There were many tears, and then there was hope.

Small Prayer Time Reflection

Tonight before mass I was praying about my desire for God. I want to fall on my knees at His feet daily, in desperate need of His grace to fill me. Tonight it hit me in a new way, in order for that to happen, I actually have to go to His feet everyday and fall on my knees. I have to make it a reality by living. Sometimes the simplest logic matches providentially with God's grace. In those moments, I'm blessed to understand.

Waiting

Simon Peter was good at fishing. He'd put much time and effort into his trade. He knew the waters. He knew how to read the signs and find the fish.

Early in the Gospels, before Peter left everything to follow Jesus, Jesus was preaching to a large crowd from Simon Peter's boat. (I'm in Luke 5: 1 -11, in case you were wondering) Peter, Andrew, James, and John had been fishing all night and had caught nothing. When Jesus finished preaching, he told Peter to row the boat out into the deeper water to catch some fish. Peter responds to Jesus, as I frequently do, by declaring that they aren't likely to catch anything, but agreeing to act in accord with Jesus' command all the same, since it is Jesus giving it.

What happens next, of course, is a very large amount of fish filling the net. So many in fact, that two boats were filled almost to the point of sinking. Now, it is arguably true that what follows this scene is where the meat of story lies, but my prayer has lead me to stop here at the moment. Yes, Peter is soon told that he will be catching men instead of fish, but I don't want to lose the message of the story thus far.

When we look at the miracle performed by Christ, we must ask ourselves what purpose it serves. Biblical Scholars will tell you that the fish weren't needed. There was not a fish shortage. Sure, the four fishermen hadn't caught any that night, but that happened from time to time. What strikes me in this story, about this miracle, is that when Peter fished at Jesus' command, he caught more fish then he could have on his own.

So many times in my life, I find myself doing things that I do well. I automatically think that since I'm good at _______, I can do it anytime and it will turn out okay. This might be true, in fact it probably is. However, when I choose actions based on this principle, I lack something very important. I lack the understanding that when I wait for God's command, I can do so much more.

Just like Peter, who could catch plenty of fish on his own, when I wait for God to tell me to do something, I will do that thing with power beyond my own ability. (It will bear greater fruit as well) It is hard for me to be at Benedictine right now. I had an amazing summer, especially when working with the youth group at my parish. The program there is going great now, and I want to be part of it. I often find myself thinking that if I were there, I could be on core team, and I could do it well. My prayer this morning reminded me that while that is most likely true, if I wait until God asks me to be there, I will be there in His power, not my own. This means that His work will be done through me, which is much better then my own work being done through me.

To Know Thy Son

"When the wine failed, the mother of Jesus said to him, 'They have no wine.' And Jesus said to her, 'O woman, what have you to do with me? My hour has not yet come.' His mother said to the servants, 'Do whatever he tells you.'" (John 2:3-5) I was meditating on this scripture in prayer this morning, and I reflected on the appearance of contradiction between Jesus' response to Mary and her command to the servants. When I read Jesus' words to her, I am left with the impression that He does not intend to do anything about the wine. However, when Mary hears His response, she knows that He will do something about it. As I placed myself in the scene of the first miracle, I imagined Mary's face during this interaction. Whereas I sit in confusion, Mary and her Son look intently into each other's eyes and communicate more then words can express. I can see Mary's eyes blazing with truth and confidence, as she breaks eye contact with her Son, turns to the servants, and tells them to "do whatever he tells you." It is because Mary knows her Son that she is able to know that He will act. She spent many years knowing Him, studying His ways, and loving Him. She knew Him in a way that enabled her to know more about the meaning of His words then we can know by reading them. The importance of this my life lies not only in my need to better understand the way Jesus speaks to me, but also in my ability to clearly lead others to follow His will. Just as Mary knew her Son well and lead the servants in obedience to Christ, I must know Him well, and I must do so in such a way so as to lead others to follow His path.