Still Me

I expected things to be different.  I expected me to be different.  I expected to be in the Holy Land and feel different.  I thought I would be breathless with each footstep, completely enamored by the magnitude of the places where I stood.

But I wasn't. Not constantly. Not even mostly.

Please do not misunderstand: I love the experience I had in Israel. In fact, yesterday, for the first time, I had an intense longing to again walk along those streets.

But the chills and the speechlessness I expected were not part of my experience.

Being in Israel was hard.  Not because of a culture or spiritual shock.  It was hard because it is so very different from the place it was over 2000 years ago.  The people are different.  The streets are different.  Churches have been built everywhere.

When I imagined the trip, I imagined wandering around the places where Jesus walked, talked, and prayed.  I imagined being lost in thought and prayer, captivated by the scenes which Christ my Savior saw.

Then, it turns out that Mary's Well was built 10 years ago, the guide on the "Jesus Boat" on the Sea of Galilee will have everyone doing wedding dances, Biblical Cana was discovered in the valley below the site that has long been revered as that of the first miracle, and the visual stimulus of the images that Christ saw are blocked by the walls of Byzantine and more modern churches.  It was hard to convince my mind that I was in the Holy Land, not merely in some church in the United States dedicated to things like the Agony in the Garden.

While it is true that my memories will serve me well in future reading of the Gospels, those moments that I spent walking there were hard.  They didn't change anything.  At least not any of the things I expected to have changed.

Perhaps that is the beauty of the Catholic Church.  She is universal.  Jesus is just as present in every mass, everywhere in the world, as He was in Jerusalem, Nazareth, Bethlehem, Galilee, Capernaum, and Cana back then.

Whether I am there or I am here the Truth remains the same.  And the Truth provides me with a good life lesson.  Throughout my life God will continue to bless me with external potential instruments of His grace in my life. Whether those instruments be my friends here in the U.S. or the very land that supported the weight of Christ Himself 2000 years ago, the fact remains the same.  At the end of the day, no matter what instruments He has the potential to use, if I'm not open to His love, if I do not listen for His voice, if I do not allow my heart to be converted, I will not grow.  I will not love Him more.  I will not have greater joy or greater peace.  I will remain unchanged.


The challenges of living the Christian life exist everywhere the Christian exists.  I have to beg Him (there as much as I do here) to change my heart, to cultivate within me true conversion.

Here or there, I'm still me.

This Place

Last night there was a band playing live music on campus. I went with great excitement. Since I've been student teaching, I haven't been very involved in campus-life (to say the least). This event genuinely sounded like fun. So, I persuaded all of my apartment-mates that it would be worth our time, and we went together.

The band played a lot of covers, which was good, and their sound was pretty good too. Overall, it was an enjoyable experience. Unexpectedly, it was an event that led me to adoration.

For the past four years, I have been blessed beyond measure. Though I have said those words before, I doubt that I mean them with enough sincerity even now. Benedictine is place of true community. It is a place of clear identity. It is the home to a vast majority that strives to live not for this life, but for the next.

To the world outside of Benedictine, I look (and sometimes feel) like I am one of the few.  It can be difficult to find people who are genuinely and with great passion striving to live a life within the context of God's will.  Many people seem to live within the context of their own desires.

Though true devotion may be a characteristic of the minority, I know that is the characteristic of more than only a few. Benedictine has taught me that.

Last night, at that concert, I was struck with genuine gratitude. I am honestly and eternally thankful to the God who led me here, to this place. Through it He has taught me many things.  I have learned much about His Church and about who He is. I learned the necessity, beauty, battle, and peaceful joy of discernment.

I have learned that I am not alone. He is with me, not only in His omnipresence, but also in a true and tangible way in the hearts of those who surround me. And those people are a true gift, a reminder of His undying faithfulness and His sacred and good plan.

Through this place, I have been wrapped up in God Himself.  When I'm no longer here, He'll still be wrapped around me.

In this place, I have learned to trust Him. I have learned faith.

Universal Church

The recent events regarding JP (see story here) have left me in awe of the beauty of the Universal Church. In the days following the accident, I have found myself thinking a lot about the community at Benedictine. This is largely due to the fact that it seems wrong for this to have happened now. This loss in our community comes at a time when we are not together, and we will not be together for almost a month. I want to be at BC. I want to be with the BC community. I want us to be able to spend this time together, lifting each other up. I want us to surround those in our community closest to JP with love and support. The most inspiring truth of this experience is that while we are not physically together, we are united. The distance has lead me to pray more, to attend mass, and to seek Christ's presence in the Blessed Sacrament. It is through these blessings, through the Universal Church, that I am able to be united with the community for which I am longing. Because of this, the Benedictine community, along with the entire Church, is able to surround those closest to the situation with Christ's unfailing love.

The Body of Christ

"We are one body, one body in Christ, and we do not stand alone. We are one body, one body in Christ, and He came that we might have life. I have come your Savior that you might have life through the tears and sorrow through the toils and strife, listen when I call you for I know your need, come to me your Sheperd for My flock I feed." I think that that refrain and verse go together perfectly. It is my favorite verse of one of my favorite songs. It's a song about the Eucharist that teaches us about community. We are the body of Christ. We the community are the body of Christ. That is a beautiful thing. The song tells us that our Savior has promised to be with us through it all, the tears, the sorrow, the toils, the strife. Part of the way our Savior feeds His flock, is through His flock. Being the body of Christ means that we are all deeply united as God. In a strong community that recognizes the gift of His body, when one person hurts, the community hurts. When one person is celebrating, the community celebrates. Being the body of Christ allows us to share our lives in a profoundly special way. Through good times and the bad, the body of Christ is more tangable than many recognize. It is important to allow the community to be the body of Christ to all of us in our lives.