Today and over the last several weeks, the Christians' situation in Iraq has been plaguing my heart. So many times I see a new article on facebook giving information and insight into the terrible happenings going on there, and I wonder how is it ok for me to sit and drink coffee with a good book for a moment during nap time? How can I celebrate the happy occasions here with food and parties? How can I laugh and enjoy life, when across the world, parents are throwing their children off of a mountain top because they believe the alternative is worse?
I am still not sure how to handle these questions, but I have come to a conclusion on some parts of it. These are our brothers and sisters. These are not people who have nothing to do with us. These are men and women and families who in the face of oppression bow before the cross, strive to love as Christ loved, carry the words of scripture on their lips, and seek the Lord's guidance for the way that they live, the way that they raise their families, and the way that they love their friends. In short, they have everything to do with us.
I don't think that we are called to depression because of what is happening over there, or because of what is happening to a part of our Church, a part of our living Body of Christ. I do think we are called to be struck by this. I think we should be shaken up. I think we should be disturbed, not in a way that drowns us in fear, but in a way that stirs us to action. What is God doing here with this situation? Shouldn't we all as Christians be asking God not why are you doing this to them--but why are you doing this to us? What do you have for me, the comfortable American sitting peacefully on the couch, watching my child play and look out the window at her relatively safe world? Jesus, what you are doing with them is not our concern. We must trust You. You are at work in their lives. You are at work in Your Church. You have not abandoned them. But me? How does this affect me?
We are so helpless in the physical sense, and because of this I am learning to pray, to intercede, to bear these people on my heart. I have nothing to give them but prayer. I have nothing to offer but the cold I have had all week, my daughter's short naps that drive me crazy, and a chaotic evening that leaves me doing dishes almost until bed time. My daily life has more meaning because through it, I am able to be conscious of prayer gifts that I can send to these suffering. The ordinary of my life becomes extraordinary, because its purpose is that much more powerful.
I am also struck with an old realization, made alive again. This is what Christianity means. We are seeing it again in our times. Once it meant being thrown into an arena with lions before a cheering crowd, now for some, it means abandoning homes and livelihoods and even life itself for the sake of the Gospel. I am shaken up, in a good way, because I need to ask myself would I do the same thing? What sacrifices am I willing to make for Jesus? To what limit would I serve Him? Are there ways to stretch myself, to say yes to Christ in a deeper more sacrificial way, that I am ignoring? They are witnessing to us to what lengths we are called. The faith they are being persecuted for is my faith.
Finally, I am encouraged, because I have been taught that the blood of the martyrs strengthens the church. Wouldn't you think we would be wiped out by now with all of the persecution we have undergone? How many martyrs and saints were the very executioners or soldiers taking part in the persecution of Christians? Hello, St. Paul! The Christian people is not weakened by what is happening. I am encouraged because they are not suffering in vain. How many saints are being added to Heaven and ready to pray for us? How much grace is there in their sacrifice? They are building up the body. I am not rejoicing in their suffering. My heart aches. I hope that this ends very soon. But I know that because of our belief in the Cross of Christ and the resurrection of the dead, the story does not end at the tip of the sword. It ends in the glory of Heaven.
My hope is that their suffering will not be in vain in their own lives or in mine. I want to grow in prayer. I want to grow in faith. I want to follow their example in whatever it means in my life. I want to let the graces pouring down from Heaven to affect me. I do not want this to just be a facebook article that I have to try to forget about so I can have a good day. This is my life. This is my faith.
Christ, please transform Your whole church through this, including me! Please deliver them, and please give them strength to say yes even when it is the most difficult!
Thursday, August 21, 2014
Friday, August 15, 2014
Mary our Mother
The feast of the Assumption... Death, where is your sting? Sin, where is your victory?
I have never quite understood why to celebrate this day. I know that makes me sound like a complete pagan, but it has never struck my heart as anything very important. I absolutely love the feast of the Annunciation. Mary says yes and Christ is conceived in her. For the first time ever, the Eternal God is physically present on this earth. God becomes a little tumble of cells at the mercy of His mother's body to keep Him alive and to cherish Him. And then we are invited to encounter this living God, not only spiritually, but physically as well. The mysteries of the Annunciation bring so much joy and wonder to my heart.
Other times, the great feast days of the Church are, sad to say, an excuse for me to eat more or to break a fast. St. Joseph's feast day in Lent is exciting because it is just that, a feast day. But as being a parent often challenges me to be more conscious about my behavior, dreaming of raising a good Catholic family on which these feast days are significant for more reasons than that we absolutely have to go to Mass or... what a great reason to run down the street and get Chipotle--my dreams also include relaying to my children why we are celebrating in the first place. What is taking place? Why rejoice in such a particular way today, this day that Mary assumed into Heaven? What does that have to do with us?
This morning in prayer I ended up surfing the internet for reflections on this special day, and was struck by words of Pope John Paul II saying that Mary leads the way for us into Heaven. She shows us the power of Christ's triumph. She is the first victim of God's mercy, she who was protected from even sinning in the first place, and who is first in line to experience His glory. God shows us in her what will be for us. This is good news!
I still am hungry for more knowledge about this day and for a deeper encounter with Mary and Jesus in these mysteries, but I want to share one other comforting reflection. I am probably not the only mother who often is gripped with anxiety over harm coming to my children. Of all of these things I attempt to surrender to God and His providence, the lives of my children are the most difficult. I find myself returning again and again to this breach in my relationship with Christ, because I can't seem to bring myself to trust Him with this. Lately I have had an image that brings me closer to peace when I am swamped by these fears, and it is also significant to this feast day of Our Lady. When Agnes gets hurt, she is hurt for but a moment, and I hold her in my arms until she is ok again. My love for her is what she desires the most when she has to go through pain. If I have this much love for my child, and if she is so consoled by me, so imperfect a mother, how much more, when death takes her, will Mary, the most perfect of mothers, and perfect in love, be able to hold her, to comfort her, to bring her rejoicing into beautiful Heaven. How much confidence I can have in our Mother to care for my child if I am absent?
Granted this latter reflection is probably not the one I will share with my little children around the feast day dinner table, but I will have more to share with them about death's failure to triumph, about our mother who waits for us in Heaven, about our own resurrection, and about Christ, who is the ultimate Prize, and so completely available to us always.
I have never quite understood why to celebrate this day. I know that makes me sound like a complete pagan, but it has never struck my heart as anything very important. I absolutely love the feast of the Annunciation. Mary says yes and Christ is conceived in her. For the first time ever, the Eternal God is physically present on this earth. God becomes a little tumble of cells at the mercy of His mother's body to keep Him alive and to cherish Him. And then we are invited to encounter this living God, not only spiritually, but physically as well. The mysteries of the Annunciation bring so much joy and wonder to my heart.
Other times, the great feast days of the Church are, sad to say, an excuse for me to eat more or to break a fast. St. Joseph's feast day in Lent is exciting because it is just that, a feast day. But as being a parent often challenges me to be more conscious about my behavior, dreaming of raising a good Catholic family on which these feast days are significant for more reasons than that we absolutely have to go to Mass or... what a great reason to run down the street and get Chipotle--my dreams also include relaying to my children why we are celebrating in the first place. What is taking place? Why rejoice in such a particular way today, this day that Mary assumed into Heaven? What does that have to do with us?
This morning in prayer I ended up surfing the internet for reflections on this special day, and was struck by words of Pope John Paul II saying that Mary leads the way for us into Heaven. She shows us the power of Christ's triumph. She is the first victim of God's mercy, she who was protected from even sinning in the first place, and who is first in line to experience His glory. God shows us in her what will be for us. This is good news!
I still am hungry for more knowledge about this day and for a deeper encounter with Mary and Jesus in these mysteries, but I want to share one other comforting reflection. I am probably not the only mother who often is gripped with anxiety over harm coming to my children. Of all of these things I attempt to surrender to God and His providence, the lives of my children are the most difficult. I find myself returning again and again to this breach in my relationship with Christ, because I can't seem to bring myself to trust Him with this. Lately I have had an image that brings me closer to peace when I am swamped by these fears, and it is also significant to this feast day of Our Lady. When Agnes gets hurt, she is hurt for but a moment, and I hold her in my arms until she is ok again. My love for her is what she desires the most when she has to go through pain. If I have this much love for my child, and if she is so consoled by me, so imperfect a mother, how much more, when death takes her, will Mary, the most perfect of mothers, and perfect in love, be able to hold her, to comfort her, to bring her rejoicing into beautiful Heaven. How much confidence I can have in our Mother to care for my child if I am absent?
Granted this latter reflection is probably not the one I will share with my little children around the feast day dinner table, but I will have more to share with them about death's failure to triumph, about our mother who waits for us in Heaven, about our own resurrection, and about Christ, who is the ultimate Prize, and so completely available to us always.
Thursday, August 14, 2014
I sing because I'm happy... I sing because I'm free...
I used to think I knew what it meant to be Christian. Being a Christian meant doing all of the right things. In high school, it meant obeying my parents, not lying, and not partying. In college, it meant pouring myself into my studies and into serving in the Catholic college outreach program in which I was heavily involved, and now as a wife and mother it means oh so many things! It means praying every day. It means going to daily Mass unless I have a good excuse (which is like everyday...). It means keeping the house clean all of the time. It means never having too many dishes undone. It means a perfect meal and clean kitchen when my husband walks in the door. It means packing my husband's lunch every day. It means being loving all of the time. What else does it mean? What else do I have to do to make myself feel good? And when I don't do all of these things (I don't. Only like half of them), then aren't I not as good of a woman as Sally Joe down the street? Can I really think that I had a successful day if my husband came home to a messy house? So my heart is heavily burdened so often because to me, being a Christan means being perfect. And I'm not.
Knowledge of the mind and knowledge of the heart are so different. I know that I am God's daughter. I know that my husband is more disturbed by my unhappiness and insecurity than by the inconvenience of stepping over toys to get to the kitchen. I know that my worth does not depend on what I have accomplished, but somehow, my heart misses these important truths and I continue to dig myself into holes of despair that take begging Clayton for more reassurance, hours of alone time, and eating ice-cream to get myself out of. That is not what Christianity is supposed to be, and that is not God's call for my life. Absolutely not.
Throughout my two and a half years of marriage, it seems as though God is chipping away at the blinding pride that held me up for so long, as long as I was doing the right thing. Now as a wife and mother, that pride continues to shrivel. Domesticity does not come naturally to me, and I sometimes want to scream at God for putting me in a position to fail. When I, as a philosophy and English major, am good at other things, like contemplating the meaning of the universe or writing about what Steinbeck was saying in The Grapes of Wrath, I wonder why can't I just do that? (I am not saying I'd rather do that than take care of my family! I am only saying it would make me feel good about myself!). God has brought me low, and it seems like I am understanding, finally, at least beginning to understand, what it really means to be a Christian. The head knowledge of salvation is working its way more deeply into my heart.
I don't think that being a Christian means doing all of the right things. I think we do the right things because we are Christian. Being a Christian means freedom. I have recently had Audrey Assad's words "I sing because I'm happy. I sing because I'm free" in my head and on my tongue often throughout the day. I sing because I'm happy. I sing because I'm free. Christ has set us free. Our worth and our happiness do not come from having it together. Of course we need to do our best with the vocation He has called us to, but that's it. God has me here, in this day, in this hour, with all of the tasks and habits I have done well and all that I need to grow in. His mercy is here. His freedom is now. All I have to do is get up off this comfy chair, sing, rejoice, and fold the laundry, and vacuum, and take care of the baby, and get lunch ready, and then do the dishes, and... rejoice!
Knowledge of the mind and knowledge of the heart are so different. I know that I am God's daughter. I know that my husband is more disturbed by my unhappiness and insecurity than by the inconvenience of stepping over toys to get to the kitchen. I know that my worth does not depend on what I have accomplished, but somehow, my heart misses these important truths and I continue to dig myself into holes of despair that take begging Clayton for more reassurance, hours of alone time, and eating ice-cream to get myself out of. That is not what Christianity is supposed to be, and that is not God's call for my life. Absolutely not.
Throughout my two and a half years of marriage, it seems as though God is chipping away at the blinding pride that held me up for so long, as long as I was doing the right thing. Now as a wife and mother, that pride continues to shrivel. Domesticity does not come naturally to me, and I sometimes want to scream at God for putting me in a position to fail. When I, as a philosophy and English major, am good at other things, like contemplating the meaning of the universe or writing about what Steinbeck was saying in The Grapes of Wrath, I wonder why can't I just do that? (I am not saying I'd rather do that than take care of my family! I am only saying it would make me feel good about myself!). God has brought me low, and it seems like I am understanding, finally, at least beginning to understand, what it really means to be a Christian. The head knowledge of salvation is working its way more deeply into my heart.
I don't think that being a Christian means doing all of the right things. I think we do the right things because we are Christian. Being a Christian means freedom. I have recently had Audrey Assad's words "I sing because I'm happy. I sing because I'm free" in my head and on my tongue often throughout the day. I sing because I'm happy. I sing because I'm free. Christ has set us free. Our worth and our happiness do not come from having it together. Of course we need to do our best with the vocation He has called us to, but that's it. God has me here, in this day, in this hour, with all of the tasks and habits I have done well and all that I need to grow in. His mercy is here. His freedom is now. All I have to do is get up off this comfy chair, sing, rejoice, and fold the laundry, and vacuum, and take care of the baby, and get lunch ready, and then do the dishes, and... rejoice!
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