How narrow *is* the narrow gate?

"I am a blind man trying to find the way,
A deaf man with my ear to the ground, just listening for what You say;
I got no voice to sing the songs written
By the prophets on the subway walls:
The Kingdom is a golden table, and we are beggars all..."
--Audrey Assad, "Breaking Through"

I was warned tonight before I even walked out of the confessional that I was going to love the readings and homily. But what he actually meant to say was that they were written for me.

The narrow gate is a classic picture that I imagine for a lot of people rubs the wrong way. It did for me, for a long time. No one comes to the Father except through Christ, the narrow gate. No one means no one. Put up, or shut up. (God, forgive me.)

And all too often, we're so quick to assume about ourselves, about others. We look at people and sometimes before we even realize we've done it, we've judged their souls and the state of their lives when, really, we don't know jack.

In my late teens when I started making my way back to the Church, I fell in with a group of people who believed you were either going to heaven or hell, and unless you were praying, frequenting church and evangelizing everyone you knew, you weren't one of the lucky ones. And up until a few months ago, I was involved with a group of Catholics that believes if you so much as sneeze at Mass, you're in mortal sin.

You can probably imagine the damage that's done to my own soul. The narrow gate for me has been one preceded by harsh judgments and fear -- not for myself like most scrupulous people, but for those I love most. Not out of pride, per se, but because I truly believed that to be the position of the Church.

"Are they God?" That question was posed to me in confession about someone else, but I realized it applies to me just as much, if not more. Who am I to say who is and isn't saved? Who died and made me know better than the Church?

...Which, by the way, is not as rigid as I often believe her to be. The sacraments make it EASIER to get to heaven. All grace comes from the Church, yes, but where does the Church get her authority? GOD.

And thankfully, He's a lot more merciful than I'll ever be. This just needs to take root in my heart, not just in my head. Again, He's teaching me humility. I'm more at peace now than I've been since high school. But I've still got a long way to go.

Speechless

I don't even have to write anything. Just watch. I had the great pleasure of seeing them perform this live two weeks ago.



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Haunted...

Tonight, the lullaby of crickets is such a comfort to me. Couple that with a half pint of Ben and Jerry's, and I'm finally starting to feel semi-normal again.

Put bluntly, tonight sucked. After our car broke down this morning and I missed all three Masses at my home parish, I got the opportunity to go to our sister parish for an evening Mass. For the sake of charity, all I'll say is that I'm very lucky I got to go at all.

I wrote about the experience privately, but I want to share some of it here. As it turns out, this church is my family's funeral church. I have never been there under happy circumstances, and tonight wasn't much better.

The place is big and white, open and empty, and within two seconds of my getting up to the main level, the smell hits me in the face like a brick wall. It's heavy and stuffy and immediately sends a chill clear down to the marrow in my bones. I'm sure it has little to do with the fact that I'm wet from the rain.

Incense. My parish never uses it, so it's never been the scent of comfort and beauty for me. Instead, it brings back awful memories, ones of a great cloud coming down over our heads as if to muffle the sounds of quiet sobbing in the pews. "The stuff of death," as my mother always said.

And here it was, after I had literally fought to get here, to get myself to the one place that could put life back into me when I was angry and wanting to give up. It was like a taunt. Had she not been furious with me at the time, I would have seriously considered heading right back down the elevator and home.

But no...down the little ramp and into the sanctuary. Front and center, just to the left of the altar. People stare. They don't know me here. I don't know them. I don't belong here. And as far as I can see, rows and rows of pews. Pews that were once full of my family, most of them now empty or occupied by strangers. I walk all the way to the back, eyes down to avoid conversation, and slide into the last pew. Immediately, tears come. The view from here was nearly identical when we buried my grandfather in Ocean City three years ago.

The acoustics are incredible though as we chant the alleluia a cappella. On a normal day, the musician in me would love it, but tonight all I can think of is Schubert's Ave ringing out as a last farewell.

You get the idea. It's the only time I can ever remember having seriously BAD mojo after leaving a church...even my worst days at my home parish didn't make me feel that raw. The Eucharist calmed me down, and my confessor being the celebrant helped (everything happens for a reason, I guess), but not by much.

I won't go back again, not unless I have to. The place holds too many memories that I'd rather forget.

Loaded Question

I can't sleep. I'm going to see the gentlemen of Straight No Chaser in concert tomorrow night, and I'm giddy.

Meanwhile, I realized that I forgot one immensely important detail when I combed through the Gospel in my last post.

"Who do you say that I am?"

This question Christ asks is so simple, yet means so much. What do we perceive Him to be? He's not asking what or who He is, but what Peter says He is.

Jesus can mean so many different things to different people. To some, He serves as a refuge; for others, He is a source of derision or mockery. He has been used for politics and power, love, and for some people, even an excuse for hatred of others. (This can go both ways, liberal and conservative.)

Peter exemplifies all that when he explains the many different identities people had assigned to Jesus. He was called all sorts of things then, and still is today. But he gets it right in the end: "You are the Christ, the Son of the living God."

I'll leave you tonight with a question that was once posed to a bunch of college kids at a Sunday evening Mass by my (now former, sigh) chaplain. I had forgotten this moment until reading those words again.

Sure, Jesus wants to know what people are saying. But buried underneath those words, as there usually is with Him, is a subtle challenge. Who does Christ say WE are?

Who are we, anyway?

The Obstacle of Stubbornness

On Thursday, the Gospel reading was particularly interesting in a way that I must admit was a bit unexpected. I wanted to write about it earlier, but between my friend's visit and running school errands, it didn't happen. Better late than never though, right? :)

The passage should be a familiar one to any Catholic who pays even a little bit of attention: Matthew 16:13-23. The first half is usually the part that we can recite blindfolded, and to be honest, it was hard not to just skim the whole thing because I've read it, heard it, and had it preached to me so many times.

Rather than cutting off at verse 18, though, the dialogue between Peter and Jesus continues on, poignantly showing Peter's blatant outrage over Jesus' claim that He would soon be handed over and killed. "God forbid, Lord," he says, scandalized. I don't blame him one bit. I think I can make a reasonable assumption here in saying a lot of people would have behaved similarly.

But the way Jesus reacts here definitely gave me pause. Like this weekend, I really slowed myself down and allowed a passage I'd never read into very deeply sink in. "Get behind me, Satan. You are an obstacle to me. You are thinking not as God does, but as human beings do."

What does this mean for us? For me, He is pointing out the truth of how me-focused and blind humankind can be. We've made it our life's mission to muddle through with as little pain and as much comfort as we can possibly get away with. To suffer is our ultimate fear.

But to Jesus, it's absolutely necessary. To avoid it is to give in to the voice of the enemy.

That, too, gave me pause. If we are really and truly willing to follow Him anywhere and "do whatever He tells [us]" as Our Lady asks, sometimes it's going to get a little hairy.

We need to get ourselves out of this narrow-minded perspective and try to see the big picture. Of course, it's going to be rare that the whole thing is clear ... but maybe if we ask for the grace to see God's hand at work in even the most difficult of circumstances, or ask ourselves, "What lesson am I being taught here?" we will no longer be obstacles to Him.

That's where I am right now. The events of this summer have encouraged me to be humble, open and teachable. I'm far from good at it, but the better I get, the more I'm being shown, and the happier I am.

Overwhelmed

Yesterday, I had the opportunity to meet one of my friends from an internet circle, a Salesian seminarian who lives a few hours north of me. After a solid 18 months at least of trying to get together with no luck, it was wonderful to finally do it, especially given he'll be unable to travel once entering the novitiate next weekend.

The day was nothing terribly extravagant -- just a very long lunch, Mass and pizza with my folks -- but I can say today that I got an education in the Faith that I've never had before.

He's got a way of telling things like it is and playing hardball that really appealed to me, to the point that I actually worked out one of the biggest kinks in my spiritual life just by talking things out. (That is really all I've needed to do with my confessor for a while now. I don't need much more than time to talk about things.)

Still, the afternoon gave me a great deal to think about, and we showed up at the church before the lights had even been turned on. Instantly, I thought back to one of the only other times I've gotten there early, my initial confession when I reverted. That day, I told myself that I was accepting a cross by starting on this journey alone.

Sometimes, being without my family, it still feels like that. I went to confession with our vicar #2, and then sat in the pew and fidgeted for a while. My friend, the seminarian of the future that he is, prayed the rosary on his iPod.

After a while of my squirming, I told him I was thinking too much. Before I could ramble, he told me to shut up and pray. I did.

"Lord, I don't know what I'm going to do after graduation. I'm going to be alone again."

I went on in this way for some time, and then, He shattered my thought train in its tracks. STOP, my heart said. Turn your head and look at what's there.

A brother. One of MY brothers.

And in that moment, I thought of all my Rowan friends, my Phatmass and ExWitch families. People from all over the world who are united for His sake. We don't have to be physically together to be supportive of one another. The body of Christ does that all on its own. And then the Spirit gave me this verse, one I've just skimmed over in the past.

"There is no one who has left house or brothers ... for my sake and for the gospel that will not be given a hundredfold more now in this time ... brothers and sisters and mothers and children and lands ..." (Mark 10:29-30, RSV-CE).

I have full confidence now that this verse is true and trustworthy, because after years of waiting, all of that has finally been given to me.

Listening to the Our Father recited during a Mass always gives me goosebumps. All of those voices, united with those of the Church in heaven, and stretching all the way back to Jesus' time with the disciples, are family. That does not change with death, because death isn't the end for us.

The weight and scope of all of that hit me for the first time yesterday. All I can say is that I am so glad.

Move Along

"And all ya gotta keep is strong...

And even when your hope is gone,

Move along, move along

Just to make it through."

--"Move Along," The All American Rejects

I haven't heard that song in a long time. I used to listen to it a lot when I was in middle school, screaming out the words with my friends on band trips, dancing to it at my grandma's house after school. So when it came on the radio today, it was a blast from the past that instantly brought a smile to my face, and a stronger message that I see clearly now:

Keep moving.

Emotionally, I'm a bit of a "runner." My friends see it when I take to odd periods of solitude, my ex-boyfriend did when things would get especially tricky and I'd just shut down and try to pretend as if nothing was wrong. Even my confessor becomes a victim of it now and then. Sometimes, I avoid him like the plague. Not that any of that has ever done me any good ... sooner or later, my loner ways get the best of me and I end up breaking down. I thrive and am happiest when I surround myself with people that can share the journey with me. So when I push everyone out, it's very foreign.

Between my cat, my grandmother, recent bad luck on the road learning to drive, an issue at work and a particularly painful visit from "Aunt Flo" complete with hot flashes, I've had the week from hell. The other day, I burst into tears at nearly midnight, curled up on the couch while I poured out nearly a year's worth of troubles to my mother.

I am always quick to deny it, but I always end up admitting with sheepishness and humor that she really does know best.

She told me that I am way too worried about my future. In fact, I get myself so wrapped up in the future that instead of enjoying the present, I have been walking around with no appetite, a stomach full of angry knots and a heavy heart. And for what?, she asked me. What good does sitting around and crying about a future that is entirely out of my hands going to accomplish?

"Nothing," I told her in a watery voice.

She's right about me. I have wasted so much time, more than she might ever realize but you folks who read this blog will know well, on concerning myself with things that I have no power over. I have mourned for the ill in my family for months on end, and it's starting to affect me physically now. And for what?

That was such a lightbulb moment for me, and while it's taken me several days to process it, the relief has been palpable.

I spent a lazy morning in bed, my kitty tucked safely behind my knees. Then, I spent the entire afternoon with my Mom-Mom, chatting about school and laughing until our sides hurt. Not a drop of worry in it...and how much happier I've been!

I don't know what the future holds. But Matthew 10 rings out over and over again in my mind: Do not worry about tomorrow. As the Lord provides for the birds of the air who do not reap or sow, He will provide for you.

For me. No matter what. As David says in my favorite psalm, "You who dwell in the shelter of the Most High . . . say to the Lord, 'My refuge and fortress, my God in whom I trust.'" (91:1-2).

WHY do I worry so? It's needless. And in that realization, I can move along in relative peace.

Down Day

Let's face it, not every day can be sunshine and rainbows. I am learning to accept that as a part of life. It's sticky, but a worthwhile lesson.

I had the weekend from hell, mostly due to yet another bad day driving, and most recently, my 13-year-old cat has taken a turn for the worse, health wise. This morning, she attacked me.

All at once, the things I cherish most in this life are being ripped away. I've been nauseous and exhausted for days, no doubt caused by my recent anxieties.

But tonight I was reminded of the Gospel where Jesus says to just worry about today. I've been thinking so much about the future lately - life without my grandmother, without my cat, without school and my Newman family. And predictably, it overwhelmed me and I am crumbling.

I can't let that happen. I am called to live in the present moment, and that is still full of fierce purring and Mom-Mom's laughter.

I can be thankful today. And someday, while it won't be anytime soon, I know that life will go on and turn into something a little more like normal. Until then, every day is brand new. The sun will rise in the morning. I'm going for a drive with Dad, then back to work. For now, that is all the future I need.

Please pray for me, and for my family.

Perseverance and Prayer

Sometimes, I think the folks at my parish must think that I've lost my marbles. Then again, I don't think many people know someone who snickers at the Scripture readings during Mass. But really, what they don't realize is why I find it so funny: so often in those pages, the voices and personalities are my own. There's something so relieving in knowing that the Lord put up with people just like me, even back then.

Tonight, it was Abraham in the passage where he pesters God to death (you know what I mean) about the fate of the innocent people living in Sodom and Gomorrah. God says once that they would be spared, but Abraham just isn't satisfied with that answer. Not until he gets it spelled out in a way so specific it borders on paranoia: what if there were only 40 innocents? Thirty-five? On and on he goes.

I must say I experienced a great deal of empathy for him. We both worry so much about God's patience toward us and the people around us. We're constantly questioning if we've done well, or well enough to make it "count."

Our new parochial vicar #2 -- stay tuned, it changes every time I blink these days -- is a phenomenal preacher, and today he talked about two things: persistence, and answered prayer. He hit me below the belt with both. The gist of his homily was fairly simple, but also loaded: most of the time we don't get what we want from God.

It doesn't come the way we wanted, in the package we wanted, on the time frame we wanted or in the circumstances we wanted it to. People pray for peace, sure, but if only one or two people pray, we only receive a little. God wants to give us so many gifts, but what do we ask for? Do we act like we really want salvation, for the coming of the Kingdom, or do we just ask once and give up?

We have to be persistent, and trust that as God puts together even the tiniest pieces in the puzzle, it will cause a ripple effect that will come to blossom in the fullness of time. But ONLY then, not before.

The same goes for prayers that are answered with a "no" or "not yet." God's will for us is perfect love and holiness. If He permits a relationship to fail, maybe it wouldn't have brought that completely. Maybe there is something even better He sees that we don't. Perhaps for me, the personal way to holiness at least right now is in singlehood. If someone is ill and won't recover, God might be bringing that person into a deeper experience of Himself that they would never have found if they remained well. Maybe people die before their time because their job here was done. Only God sees the big picture. With humility and grace, we can pray to receive that wisdom, too. This summer, I think I'm learning to look at my recent experiences with His eyes.

Then, he really hit it home with this one: Say you have family that isn't faithful. And you pray and pray for them to come back to the Church, but no luck. He said to consider our motivation: are we asking because we really want them saved, or because we're afraid of God not loving them? Or are we just tired of their behavior and nag God for Him to make them the people WE want them to be, instead of accepting them where they are, flaws included? Is it really about them, or us?

Damn.

Sometimes, God holds off on blessing us until we learn some greater lesson. If we have trust and faith in His will, sooner or later, even some of the hardest things in life -- even loss or illness -- will make at least a little more sense. Keep asking. Keep seeking. As the Gospel promises, we will be answered.

Accepting Humanity

Today, I got to spend the day with one of my best friends. While we went to high school together, it wasn't until our graduation day that we actually connected for the first time. She also happens to be a strong Catholic, so naturally having her around has been a breath of fresh air over the last few years.

As we ran around and spent time together today, we also had to stop at some point to go to Mass. We decided on her parish; ironically, it happens to be the one that my mother and her siblings were raised in.

I've not been on the top of my game lately, and to say that is really understating where I have been over the last little while. Thankfully, my prayer life is strong...there have just been some other issues that have been keeping me from fully cooperating with what God was asking of me. Put simply, if you know me, you know what this means: I had to go to Confession before Mass today.

Now this might be a little bit silly to admit, but I was completely thrilled at the prospect of getting to confess some pretty hairy stuff to someone who had never seen me before, and won't see me again so soon that he'll ever remember who I am. Score! And as I walked through the stained glass door that led to the refreshingly sunny confessional, I made a split second decision that ended up having a huge impact on my experience there.

For the first time in my entire life, I went to Confession behind the screen.

...It was really, really nice. It didn't take me long to do my business, but there was something comfortable and reassuring about getting everything out in the open behind a floor to ceiling purple drape. (I wonder if it was purple for penance, or just an interesting decorative decision.) I've always been a little bit hesitant to go behind the screen, thinking it to be a little bit of a cop out. Now, mind you, I mean absolutely no judgment to those that prefer it that way -- in fact, after doing it myself I can definitely see the appeal that it might have. It just ... personally, for me, feels a little bit like hiding and not being brave enough to truly own up to my sins by looking another man in the eye. Hey, I come from a family where testicular fortitude is a necessary and lauded personality trait. ;)

But, I digress. My litany of wince worthy sins now behind me, I exhaled deeply and waited to hear the priest's response. What he said drew an unexpected giggle out of me:

"Well, first of all, welcome to the human race."

Nice. The slight Jersey Italian accent reminded me at once of both my old confessor and my grandfather.

What I got from the good monsignor is the reminder that I've been playing games with God's mercy, and that while He's certainly used to it in all of humanity's failings, it doesn't excuse me. However, that doesn't mean I should act as if I can achieve perfection so early on the journey. He's not looking to see how many times I fall down, the priest said, but how many times I get back up again, and how quickly I endeavor to do so.

There was so much peace in that advice. It seems that I am always waiting for the next time to be the one that crosses the line, the sin that finally tries God's patience in such a grievous way that He refuses to forgive me.

Not true. Not as long as I recover from my stumbling and keep moving forward.

As my own confessor likes to remind me these days, faith and a relationship with God is my choice. He is not going to beg me to follow after Him, and He's not going to bribe me, either. He's just going to call, and wait to see how I respond.

Maybe not every answer of mine is "yes" at this point in my life. I'm working on that. But what I do know is that the number of "no" answers have been decreasing. That's my goal ... progress is everything!