Samhain Reflections

Every year on Halloween, I can't help but flood my body with as much sugar as possible. It's not only All Hallows Eve, you see, but also the eve of my birthday. A time for celebrating, to be sure.

Yet quiet moments always sober me today, too. Today is Samhain, and there are moments where I can almost feel the Veil paper-thin again. Almost. For a brief moment, standing outside with the wind chilling my bones and the crescent moon overhead, I longed for magick. For that freedom again.

It lasted just long enough for me to get into the car and head to church, kneeling at His feet in thanksgiving for the true liberation I've been given.

It's been a long time now, and those days are well behind me. I said to one of my ex-Pagan friends today that it's amazing how much can change with time, and how healing that distance can be.

Back then, I thought I was taking control of my life by making the Divine my servant, instead of me serving Him. But I, along with so many others, learned the hard way.

Even after years as a Christian, I am still learning every day that this life is not my own. Like it or not, I am not in control. Unless I continue to surrender myself and lay down my life daily, I'll never find peace.

Most days, the pace of my growth is maddeningly slow. "Why can't I just accept it," I ask myself so often. "I wish I could be better than this."

Well, looking back on the person I was in 2005, it's clear today that I am better. I am accepting faith. And I'm growing more with every passing Samhain.

Lessons in Silent Moments

It's hard to fight these feelings when it feels so hard to breathe...

I've had this post sitting in my drafts for three days now, cooking. And I hate that.

For me, writing is not only a career choice but an outlet. I've never been especially eloquent in my speech -- I'm about as casual as it gets -- and thinking too much only tends to exacerbate things. In writing, I can take my feelings, focus them, and then be done with it.

But for the first time in ages, I find myself totally at a loss for words.

But we don't need to rush this...let's just take it slow...

In the past six weeks, I've been thrown on my back by a relationship that is moving much faster emotionally than I could have ever anticipated. It's pretty terrifying, if only because I'm acutely aware that this is not in my hands and never was.

I don't think I've ever been so completely disarmed by anything before...

On day one, not sure what else to do, I surrendered all of this without reserve to God, telling Him to do whatever He needed to do to make this work. Man, I really need to start thinking before I pray that prayer again. ;)

Just a touch of the fire burning so bright, I don't want to mess this thing up, I don't want to push too hard...

This weekend, He needed to teach me a lesson in humility.

Sitting on my boyfriend's bed and playing with a thread unraveling from the bottom of my sock, I was trying not to let the heavy, noisy silence between us drive me crazy.

I kept waiting for him to break it, but no, he wouldn't. He was at the moment a bit too shy. And I was too broody.

Then, God arrested me. I had just thought to myself that I felt entitled to more than what, on that day, he was willing to give.

Everything you have is a gift from Me. You are entitled only to what I've given you, nothing else. And you can either wallow in your selfishness, or be thankful for what's in front of you. What do you choose?

And just like that, my heart changed. In the span of three minutes I learned the true value of holding another person's dignity up over your own expectations ... how precious that is, and how insanely, stupidly lucky I am.

I chose to rest in that: the mind-boggling realization that it is possible to be intimate only on emotional terms. I'm not sure if I quite know how that works yet. But I do know it starts with laying down my pride and caring for someone not because of what they do, per se, but for who they are.

As my friend Peyton put it so eloquently in a text to me on the way back home: "There's something so incredibly beautiful about falling in love with the personhood of another ..."

You know what? I think she's onto something.

Gungor: A Musical Diamond in the Rough

In my last post, I wrote that in many ways, Christian music has worn out its welcome for me. Even Matt Maher’s latest record, Turn Around, came off as a collection of typical worship anthems, with a few exceptions.

The only artist these days who still captivates me is Audrey Assad. This should surprise no one. ;) Her new album is coming out in just a few months, and the few tracks I’ve heard so far have me on the edge of my seat with anticipation. By the way, if you think about it, please pray for her husband, Billy. He was recently diagnosed with Hodgkins lymphoma.

Anyway. A few weeks ago while listening to Pandora at work, I heard the song “Beautiful Things” by Gungor for the first time. I was struck at first by the rumbling cello in the beginning – I have a real soft spot for strings – and then by the sensitivity in the lead singer’s vocals.

I looked up the band on Spotify, and was blown away by the depth of their lyrics and the real musicianship throughout the entire thing. It makes a lot of sense, though. Michael Gungor grew up leading worship in church as the son of a pastor, and later, he pursued jazz studies in college.

Together with his wife, Lisa, they have managed to put together something so genuine and raw and uninhibited with their music.

On his blog, Michael writes, “This is risky in a culture that promotes singles and 99-cent song downloads.  It’s risky in a culture in which people don’t often sit down and actually critically listen to music very much.  Music has too often become background noise in our culture. It sets a mood, but don’t make me pay much attention to it!”

Gungor requires a deep listen, one with the headphones on and without distraction. First, there’s the variety of instruments you’ll hear: guitar and drums – both are staples of rock and folk music -- but then other things, too. Flute. Cello. Banjo. Even a glockenspiel gets lots of attention in the album, which I think is just awesome. I haven’t heard one of those used in anything but marching band sets.

And after the music washes over you, you’re hit with a lyrical honesty that is very rare these days. The first track, “Dry Bones,” is a haunting, rock-driven cry for renewal in a dead soul. The title track follows, which is a perfect downshift, both in style and tone; it’s about God being able to start with nothing and make something incredible.

One of my favorite tracks is “Late Have I Loved You,” which should immediately ring a bell if you’re up on early Catholicism. St. Augustine wrote a famous passage that begins this way in his Confessions, and the song is a verbatim musical rendition of the passage. Classy!

While it’s true Gungor just released a new album, Ghosts Upon the Earth, on Sept. 20, I really do recommend you check out its predecessor first. Beautiful Things is a journey that will take a while to move on from.

Here are two videos I’d like to share: “Please Be My Strength” is so simple but, again, just honest. And the second, while not on this album, is an incredible testament to Michael’s ability to shred a guitar like no one’s business. ;)

Seriously. Just go buy the album!

A little rant on Christian music

A lot of things move me, all the time. Let's face it: I guess you could say it's just really easy to evoke emotion from me. I'm one of Those People.

And, like many of Those People, music is something I have a very strong affinity for. It was Victor Hugo that said music expresses what we can't find words to, when it's impossible to be silent. I'm a singer and a musician, and having experienced the power music has in binding and impacting people, it's become an adventure seeking out some of the best I can find.

Of course, when it comes to the contemporary Christian music scene, at times the pickings can be depressingly slim. In a lot of ways, if you don't listen closely it can be tempting to say it's all the same. Much like contemporary pop, the same four chords are played over and over by the same guitar. Add in a zealous singer belting out how our God is big, wonderful, holy, and worthy of praise, and you've basically summed up the genre in three minutes.

Bonus points if you add the voices of a few small children singing or speaking relevant Bible verses. Ditto for crowds of joy-filled worshipers raising their voices at the choruses, Kumbaya style. Yawn.

Maybe it has something to do with my past, but worship music like that doesn't do it for me. It's not like I'm seeking after warm fuzzy feelings in my music -- even if I were, the last place I would find it would be in those fluffy little singles.

The Christian music I do listen to speaks of a faith that has been through the wringer, torn to shreds and even extinguished for a time, like mine has been. But in the end, there's a recurring theme that despite those times, we're stronger, and God has used those seasons to give us a deeper appreciation of what He can use for our good.

When I have some spare time, I'm going to share a review of an album that I believe is a diamond in a whole lot of rough. Stay tuned.

No Offense

You know, there's something I've always found a little bit strange about practicing my faith: people treat me differently.

And no, I don't mean differently in the sense of persecution, though I admit that has happened to me plenty of times before.

What I mean is that a lot of times, people who are otherwise not religious will walk on eggshells around me.

For example, a friend of mine from undergrad once used a hefty expletive while talking to me over Facebook. Immediately afterward, she wrote, "Oh, excuse my language. I know you're religious."

I'm fairly certain that she was being genuine, and that her comment wasn't meant to be sarcastic. Feeling a little confused, I laughed and said, "What? Why apologize? Do you think my ears are going to bleed or something?"

"Well, no," she told me. "I just don't want to offend."

Oh, please. Spare me.

And just the other day, another friend wrote, "I swear like a sailor, except around..." another one of her friends, who I know is a proud and outspoken evangelical.

Attitudes like this blow my mind, not necessarily out of shock, but confusion. Have we suddenly turned into china dolls because of our faith?

When people say things like that, it proves that they don't really know me at all. Yes, I do swear. Yes, I am working on that. But half the time it's a wonderful literary device. ;) The funny thing is that if, in a rare moment I do let a word slip, some people will gasp and say, "Oh! I can't believe you just said that!"

I am no saint. In fact, I'm very far from, and I have no desire to show a forced, perfect facade to the world -- that time of my faith is long gone, thank God. More than anything else, those comments are just condescending. You don't see me gasping and clutching a rosary every time someone swears in front of me, after all.

I suppose that it makes people feel better about themselves if thy can "clean up" around supposed "religious people." In some ways, I can almost understand it -- I used to act the same way around priests, just because of who they are.

What I learned, to my great delight -- and what I wish people would learn when speaking to Christians -- is that we're really all the same. We all fall, and we're all broken. It's the human condition, and I think we'd be much better off if we stopped pretending to care and actually, you know, caring.

Instead of worrying about offending me, try worrying about offending God.

Life is an adventure...

On the bright side, I'm now the girlfriend of a ... physicist?

Don't ask me how that happened, because I'm still trying to figure it out. Ha!

Relationships have always been a serious thing for me, but have become even more so since my reversion because I am reasonably certain this is my vocation. Every time I start over, the question lingers in the back of my head, "So, is this what I've been looking for?"

It's probably that same question that leaves me feeling extremely reluctant to get involved at all. As much as I want commitment, comfort, security -- hell, even a family -- the incredible risks I have to take to get there can be overwhelming.

You might remember that immediately after graduation, I made a very brief reference to a budding relationship I wasn't ready for. At the time, the gentleman in question was leaving the place we both called home to pursue grad school, and I was adjusting to my new job, being back at home, and so on. Add to that the endless family emergencies at the beginning of summer, and all I wanted to do was be alone.

So I told him that as sweet as he was, we should just be friends, and sent him off to New York.

And damn me, weeks later, I started to miss him. So typical.

Though, by then I figured that I had lost my chance. Feeling sad and foolish, I left it all in God's hands and told Him to show me what He wanted.

Literally 18 hours after I said that prayer, my friend asked me out of the blue where I stood with him: if I still wanted to remain friends, or move forward as a couple. He needed me to make a decision.

While I still wasn't sure of what I wanted and had many fears about where this could lead, B wisely reminded me that sometimes, all we can do is take a deep breath and leap. My confessor believes God used him in that moment to force me out of indecision and into doing something for once. I think he's right.

So I'm taking this chance. I've learned a lot in the last two years ... that time was necessary to rebuild myself and figure out where I stood with God. But now, I'm finally ready to move forward.

God is good.

God in the Dark

A few weeks ago, my parents and I planned a trip to Maryland to visit family. But as Hurricane Irene grew bigger and more daunting, we found there was no other choice but to cancel.

In the weeks leading up to that trip, I started to lose my footing again spiritually. I knew that I needed to get my act together, but apathy got to me before I could get to Confession.

Then, Irene clawed her way up the coast, eventually plunging us into the dark for the next three days. My parents spent most of that time sleeping, while I sat awake in the dark.

Cut off from all my tech "stuff" and God's grace, those three days forced me to actually take a look at myself. What was I doing? Not only did I not care about the position I was in, but in many ways I used it as an excuse to get in even more trouble.

Hey, no one ever said I was good at this walk.

As much as I had hoped to weather being back home, over time it started to get under my skin. By the time I realized, I was a tangled up mess. But actually making the effort to right things yet again seemed pointless. Eventually, I'd end up back in this place. Why bother?

Then, more out of boredom than anything else, I started to read the Bible on my iPod, starting with the Mass readings for the next day (Jer 20:7-9):

You duped me, O LORD, and I let myself be duped;
you were too strong for me, and you triumphed.
All the day I am an object of laughter;
everyone mocks me.

Whenever I speak, I must cry out,
violence and outrage is my message;
the word of the LORD has brought me
derision and reproach all the day.

I say to myself, I will not mention him,
I will speak in his name no more.
But then it becomes like fire burning in my heart,
imprisoned in my bones;
I grow weary holding it in, I cannot endure it.

Zing. Defeated again. And I had the answer to that "why bother:" He called me years ago and He calls me still, and no matter how much distance I try to put between us, despite all the lies and excuses I make to myself, I'm no longer happy unless I'm bound up with Him.

And sitting there in both literal and spiritual darkness, that stupid, persistent longing stirred up in me all over again.

It took three weeks for me to finally get to the confessional, but that waiting period ended up being very good for me. So often I take God and His mercy for granted ... and I think this is what I needed to wake me up.

He always knows exactly what we need, and for stubborn souls like mine, that's sometimes a bit of tough love.

Ten Years Later

Everyone has their 9/11 story -- where they were, how they felt. Here, in brief, is mine.

My uncle worked for the NY Port Authority in the North Tower. An engineer, he was the sort that was always punctual -- never, ever late for work.

So that day, not yet 12 years old, I watched his tower fall on TV in class as it happened. That same minute, the bell rang to switch classes ... I ran straight to guidance and stayed there for the rest of the day. I was sure he had died. It was too devastating for me to even consider survivors.

What I didn't learn until about 2 in the afternoon was that, for the first time ever, my uncle was late to work. He was helping my cousin move into her new classroom -- it was her first day as a teacher in Newark. When the planes hit, he was on the train into New York ... watched it all happen right out his window. He also survived the attacks in 1993, and got caught in that huge power outage a few years ago. Bribed one of the ferry workers to take him and some coworkers over to the Jersey side.

Why he got so lucky is still a mystery to us, but in the last ten years he's seen his daughters marry, become a grandfather 4 times over, and settled into retirement far away from the City.

For a few hours that day, I got a taste of the grief the victims' families still carry. One day was plenty for me.

What Do I Owe You?

Over and over again in the past six(!) years I've been a Christian, I've heard the same thing: salvation is a free gift. It's by grace we're saved. Without that grace, we'd have nothing. Nothing we do can earn heaven. And so on.

Now, coming from a Catholic understanding, I believe that our salvation is an ongoing process that's made authentic through works. If our faith doesn't bear fruit, and if we don't work to keep up our relationship with God, then it's basically a moot point. (That doesn't mean that doing a bunch of pious things can save us -- it can't, not without faith.)

I have to confess, though, that I think sometimes we all struggle with a sense of entitlement. We might think, "I'm a good Christian. I go to church. I pray a lot and read the Bible."

For Catholics: "Well, I go to Mass every day. I pray the rosary. I have a regular holy hour."

For myself: "I didn't have sex in college. I don't get drunk. I try to be a positive influence at home and work."

All of it boils down to the same thing: we act like good people, and so God owes us. We deserve to go to heaven. We deserve to have good things happen to us, and to have our prayers answered.

And that sense of justice leads to frustration when things don't quite pan out. It leads to pride in ourselves, and judgment over others.

But guess what? The Pharisees did the same thing.

I see this streak in myself more than I'd like to admit...and realizing it is embarrassing.

Once again, He calls me to lay down in humility and accept that, despite all the good I do, it's never good enough for Him. He owes me nothing. It's me that owes Him -- and I owe Him everything.

Turning In

It's been a while, hasn't it?

I'm changing again. Every now and then, God sneaks up on me like a whirlwind, and I learn something new. Whether I like it or not, life isn't spent in stasis.

The thing is, this time, I don't know if I like what I'm learning.

I wonder ... do I love God? Or do I just love all the nice things I've heard?

Do I know Him? Or do I just know a lot of stuff about Him?

The answers have humbled me, and in the case of my blog, stunned me into silence. I want to articulate it, but for the first time probably ever, words fail me.

I've been getting nowhere up until very recently. Lots of cool people have challenged me to dig a little deeper into what I'm feeling, so we're going to take some baby steps in that direction. Or that's the plan, at least.

Stay tuned.