In Silence

It's funny, you know, how God uses other people to show us Himself.

Watching my other half go through the conversion process has really given me the opportunity to re-examine myself and my own faith life. It was around my birthday in November that I started going through a lull, a sense of apathy, and finally, a desert experience.

I think that part of me knew all along that something was out of place, but these things tend to sort themselves out. However, what didn't work this time was keeping to my same routine as if nothing was wrong. If anything, it only gave me an increasingly more uncomfortable awareness that either God wasn't listening, or I wasn't hearing Him.

My confessor warned me to stay vigilant and not let my guard down, that I would be particularly vulnerable in my uncertainty. I told him I would, and truly meant to, but in time I felt myself slipping. It was so hard to care when I felt so foggy and disconnected, and while I knew God was there, the lack of consolation made prayer feel trite and ultimately worthless.

Big mistake. I've not been to Confession this much since the weeks immediately falling my reversion in 2007. I'm not proud of that, but can say at least that I've developed a greater appreciation and thankfulness for the sacrament. There were points that the reassurance and listening ear of my pastor and confessor were the only things keeping me going.

Then, this weekend, as if I hadn't been struggling at all, the silence shattered. God had been there all along, but the sensation was nearly physical. I felt like someone had turned the lights on and dumped water over my head.

As for why things were cut off in the first place, I'm still trying to figure that out. Admittedly, I wanted to blog candidly about it while it was going on, but I still feel like I'm in a place where I can't allow myself to show vulnerability. God is working with me on that. For now, I'm taking a deep breath and soaking up the joy that is finally having His peace back in my life, at least for now. Sometimes, I think we all could use some time being carried.

I'll leave you with the song that got me through, with some background:

Pange Lingua Gloriosi

For Christmas, I compiled for Phil a CD of some of my favorite sacred music. One of those songs was Pange Lingua, a Benediction hymn. I had run out of time and paper and promised him a translation in the future. So here it is, along with Nick Zammis, a countertenor, singing a few verses of the original Gregorian melody. (Have you all figured out yet that I have a soft spot for countertenors?)

Of the glorious Body telling,
O my tongue, its mysteries sing,
And the Blood, all price excelling,
Which the world's eternal King,
In a noble womb once dwelling
Shed for the world's ransoming.

Given for us, descending,
Of a Virgin to proceed,
Man with man in converse blending,
Scattered he the Gospel seed,
Till his sojourn drew to ending,
Which he closed in wondrous deed.

At the last great Supper lying
Circled by his brethren's band,
Meekly with the law complying,
First he finished its command
Then, immortal Food supplying,
Gave himself with his own hand.

Word made Flesh, by word he maketh
Very bread his Flesh to be;
Man in wine Christ's Blood partaketh:
And if senses fail to see,
Faith alone the true heart waketh
To behold the mystery.

Therefore we, before him bending,
This great Sacrament revere;
Types and shadows have their ending,
For the newer rite is here;
Faith, our outward sense befriending,
Makes the inward vision clear.

Glory let us give, and blessing
To the Father and the Son;
Honour, might, and praise addressing,
While eternal ages run;
Ever too his love confessing,
Who, from both, with both is one.
Amen.

R. Thou hast given them bread from heaven.
V. Having within it all sweetness.

Let us pray: O God, who in this wonderful Sacrament left us a memorial of Thy Passion: grant, we implore Thee, that we may so venerate the sacred mysteries of Thy Body and Blood, as always to be conscious of the fruit of Thy Redemption. Thou who livest and reignest forever and ever.
R. Amen.

Spreading the Word

Tonight, I got a stray instant message as I sometimes do from one of my first Christian brothers, a friend from high school. This comes on the tail of a phone call from another friend who is serving as a missionary in New Orleans. This week, my closest college friend is leaving for Costa Rica, where she'll work as a missionary for the next eighteen months.

Stiff competition, isn't it? That's what I used to think, in any case.

So many people around me are shamelessly spreading the Gospel, and that's amazing. I pray for that same courage all the time, yet, after three years, I've only taken baby steps. In some ways, I feel like I'm jeopardizing my salvation in this meekness--Jesus Himself said that "Whoever is ashamed of me and of my words in this faithless and sinful generation, the Son of Man will be ashamed of when he comes in his Father's glory with the holy angels." (Mark 8:38)

What can I make of that? Up until very recently, I've always read that verse and interpreted it as a call to evangelize or be damned myself. Not good for someone like myself who, while not ashamed, is timid about my faith. I am proud of it, and of my Church and all she stands for. I took vows to profess and proclaim those teachings, and I take them seriously.

The problem that I discovered after a lot of prayer and talking with my confessor/spiritual director is that I have always assumed that evangelism holds to one concrete definition--loud, assertive, bold witness. I met Christ in that environment, and the people I first had fellowship with operated solely in that way. It was for this reason that I thought that was what we, as good Christians, were supposed to do. In hindsight, I am quickly learning that I have been wrong about many things that good Christians are "supposed to do".

Let's face it--I'm proud, but I'm not aggressive. I'm joyful, but not shouting it from the mountaintops. It took me three years to accept that, yes, it's okay to be that way.

We can't all be Billy Graham, Saint Paul or Fr. Corapi. God gave us each gifts when He made us, all as unique and individual as we are. Those gifts are made manifest in Baptism, and sealed in Confirmation, but it's no guarantee that we're going to excel at all of them. Thankfully, we Christians stand in one another's gaps. Where I am lacking, people like my friends are succeeding.

My witness is a quiet one, but I think that's how I operate best. I'm less of a voice and more of a shoulder, guide, and listening ear. I don't preach, yet people come to me often for questions or advice, both spiritual and mundane. That is my gift. Every so often I can surprise people and quote Scripture if the situation calls for it. ;) I believe in speaking softly and carrying a big stick. It works well for me, and I can only pray that it pleases God.

"Preach the Gospel at all times," St. Francis said, "and use words if necessary."

I think I can handle that.

May It Be Done

Mary said, "Behold, I am the handmaid of the Lord. May it be done to me according to your word." Then the angel departed from her.
--Luke 2:38, NAB

I've been planning to write a blog post on Our Lady since Advent began, but after this weekend's Mass, I feel like this is the perfect time.

Allow me to steal a bit from my pastor's homily. I've heard the above verse dozens of times, sang it in the Magnificat in choir, and even made it my own prayer when faced with difficult decisions. Never, though, has it ever been put to me the way Monsignor did.

The most important part of this verse, he said, is the last sentence: Then the angel departed from her. Here Mary was, probably no more than fifteen or sixteen, betrothed to a man much older than her, but not yet married. What would you do if an angel showed up in your room and said you were going to be the mother of God? Probably not what Mary did, that's for sure.

Thankfully for all of us, Our Lady wasn't blindly accepting. That gives me a lot of peace--she asked Gabriel questions in confusion and doubt. Once her questions were answered, though, her heart was settled, and she gave the assent that would be our salvation. Without that Fiat, I shudder to think of where we would be.

The thing a lot of people--self included--tend to gloss over is that the angel left her. "Okay, you're pregnant with the Son of God now. See ya." Poof.

Suddenly, that miraculous moment was over, and Our Lady was plunged into the terrifying reality of what she had just done. She now had to ride out the rollercoaster of circumstances that comes with doing the will of God, including all the risks that came with it. Joseph could have left her. (I don't imagine most people would buy a miraculous conception as an excuse for being pregnant.) She could have been exiled--and indeed, the couple did leave. The old life she knew was gone. All she had was faith and the growing Divine within her.

It's not a life I don't think I could handle. Then again, God chose her, purifying her from the moment of her conception for that very purpose. This little fifteen-year-old was the Ark of the New Covenant! Her son, the Savior of the world, learned a carpenter's trade. Not exactly luxurious. Heck, she bounced around on the back of a donkey for three days at nine months pregnant. Her baby would be born in a dark, musty stable with even more donkeys for company. Some life.

I'm being lighthearted to try and paint for you the picture Monsignor did for us. On the outside, the Holy Family was about was ordinary and plain as it got. The simplicity of their lives and the enormity of their mission was, and still is, incredible.

Look at what God did with a girl younger than just about all of us, and all because she humbly gave herself over to complete trust in Him.

Where can we give our own fiat? If we all learned to say yes like Our Lady, imagine what we could accomplish...

The Vocation Rant

Now that my third semester of college is over, I can finally sit back and soak up what little is left of Advent season. Before I turn my attention to that theme, though, the topic of vocations has been coming up a lot recently in the circles I frequent. So, here we go!

I've always been one of those people to shrug and say "Sure, kids would be nice someday, I guess." I'd never given it much thought, but then again, I wasn't really at the age.

It's been nearly three years since I put God in charge of my life, and a little over 1.5 since my coming home to the Church. I have grown in leaps and bounds since then. It is really amazing how He has changed me for the better. On a totally mundane level, I've also grown up a lot, and have started to think about that mysterious life after graduation. Despite what I might feel, college isn't a perpetual state. ;)

I want to get married. Even when I was younger, I wanted to save myself for one person, if only for practical, yet romanticized reasons. When I was sixteen, I started to ask God where He wanted me to be and where I could best serve Him.

A few months later, I met my other half, and that was over two years ago. Since then, I have developed a lot of perspective on what a vocation is. Despite being serious with my OH, I've looked into the religious life with an open mind. They are beautiful witnesses to the Faith, and somewhere deep down inside of me is a yearning to be that close to God. I love the Dominican charism. I could see myself committing to prayer, study, and teaching--really see it. After a lot of prayer, though, I think that desire is a longing we all have to some degree. It's something that won't be satisfied until we get to see Him face-to-face without sin to weigh us down. As St. Augustine said, "My heart is restless until it rests in You."

Yet...as much as I love and want to yield to that yearning, I feel that there is something more for me. What I feel is merely emotional, and doesn't come with that instinctual peace that says it's the will of God. I understand that the religious life is the highest vocation, but I have a gut feeling that I would be wasting my gifts if I were to be anywhere else but right here in the world.

Marriage is a lot more than just the default vocation for those of us who can't handle celibacy--at least from this college girl's point of view. My friend Jeff said it best, and it's stuck with me for a long time: it's the desire to help the person you care about most get to heaven. More than that, when you marry someone, you share your life and very vocation with him or her. You serve God beside your spouse, and that idea to me has always been incredibly powerful.

One of my favorite passages from Scripture is from Ecclesiastes 4:

Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their work. If one falls down, his friend can help him up. But pity the man who falls and has no one to help him up!Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm. But how can one keep warm alone? Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken. (9-12, NIV)

Spouses cover one another's weaknesses, and of course, "love covers a multitude of sins" (1 Peter 4:8). I cringe to use the infamous "a word" in this post, but it's worth noting that having someone keeping you accountable to God is an incredible weapon. I've heard stories of spouses consulting one another before hitting the confessional, as they sometimes know their spouse's shortcomings better than the person does. I totally believe this.

Then there are children--the other reason for marrying. I'll be honest with you here--I am petrified of having kids. The thought of actually delivering a baby, raising it to be safe, healthy and strong with good morals is a terrifying idea to me. There is so much that might not work out. Does that mean I'm not fit to be a mother and, therefore, a wife? I don't think so. Under my fear is the continuing encouragement from God, and my own knowledge of my strengths. I'm not a mother yet, and likely won't be for a few years, but I can learn. Mary did.

Before Bed

More Eucharistic awesomeness. Happy Advent! I'll be back with reflections soon!

Like love, the Eucharist does not need to be understood or explained, it needs only to be touched. In the Eucharist, as in love, the main thing is that we are held.

Perhaps the most useful image of how the Eucharist functions is the image of a mother holding a frightened, tired and tense child. In the Eucharist God functions as a mother. God picks us up; frightened, tired, helpless, complaining, discouraged and protesting children, and holds us to her heart until the tension subsides and peace and strength flow into us

... There is in an embrace something beyond what can be explained biologically or psychologically. Power is transmitted through love that goes beyond rational understanding.

That is why after Jesus had spent all his words he left us the Eucharist.

--Forgotten Among the Lilies by Ronald Rolheiser, O.M.I.

A Perfect Mirror

Mother Angelica is, and has always been, full of wisdom. This quote, found in her meditations compiled from To Leave And Yet to Stay, resonated with me in particular, especially after my first experience with the Blessed Sacrament. Emphasis is mine.

If only we had the humility to realize that He alone is Goodness and makes us good. As soon as we come into His Presence in the Eucharist, our souls respond to the power before them like a sunflower turning toward the sun.

His silent Presence, hidden in the tabernacle, says to each one of us, "I love you. Come to me all you who labor and are burdened and I will refresh you. Come to the fountain of life and drink. Tell Me your problems. Listen to My voice. I tug at your heart, guiding your way and smoothing your path."

There is between the Eucharistic Heart of Jesus and the soul, a silent exchange of love, a sharing of pain, an inaudible dialogue between two who know each other perfectly and love each other deeply.

It is as if the soul sees itself in a perfect Mirror and knows clearly its faults and imperfections. A strange phenomenon occurs as the soul gazes at Jesus. Its own reflection becomes brighter. Its faults fade away and one day that "soul is turned–transformed into the image it reflected." (2 Cor 3:18)

This being true, why do we permit our souls to die of thirst when the Fountain of Living water is just around the corner?

Food for thought, this.

On Patience

Better is the end of speech than its beginning;
better is the patient spirit than the lofty spirit.
--Ecclesiastes 7:8

People in my life are always telling me that I'm impatient. I'm not sure if this is just an Italian cultural stereotype or not, but I've never been very good at biding my time, or bearing wrongs.

As part of a bit of a spiritual exercise given to me, I've decided to free write a bit about what patience is, what is means to me, and how I can make better use of it in my life. I think doing this would be much more pro-active than just trying to be patient about things.

First, let me start with a few different definitions. There are different facets to patience, and not all of them have to do with waiting for an event to occur.

• "The bearing of provocation, annoyance, misfortune, or pain, without complaint, loss of temper, irritation, or the like..."

This is the sort of patience that I think many people encounter most often in their everyday lives. The jerk behind you decides to pass on a double line, cutting you off with a rude gesture in the process. You're caught waiting forever in the line at the bank five minutes before close when the elderly woman ahead of you is counting pennies. Your significant other's mother falls ill, and you can't be there to support him through it. These are the challenges we are forced to face with the above sort of patience, one that I liken to charity--agape, selfless love for love's sake.

• "Quiet, steady perseverance; even-tempered care; diligence."

This kind of patience is more subtle and refined, and in my opinion, it also requires more effort. In fact, this may be better labeled as determination. To keep fighting, even when you'd rather quit; to choose sanctity over sin; to deal with strife without complaint, and with hope for the future. Patience is about not losing your cool in the midst of chaos, and trying not to give in to weariness despite all life can throw at us.

• "An ability or willingness to suppress restlessness or annoyance when confronted with delay."

Finally, the traditional meaning of patience, and often the most difficult to achieve. Life doesn't always pan out the way we hope it will. Let's face it, we all eventually find ourselves faced with curveballs and roadblocks that keep us from obtaining the things that matter most to us--work, education, love, success. Sometimes, those roadblocks are built by our own shortcomings and failures.

I have always had a problem with biting my tongue, and keeping my thoughts in check. I can be wrathful, judgmental, and unforgiving. At the same time, the people closest to me would note with concern that I can be too hard on myself, unwilling to accept weakness or failure. After a lot of time in prayer and many trips to the confessional, I'm beginning to learn that it's okay to be weak. I expect so much of other people, and am hurt when they let me down. I expect much of myself, but I will always be maturing; I'll only ever be perfect when I (hopefully) one day stand before God.

In learning to see weakness in others, and treat that weakness with empathy, charity, and love, I can slowly wotk my way up to treating myself in the same way. In learning to be patient when others hurt me, to listen more and talk less, to pray rather than judge, I will find Christ living within the people around me. When I can see that He lives in them, I will see Him in me, too. You can only truly love yourself if you know how to love others, after all.

That, too, will take time, practice, and patience. It's a good thing God has an eternity's worth.

Have patience with all things, but chiefly have patience with yourself. Do not lose courage in considering your own imperfections but instantly set about remedying them - every day begin the task anew.
--St. Francis de Sales

At His Feet

A few days ago, I did something crazy. Crazier than usual for me, anyhow.

After an overly long day putting together my college's newspaper (which, on an irrelevant note, still isn't done...), I asked my ride home to make a pit stop.

That was how I found myself standing at the back door of my parish thinking, Oh my God, what am I doing?, and then, a minute later, face-to-face with Jesus Christ.

We have a tiny chapel about the size of my computer room off of the main sanctuary at my parish. I've been in there a few times, but never for Adoration. The practice finds its foundation in John 6, where Jesus tells us He will give us His flesh to eat. The whole Bread of Life discourse is why we affirm that He is really, physically present in the bread and wine at Communion. The idea for adoring the Blessed Sacrament comes from St. Matthew's Gospel, where Jesus is praying in the Garden of Gethsemane. The Apostles, who promised to stay up with Him, fall asleep multiple times during this vigil. Seeing this, the Lord asks them, "Can you not keep watch one hour with Me" (verses 36-41)? Adoration is our response to His challenge. As long as the Blessed Sacrament is exposed, someone is there with Him. It's really amazing, and I've felt called for a long time now to be a part of that, if only just once.

It was kind of funny, really--I ended up taking the back entrance to the parish, which opens into the gathering space that I've never once been in, despite being a parishioner there since I was seven. I was completely lost in my own church! I did run into someone who showed me to the chapel, thankfully.

I don't know what I was expecting, but she shut the door behind me, and just like that, I was standing in front of Him. Have you ever unexpectedly run into someone looking a mess? You stand there a bit awkwardly, feeling sheepish and hoping no one notices that your hair's a wreck and your pants have a hole in them.

Honestly, I was kind of unsure about the whole thing, so I just sat in the back pew and knelt to pray. For a while I looked at the exposed Eucharist on the altar, expectant, wanting to feel Him there, but there was nothing. Instead, I buried my head in my hands as I do during Communion, and started talking with God.

Over the next hour, I found myself grappling like a little girl with Him, and was surprised to find His voice answering my tantrums with assurances of love, trust, hope.

When I looked up again, suddenly I was overwhelmed with the depth of both the emotions I was experiencing, and the love He was trying to coax me toward. Not knowing how else to react, I cried openly, despite others being there.

In that short period of time, I realized a lot of things. In Adoration, when you're face-to-face with your Lord, you can't hide behind prayers or pretty words or a facade of happiness. When you're on your knees before Him, you're literally kneeling at the throne of God. There is something both very humbling and nearly terrifying about that.

Somewhere in the midst of that silence, I was thrown on my head. For so long now, I've been petrified of showing any sort of weakness. I've been fighting myself so hard, and Adoration broke down those walls. Instead of finding despondence and depression, though, I found mercy and comfort, much to my surprise. In letting my guard down and letting God in, in letting Him take care of me, I got my hope back.

Jesus said, "I have told you this so that you might have peace in me. In the world you will have trouble, but take courage, I have conquered the world." (John 16:33, NAB)

He has conquered death, and with it, my doubts, my fears, and my hurts. Things may get difficult, but we can have faith in the promises He's made to us, and one of them is that He will never, ever leave us.

Phil Wickham releases free album!

We all love free music, right? Especially when it's good free music.

Tonight, I give you Phil Wickham, an amazing songwriter/guitarist who does worship music the justice it deserves. And he's only 24!

Born in California, he's been leading worship around there since he was 12, and eventually made it big. He's an incredibly passionate vocalist and very emotional when he performs. Fortunately for his fans, he's also one of the precious few musicians these days who are as good in person as they are in the studio. (I'm not just saying that, even if I am a little biased toward tenors!)

The album is called Singalong, and it was recorded live from a church in Portland. It's got both classic hymns ("How Great Thou Art", "It is Well With My Soul") and some of his original hits ("Divine Romance" and "True Love" being my favorites).

To download Singalong, head to PhilWickham.com and follow the instructions. All he asks is that you sign up for his newsletter, which is no big deal. The album is totally worth it!