Today, all I can say is ALLELUIA! He is risen again and risen always!
My pastor preached last night about how so many people are of the belief that "we live--we die. That's it."
My stomach dropped. God can be so funny. In the end, Monsignor reminded us that despite how bleak the world around us may be, God is NOT done, it is NOT the end, and greater things ARE coming.
Just hold on.
Happy Easter,
M
More Matt Maher for you. Really, go buy "Alive Again." Right now.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Saturday, April 3, 2010
"This is the night..."
had Christ not come as our Redeemer?
Father, how wonderful your care for us!
How boundless your merciful love!
To ransom a slave you gave away your Son.
O happy fault,
O necessary sin of Adam,
which gained for us so great a Redeemer!
--from The Easter Exultet
No matter what is going on in my life or how stressed I may be, the Easter Vigil always fills me with an incredible sense of anticipation and joy. It’s a rescue for me, an invitation to cast off my despair, my fear, my pain, and rejoice with the Church. We are reminded year after year that our triumph has already been won, but sometimes, in the midst of all life’s turmoil, it can be easy to forget.
Oh, how I’ve forgotten this Lent. I think this desert has extended long beyond forty days. I am ready for the oasis of the Easter season. For Pentecost. Revival.
And tonight, at long last, it’s here.
For now, I watch the Passion as I wait for my friend to arrive for Vigil. I’m watching closely with each lash, reminding myself that this is not film or fantasy, but reality. He took this on for me, for all of us. One would think, had it been a lie, or a game of insanity, that someone would have said. Of the Twelve and thousands of disciples, one of them would have given up the truth as Pilate asked.
But, no. They wouldn’t have; not if He was Truth.
This is the night we accept Him again into our midst, along with the belief that without Him, without this, we would have nothing. We would be nothing. There would be no hope.
I have flirted far too long with nihilism and the coldness of supposed rationality. I am tired of this foolishness. I am tired of Satan and his petty little games.
No more!
Tonight, I will go to receive my Lord and boast in the face of evil that this war is won.
Life hurts, but if it didn’t? Well, we’d never have Him. We’d never know what it means to be entirely humble and selfless. We’d never know what real love is, what hope is, or what the important things in this world really are.
So for that, we thank Him.
Come, Lord. Bring life to this wasteland!
Happy Vigil, my friends.
A Song for the Triduum...
Tonight, I leave you with a song that has brought me to tears more times than I can count. It speaks intimately to the questions that I believe many of us have deep in our souls. Listen. And when you're done, go buy Matt Maher's album, "Alive Again."
Reflections on the Triduum
As I mentioned previously, last night was my first Holy Thursday Mass of the Lord's Supper. Considering my devotion to the Eucharist, I was very excited to check it all out.
My friend Sarha (like Sarah, only messed up) and I were ushered to the front pew near the other people who had been selected to get their feet washed, so I had an up close view of the Mass. My chaplain concelebrated with the pastor of what will become our "university parish" and their two parochial vicars. It was also a bilingual Mass which, while a bit confusing at first, ended up being an interesting experience. While I was on the altar, I noticed the incredible mix of ages and races represented there. I don't think I have ever seen a more tangible incidence of the Church's universality. It was really inspiring. (Also inspiring was their choir loft--my home parish doesn't have one--and the fact that after Mass, both confessionals had long lines! That is something else we lack at home, unfortunately.)
The most profound moment of the Mass for me was the final procession of the Blessed Sacrament and the stripping of the altar. Slowly, one by one, the lights were shut off without ceremony. In silence, the priests and servers worked together to remove the flowers from the altar floor, and finally, the altar linens were folded and removed. Without another word, the ministers left, leaving us to adore Him at the altar of repose.
It may have been the incense that is only used at the most solemn of occasions in this area, but the entire ritual was reminiscent of a funeral. We laid Him to rest, and all that remained was the empty table and a grave by which we could keep vigil. He would rest there for three days. An eerie acknowledgment of this settled heavily on my mind, and I didn't want to stay long. I guess I can understand how the Apostles felt when, for whatever reason, they chose not to be present during His Passion. I left quickly.
Today, I was unable to participate in the Good Friday liturgy, but still made the most of the day outside, praying and soaking up both Scripture and sunshine. It was easy to reflect, but difficult to pray, I found--"Why am I doing this? He's gone," I remember thinking at one point.
What kept me going was the constant reminder that the empriness of this day is not forever. He will return to us in full, not only tomorrow as we welcome Easter but again at the end of time. Our suffering is only temporary. Time heals all wounds.
And this, the wound of our depravity, is the biggest of all.
Now, we pray and wait for Him. It's all we can do.
My friend Sarha (like Sarah, only messed up) and I were ushered to the front pew near the other people who had been selected to get their feet washed, so I had an up close view of the Mass. My chaplain concelebrated with the pastor of what will become our "university parish" and their two parochial vicars. It was also a bilingual Mass which, while a bit confusing at first, ended up being an interesting experience. While I was on the altar, I noticed the incredible mix of ages and races represented there. I don't think I have ever seen a more tangible incidence of the Church's universality. It was really inspiring. (Also inspiring was their choir loft--my home parish doesn't have one--and the fact that after Mass, both confessionals had long lines! That is something else we lack at home, unfortunately.)
The most profound moment of the Mass for me was the final procession of the Blessed Sacrament and the stripping of the altar. Slowly, one by one, the lights were shut off without ceremony. In silence, the priests and servers worked together to remove the flowers from the altar floor, and finally, the altar linens were folded and removed. Without another word, the ministers left, leaving us to adore Him at the altar of repose.
It may have been the incense that is only used at the most solemn of occasions in this area, but the entire ritual was reminiscent of a funeral. We laid Him to rest, and all that remained was the empty table and a grave by which we could keep vigil. He would rest there for three days. An eerie acknowledgment of this settled heavily on my mind, and I didn't want to stay long. I guess I can understand how the Apostles felt when, for whatever reason, they chose not to be present during His Passion. I left quickly.
Today, I was unable to participate in the Good Friday liturgy, but still made the most of the day outside, praying and soaking up both Scripture and sunshine. It was easy to reflect, but difficult to pray, I found--"Why am I doing this? He's gone," I remember thinking at one point.
What kept me going was the constant reminder that the empriness of this day is not forever. He will return to us in full, not only tomorrow as we welcome Easter but again at the end of time. Our suffering is only temporary. Time heals all wounds.
And this, the wound of our depravity, is the biggest of all.
Now, we pray and wait for Him. It's all we can do.
Friday, April 2, 2010
Trusting in the Face of Scandal
I originally wrote this post elsewhere, but wanted to put it here, too.
"This is my beloved Son, in Whom I am well pleased..."
This verse is probably going to be burned into my head forever now, and I'm honestly still reeling over the insanity that was God working on retreat. And this Holy Week, I've been reminded a half dozen times at least that everything we do and see in this faith is REAL.
Sometimes, that creeps me out.
Tonight, I went to my very first Holy Thursday Mass, despite growing up in the Church. Despite my grumpiness over agreeing to have my feet washed, actually experiencing it was neat. The one thing that stuck out to me as Fr. Matt started on my bare foot is that I had to trust him. I recoiled when the water first touched me, but then relaxed and watched. It was a symbol for me of the trust that we develop between priest and parishioner, confessor and penitent, and the trust we really *have to* develop to make that work.
Yet...a select few have failed us miserably. The trust we held in them was shattered in the reality of scandal. People have been scarred, disgusted, abandoned because of the Church's failure to do its job.
There's a big BUT here, though. Yes, they failed and did it gloriously.God only knows how many people have left over this ridiculousness. And the media, unfortunately, hasn't helped. It shames me to see journalists at some of the nation's most reputable papers acting more like attack dogs and less like the truth-seekers we're supposed to be. More often than not, I want to ask when being a reporter became a license to slander at will.
Maybe I'm too idealistic. Maybe I'm guilty of my own bias to the other side, being Catholic. But either way, we're ALL under attack right now.
That's why tonight came at the perfect time. We need a reminder that regardless of how much our Church of humans shows its humanity, we've still got God. He's still in the priesthood and in the Eucharist. No matter how bad things get, that's not gonna go away.
It's like letting someone wash your feet when you barely know them, in front of a ton of people, with Fr. Tom snickering gleefully at you the entire time and a while afterward. ;) Trust is uncomfortable, it's dangerous, and we might even get let down now and then. That's what Holy Thursday is. We get the gifts to deal with that hurt every single day.
So cheer up. We might not have the best reputation these days, but we're still gonna win the war.
Peace!
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Repose
No matter how much excitement I may have over the coming Easter Vigil, getting through the Triduum is still the hardest thing of all for me. It's as if we're set on fire and made to suffer before being allowed to rise with Christ.
Sound familiar? ;)
My doubts have reached a terribly uncomfortable crescendo this week, no doubt because of the intensity and sanctity of these last few days before Easter. It also makes sense that the enemy would want to turn up the heat for Holy Week, especially given the light I finally found this past weekend.
Evenings are difficult. I do what I can to persevere. In a very sweet gesture, my chaplain gave me a Divine Mercy medal--I have a fierce devotion to the Divine Mercy even in the worst of times--and blessed it, telling me to pray the novena. I was already two steps ahead of him on that, but now I finally have a physical reminder of "the hope that is in [me]."
Tonight is my first Holy Thursday Mass ever, despite growing up in the Church. The pastor of the parish closest to my university has invited our Newman house to attend and have our feet washed. (Thanks to a friend, the liturgical, er...trickiness of that situation. I'm going to let my chaplain know and do whatever he tells me.)
It's going to be a cool experience, I'm sure. And then watching the altar stripped as we adore Him for the last time? I'm going to lose it.
That's not a bad thing. It makes my joy when this is over all the sweeter.
Sound familiar? ;)
My doubts have reached a terribly uncomfortable crescendo this week, no doubt because of the intensity and sanctity of these last few days before Easter. It also makes sense that the enemy would want to turn up the heat for Holy Week, especially given the light I finally found this past weekend.
Evenings are difficult. I do what I can to persevere. In a very sweet gesture, my chaplain gave me a Divine Mercy medal--I have a fierce devotion to the Divine Mercy even in the worst of times--and blessed it, telling me to pray the novena. I was already two steps ahead of him on that, but now I finally have a physical reminder of "the hope that is in [me]."
Tonight is my first Holy Thursday Mass ever, despite growing up in the Church. The pastor of the parish closest to my university has invited our Newman house to attend and have our feet washed. (Thanks to a friend, the liturgical, er...trickiness of that situation. I'm going to let my chaplain know and do whatever he tells me.)
It's going to be a cool experience, I'm sure. And then watching the altar stripped as we adore Him for the last time? I'm going to lose it.
That's not a bad thing. It makes my joy when this is over all the sweeter.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Pulling Back the Veil
I'm home from Elverson, and admit with some regret that a part of my heart is still there. Walking in the door at St. Mary of Providence again was like coming back to a second home. As soon as I got into the conference room where we spend most of our time, I was overcome with emotions--sadness, fear and heartache from the weeks surrounding last fall's retreat, and then, overwhelming joy. Peace. Hope. Expectation. It didn't surprise me when one of my friends who was on retreat for the first time began spontaneously dancing around the room. "This place is magical," she told me, and I knew what she meant. The grandeur yet incredible peace that hits you on the grounds is tangible. You might even say it's the very Presence of God.
There were a lot of little moments, beautiful things that were emotionally moving--among them my very first Stations of the Cross and the traditional burning of our prayer intentions outside, this time as part of a Eucharistic procession.
What really struck me, as I said to a friend I suspected it would, was my holy hour. Earlier in the day, we had a "quiet hour" of individual reflection. I had gone to Confession just before that hour, and spent time wandering the grounds as I did last year before I headed to "my spot", the church outside the mansion. There, in front of the tabernacle with my voice magnified by the incredible acoustics in the sanctuary, I poured out my heart to Him about everything I've felt (or really, not felt) this winter. Tears came quickly, but I noticed a marked difference in my usual behavior. I wasn't having a tantrum, rather just expressing my pain and working things out with Him maturely. By the end of the hour my knees were aching, but I was singing for the Easter joy that's coming.
Father told me during Confession that if the darkness should come over me during Adoration, to passively acknowledge it and then let it go instead of dwelling or forcing it away. The doubt did come during my midnight vigil alone, and I reconfirmed my belief that God was listening before picking up my Bible and running my finger down the pages. "What do You want to say to me?" I asked him, and opened to a random page.
"Well, that was creepy," I told the exposed Sacrament, unnerved. "But it was probably a coincidence." Shutting my Bible, I sat in silence for a few moments before offering him a challenge: "If You really are speaking to me, You'll do it twice. Want to play this game again?" Allowing my Bible to fall open on the floor where I sat, I was staring at Psalm 27, titled in my Bible as "Trust in God."
Um. Okay. Slowly, I began to read aloud:
Excuse me. I think I just swallowed my tongue. Anyone who has been reading this blog for even a month will recognize how this psalm spoke over and over (and over) again about my deepest fears and struggles. In the chapel alone, I began to laugh--I'd been beaten. I believed without doubt for the first time in nearly a year. Desolation came back in time for Palm Sunday Mass a few hours later, but I saw it for what it was--an illusion from the enemy who wanted to steal my new light of hope.
This perseverance continued into yesterday, where I acted as lector for Mass back on campus. "A reading from the book of the prophet Isaiah: 'This is my beloved Son, in Whom I am well pleased...'"
I was reeling, but had to keep going. First reading finished, I continued onto the responsorial psalm. About four verses in, I felt physically struck by the awe of what was happening; it was psalm 27! The readings for Monday's Mass were given to me the day before without any foreknowledge on my part.
Coincidence? Hardly!
God is alive. Typing that is difficult still, but I have seen Him move in so many powerful ways this weekend. It's definitely hard for even this jaded skeptic to deny these days.
As we enter Holy Week, the whole world will hold its breath in anticipation of the King. And I'm delighted to say that at long last, perhaps only temporarily, I am anticipating Him as well.
There were a lot of little moments, beautiful things that were emotionally moving--among them my very first Stations of the Cross and the traditional burning of our prayer intentions outside, this time as part of a Eucharistic procession.
What really struck me, as I said to a friend I suspected it would, was my holy hour. Earlier in the day, we had a "quiet hour" of individual reflection. I had gone to Confession just before that hour, and spent time wandering the grounds as I did last year before I headed to "my spot", the church outside the mansion. There, in front of the tabernacle with my voice magnified by the incredible acoustics in the sanctuary, I poured out my heart to Him about everything I've felt (or really, not felt) this winter. Tears came quickly, but I noticed a marked difference in my usual behavior. I wasn't having a tantrum, rather just expressing my pain and working things out with Him maturely. By the end of the hour my knees were aching, but I was singing for the Easter joy that's coming.
Father told me during Confession that if the darkness should come over me during Adoration, to passively acknowledge it and then let it go instead of dwelling or forcing it away. The doubt did come during my midnight vigil alone, and I reconfirmed my belief that God was listening before picking up my Bible and running my finger down the pages. "What do You want to say to me?" I asked him, and opened to a random page.
This is my beloved Son, with Whom I am well pleased. --Isaiah 42:1
"Well, that was creepy," I told the exposed Sacrament, unnerved. "But it was probably a coincidence." Shutting my Bible, I sat in silence for a few moments before offering him a challenge: "If You really are speaking to me, You'll do it twice. Want to play this game again?" Allowing my Bible to fall open on the floor where I sat, I was staring at Psalm 27, titled in my Bible as "Trust in God."
Um. Okay. Slowly, I began to read aloud:
The LORD is my light and my salvation; whom do I fear? The LORD is my life's refuge; of whom am I afraid?
When evildoers come at me to devour my flesh, These my enemies and foes themselves stumble and fall.
Though an army encamp against me, my heart does not fear; Though war be waged against me, even then do I trust.
One thing I ask of the LORD; this I seek: To dwell in the LORD'S house all the days of my life, To gaze on the LORD'S beauty, to visit his temple.
For God will hide me in his shelter in time of trouble, Will conceal me in the cover of his tent; and set me high upon a rock.
Even now my head is held high above my enemies on every side! I will offer in his tent sacrifices with shouts of joy; I will sing and chant praise to the LORD.
Hear my voice, LORD, when I call; have mercy on me and answer me.
"Come," says my heart, "seek God's face"; your face, LORD, do I seek!
Do not hide your face from me; do not repel your servant in anger. You are my help; do not cast me off; do not forsake me, God my savior!
Even if my father and mother forsake me, the LORD will take me in.
LORD, show me your way; lead me on a level path because of my enemies.
Do not abandon me to the will of my foes; malicious and lying witnesses have risen against me.
But I believe I shall enjoy the LORD'S goodness in the land of the living.
Wait for the LORD, take courage; be stouthearted, wait for the LORD!
Excuse me. I think I just swallowed my tongue. Anyone who has been reading this blog for even a month will recognize how this psalm spoke over and over (and over) again about my deepest fears and struggles. In the chapel alone, I began to laugh--I'd been beaten. I believed without doubt for the first time in nearly a year. Desolation came back in time for Palm Sunday Mass a few hours later, but I saw it for what it was--an illusion from the enemy who wanted to steal my new light of hope.
This perseverance continued into yesterday, where I acted as lector for Mass back on campus. "A reading from the book of the prophet Isaiah: 'This is my beloved Son, in Whom I am well pleased...'"
I was reeling, but had to keep going. First reading finished, I continued onto the responsorial psalm. About four verses in, I felt physically struck by the awe of what was happening; it was psalm 27! The readings for Monday's Mass were given to me the day before without any foreknowledge on my part.
Coincidence? Hardly!
God is alive. Typing that is difficult still, but I have seen Him move in so many powerful ways this weekend. It's definitely hard for even this jaded skeptic to deny these days.
As we enter Holy Week, the whole world will hold its breath in anticipation of the King. And I'm delighted to say that at long last, perhaps only temporarily, I am anticipating Him as well.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Awaiting the New Springtime
I don't want to say I'm getting better. If I do, I might jinx myself. All the fragile hope and joy I've begun to build might come crashing down on me.
Maybe it's just the weather, or maybe it's not. Perhaps it's a bit symbolic: in the fullness of time, the dark and barren bleakness of winter pulls away into springtime and life can emerge again at long last.
Unfortunately, I can't say the worries and doctrinal struggles I've been plagued with since Christmas have gone away. Nor can I say that the emptiness has ebbed. It's more that I think I'm rerouting my personal spirituality in order to cope with these new challenges. Once all about frills, tradition and mystery, I've since stripped my faith down to the bare minimum. After all, the bare minimum is all I can bring myself to accept, and even that comes at the price of doubt that threatens to cripple me on bad days.
The good news is that the amount of bad days I'm having appears to be tapering off. All I can do in my vulnerability is hold my breath and pray that maybe I'm almost out of the woods. I feel almost guilty writing this post--there are people that have suffered greater physical and spiritual pain than I've ever experienced, and when laid beside that, this little darkness of the senses is nothing, yet...in so many ways I'm still a neophyte, despite growing up in the Church. This last couple of months have been excruciating, especially given the joy I knew ebefore. It feels so far away now, and my heart breaks for that.
But as far away as it may be, I'm pretty sure I'm better than I used to be. I've learned to surrender myself with a very humble trust. I don't pray much anymore (my chaplain recommended I use my "talking" time with God to reflect instead), and for now, the writings of the saints have been laid aside for the Psalms and C.S. Lewis. Even my beads have failed to see the light of day--at my best, all I can handle is the smallest "Jesus, I trust in You."
It's a start, and I'll take it. Tomorrow, I leave for retreat to Pennsylvania with my university Catholic Campus Ministry. (Those of you that read Abide With Us over the fall will remember that I blogged and photographed my first trip there at length.) I'm thrilled at knowing this weekend has come now, and I'll be there with some of my closest new friends. At the same time, though, I worry about how the trip will affect me. I'm barely hanging on. What will happen when I'm forced to face Him and Him alone for three days? Will the despair return? Will it tear me apart? The last trip sure did, and that was when my spiritual life was healthy.
Regardless, I'm ready to receive whatever He wants to give me with an open heart. Pain is better than feeling nothing at all...
And when I return, we make the long last journey home, to Easter. I only hope that my faith will return in full with it.
Please pray for the success of our retreat in my absence! There are 18 of us. :D
Pax!
Maybe it's just the weather, or maybe it's not. Perhaps it's a bit symbolic: in the fullness of time, the dark and barren bleakness of winter pulls away into springtime and life can emerge again at long last.
Unfortunately, I can't say the worries and doctrinal struggles I've been plagued with since Christmas have gone away. Nor can I say that the emptiness has ebbed. It's more that I think I'm rerouting my personal spirituality in order to cope with these new challenges. Once all about frills, tradition and mystery, I've since stripped my faith down to the bare minimum. After all, the bare minimum is all I can bring myself to accept, and even that comes at the price of doubt that threatens to cripple me on bad days.
The good news is that the amount of bad days I'm having appears to be tapering off. All I can do in my vulnerability is hold my breath and pray that maybe I'm almost out of the woods. I feel almost guilty writing this post--there are people that have suffered greater physical and spiritual pain than I've ever experienced, and when laid beside that, this little darkness of the senses is nothing, yet...in so many ways I'm still a neophyte, despite growing up in the Church. This last couple of months have been excruciating, especially given the joy I knew ebefore. It feels so far away now, and my heart breaks for that.
But as far away as it may be, I'm pretty sure I'm better than I used to be. I've learned to surrender myself with a very humble trust. I don't pray much anymore (my chaplain recommended I use my "talking" time with God to reflect instead), and for now, the writings of the saints have been laid aside for the Psalms and C.S. Lewis. Even my beads have failed to see the light of day--at my best, all I can handle is the smallest "Jesus, I trust in You."
It's a start, and I'll take it. Tomorrow, I leave for retreat to Pennsylvania with my university Catholic Campus Ministry. (Those of you that read Abide With Us over the fall will remember that I blogged and photographed my first trip there at length.) I'm thrilled at knowing this weekend has come now, and I'll be there with some of my closest new friends. At the same time, though, I worry about how the trip will affect me. I'm barely hanging on. What will happen when I'm forced to face Him and Him alone for three days? Will the despair return? Will it tear me apart? The last trip sure did, and that was when my spiritual life was healthy.
Regardless, I'm ready to receive whatever He wants to give me with an open heart. Pain is better than feeling nothing at all...
And when I return, we make the long last journey home, to Easter. I only hope that my faith will return in full with it.
Please pray for the success of our retreat in my absence! There are 18 of us. :D
Pax!
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Tenth Avenue North to Release New Album!
It's a happy day! A few weeks ago, I was ecstatic upon hearing the news that breakout new Christian rock artists Tenth Avenue North are finally releasing their sophomore album. The record, "The Light Meets the Dark," comes on the tail of their 2008 debut, "Over and Underneath," that claimed them Best New Artist of the Year at the Gospel Music Association's Dove Awards. I introduced my readers to them at that time, and you can check it out here.
I'm super excited to bring you the first single off the new album. It's called "Healing Begins," and it's just as good as their first songs! You can buy the single now, or wait for the full album to release on May 11. Sounds like it's going to be awesome!
I'm super excited to bring you the first single off the new album. It's called "Healing Begins," and it's just as good as their first songs! You can buy the single now, or wait for the full album to release on May 11. Sounds like it's going to be awesome!
Winds of Change
This week, a sudden blast of warm air has brought the consolation of spring to my area, and what a balm it's been for me. For the first time in a long, long time, I'm beginning to feel like myself.
Though, with the warm weather comes a host of other problems. The sudden surge of light and warmth into the world after such a long stretch of darkness stirs something deep within me, and suddenly, my zeal comes alive.
It's not always how I hope, either. I'm a terribly passionate soul, and have a reputation for being a bit...consuming and hurricane-like. It's not a bad thing, but at times that side of me (or really, that core) is way too close to my old ways. It tastes of magic. Around this time of year, the aching is deep in my bones. But that's a yearning I can't sate anymore.
Or can I?
God and I have an odd relationship, and it's usually in some sort of flux. I don't pull punches and I make no effort to cover myself up before Him. If I'm angry, He knows it in no uncertain terms. And when things are at their best? When I'm full of that passion and joy?
It's fire.
It's something I both fear and rejoice in. When my words fall short, He speaks to me and turns me upside down. It's transforming, raw, and perhaps most of all, healing in nature.
Time and again I've been known to cry at Mass or Adoration without cause. It's the Spirit's way of helping me to pour out myself, to decrease, I think.
I usually feel better afterward. Then again, I often feel better all around during this time of year.
Ostara is coming. Spring is coming. And with it, Easter. Our greatest hope.
Bring it on!
Though, with the warm weather comes a host of other problems. The sudden surge of light and warmth into the world after such a long stretch of darkness stirs something deep within me, and suddenly, my zeal comes alive.
It's not always how I hope, either. I'm a terribly passionate soul, and have a reputation for being a bit...consuming and hurricane-like. It's not a bad thing, but at times that side of me (or really, that core) is way too close to my old ways. It tastes of magic. Around this time of year, the aching is deep in my bones. But that's a yearning I can't sate anymore.
Or can I?
God and I have an odd relationship, and it's usually in some sort of flux. I don't pull punches and I make no effort to cover myself up before Him. If I'm angry, He knows it in no uncertain terms. And when things are at their best? When I'm full of that passion and joy?
It's fire.
It's something I both fear and rejoice in. When my words fall short, He speaks to me and turns me upside down. It's transforming, raw, and perhaps most of all, healing in nature.
Time and again I've been known to cry at Mass or Adoration without cause. It's the Spirit's way of helping me to pour out myself, to decrease, I think.
I usually feel better afterward. Then again, I often feel better all around during this time of year.
Ostara is coming. Spring is coming. And with it, Easter. Our greatest hope.
Bring it on!
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