Grounded

How often do we hear the voice of God? And when we hear it, how often do we listen?

This was the question we were asked this past weekend for Good Shepherd Sunday. That Saturday night came on the heels of my graduation, which was official Friday afternoon. God, in His great humor, had a way of speaking to me right where I was.

Lately, I haven't been listening...haven't listened, and haven't cared.

That's not for lack of desire, mind you. Knowing I can be open here, I imagine now is as good a time as any to talk about it. Lately, I've been struggling with horrible anxiety to the point where it's become a physical issue.

There are two things I'm learning from this experience: first, I know that my spiritual life taking a hit isn't going to help anything. One line of a Matt Maher song says, "My fear grips my faith, and I am left unmoved." That's where I'm at.

The other thing -- and this is perhaps most important of all -- is that I am utterly dependent on God. Without Him, I lose my footing, my center, my courage.

I'm not sure yet how I'm going to get out of this, but the first place I'm going to start is my knees. And the doctor. Please pray for me.

The End

It's over.

On Thursday, I left my chaplain's office and walked across the Newman house, wanting to stop in the little Adoration chapel one more time. Only the day before I was studying there, wanting to avoid the distraction of music, laughter and friends.

A month ago, I sat on the floor there with three of them, all of us praying for a relative of mine as he clung to life. An hour later, we learned of his miraculous recovery.

A year ago, I prayed for strength as I faced the end of junior year in the midst of troubled times at home, not knowing what I would find when I got there. God provided for me then.

And yesterday, I sat back on my knees for a minute in silence, watching the sunlight filter through the stained glass. For just a little while, I wanted to hang on to the embrace of all those memories and relationships.

Before I knew what hit me, I was crying both in sadness for the end of this chapter of my life, and in thanksgiving for God's fingerprints on every inch of it. In some ways, it's taken me until now to notice them.

Today, I turned in the keys to my apartment, packed my life into a pickup truck and headed home to my favorite chair and my cat, who's ecstatic to have me back. To my surprise, my parents are, too. ;)

For now, for this moment, it feels wonderful.

Being Catholic

I've been neglecting this place. I'm sorry. I'm barreling through my final days as a college student, and lately it seems that I've been trying to drink dry every moment of them.

Life should be like that. And sometimes, I find myself so consumed by the thought of, "Oh! I need to remember this so I can blog/tweet/Facebook/whatever it later!" that the experience I was trying to capture has passed by.

So, I've spent the last little while just observing. It feels good.

Two weeks ago now we were about to enter the Triduum. On Holy Thursday, I was working on deadline and panicked because everything hinged on a phone call. The call had to come that day, or I would be stuck until after the holiday. I carried my cell phone with me everywhere, and ironically when it rang, there were only 15 minutes to spare. (I was also in the bathroom at the time. So this is what journalism is about...)

With work behind me just in time, I flew down the block to St. Bridget's for Mass. When I slid into the pew and onto my knees, it took a long time to slow down my brain.

"Lift up your hearts," the priest tells us before Communion. We respond, "We lift them up to the Lord." For me, lifting up your heart means to leave behind your "life junk" for a while. I took a breath and steadied myself.

The Our Father came shortly after that as it always does, and my friends and I all reached for one another's hands. All around us, people did the same, and as incense floated over down over our heads, I could hear two languages chanting the prayer together.

That happens every day at Mass. But when I stopped and really listened, I was amazed at how much I missed around me.

Catholicism, more than any other flavor of Christianity, is so physical. Going to Mass slams all of your senses. Every gesture and word has a reason and purpose. All of those sounds and smells and tastes are tools that bring us closer to God.

The best part is that despite how different that huge crowd is, for an hour or so, we're identical. Maybe that's why we call ourselves catholic -- universal.

Celebrating

As I write this, there are five minutes left until Good Friday and, dutifully, I am shoving as much fiber and protein into my mouth as humanly possible.

Meanwhile, just a brief post tonight.

Last night (Wednesday), we celebrated an annual tradition at Newman: senior dinner. We all cook for one another as a rule, but once a year the underclassmen team up to prepare and serve something a bit more "fancy" to the graduating seniors, who enjoy candlelight, good china, and conversation by themselves.

There are ten of us this year, a huge chunk of the crowd. Many have been integral. The underclassmen tell me I am one of the ones that have made a difference.

(Midnight. Good Friday.)

Before breaking away to eat, they surrounded us in a giant huddle around the table while Father gave us a blessing. And afterward, one at a time, we had the opportunity to offer whatever was on our heart. Advice, thanksgiving, love.

All of that happened and there were lots of tears. As for me, I was toward the end of the line and had a decent amount of time to think about what I wanted to say. I wasn't sure until my turn arrived, but I kicked things off this way:

"You know, it just hit me. Tomorrow, April 21st, will be four years since I came back home to the Church..." Here, there were cheers and applause. It was a perfect way to finish my thought: "And ironically, almost four years to the day, I'm celebrating with the people that have helped me keep that faith. I came here isolated, and I'm leaving here with family."

It's not been an easy ride, by any means ... even recently I found myself being carried on the journey when I couldn't face hard times alone. But every year I am a little stronger, and a lot more humbled by how much God is teaching and transforming me every day.

Growing pains hurt like hell. But they, like anything worth having, are so worth it in the end.

Acting in Agony

I keep thinking about the Agony in the Garden. It's the time of year for that, both in liturgy and in that aching in my soul that I can't seem to kick.

Before He was betrayed, Jesus begged and pleaded to be set free of the circumstances that led Him here. No longer could He put the future out of mind. He was to go and die for people who didn't really know Him and mostly didn't care. What's worse is that He had to do it all alone.

And then what? He returns from that plea to find Peter and the others passed out. It's a beautiful piece of irony. I can almost see the slightest bitter smirk on His lips before the crushing sadness comes again. Just when I need someone to be there for Me, they aren't, Jesus might have thought. That sight was the salt of the earth He preached about being rubbed into the wound of grief.

Yet He went and did it again, and then once more, praying with a passion so intense and a grief so penetrating he sweat blood. Really. The capillaries burst under all of that strain and blood came out of the pores when there was no more sweat to give. How many people do you know who have done that?

But what happened next is perhaps the most important part of the whole story. He knew there was no choice but to go through with His Passion -- after all, it's not as if you can resign being the Messiah, or just erase whatever your life circumstances are. So He got up off the ground, dried His tears, and moved forward.

I can't even imagine the strength it must have taken for Him to rise from there and walk away. 

We can't change the past, and we can't freeze the present moment. Sometimes, things happen that are well beyond our control. The only thing to do is play the cards we're dealt the best we know how.

And we live with the promise that when we go to die, we will live again.

"I have promised, and I will do it," says the Lord.

Do we believe Him?

Daily Prayer for Personal Crosses

God, give me the grace to carry the cross that you've given me.
Help me to remember that You made it the perfect size and shape and form.
Keep my eyes forward and my heart steadfast as I continue this journey.
And may I never, ever forget that You are my Simon of Cyrene.

Amen.

Finding Shelter

We will never walk alone again...

Well, after almost a year of admiration, I finally got to see live my two favorite Catholic artists ever, Matt Maher and Audrey Assad. They opened along with Derek Webb for Jars of Clay, and while I was a casual fan of the headliner going in, I now love them to bits.

Buy "The Shelter." Right now. Do not wait.

I have to admit, I knew that Christian concerts were different from their secular counterparts, but it's an entirely different thing to actually experience it. It was beautiful knowing that hundreds of people were all brought together for love of great music and faith. But it also goes even deeper than that: it's a celebration of the One who loves us more than we could conceive.

Beyond that, it was definitely the most joyful show I've ever been to. I'm almost reluctant to admit it, but I found a charismatic streak in me. It was a refreshing change, that's for sure.

In all four sets, there was a common thread: no matter what we're going through or where we stand in faith, we are never alone ... "The Shelter" is based on an old Irish saying that says we will live in the shelter/refuge of one another. That's how life works, and how the Church works.

We're a communal people, and most of the time I forget that. Despair is a tricky one for me to dodge, and when I'm not on point, it's easy for me to get lost in it.

It's funny, though. Whenever I really start to lose my footing, it seems the Lord is armed with people to put in my path. And this concert was one more slap from Him: Wake up, doofus. Look around. I am with you.

For once, I could finally answer as I should have been all along. "I know it, Lord."

Unity and Eating Dirt

After youth group last night, I spent a while praying with a couple of friends, new and old.

As we prayed, I found myself impressed again by this new crowd. The Spirit is allowed to move freely, and it makes a tangible difference in the way the ministry runs.

Just as I pondered that, someone in the darkened meeting room said softly, "I pray for unity here, and that we all work together to seek the presence of the Holy Spirit and the will of God in us."

Zing. Once again, we were of one mind.

I say this cautiously, but will stand by it: these guys are doing what Newman is failing to do. That hurts to write, and I pray that the changes many of us hope for will come next year. The underclassmen deserve it.

But, I digress.

My friend Jesse from Newman introduced me to this new group, and he and I spent a while chatting. Something he said innocently struck a chord with me, especially in light of my recent "growing pains."

He said, "The first thing Jesus did when He received the Cross was fall down and drop it."

It's true, of course. I've read the Gospels; I've seen that passage many times before. But to hear him put it to me like that was something else.

It's okay to struggle. It's okay to fall. It's okay to feel so overwhelmed by the weight of our burdens that we just collapse.

The trick is to get up and keep going. We can't get to Heaven eating dirt. ;)

Just a Reminder

"Beloved, bear your share of hardship for the Gospel..."

It was one of those Masses where all I could do, hidden safely up in the choir loft, was throw my hands up in a silent gesture of exasperation: You have got to be kidding me.


Shortly after that, I went to my knees and cried.

When I first came to Christ in 2006, I wasn't prepared for the onslaught of difficulty my new faith would bring. People around me who were Christians were so happy -- they had joy and peace, they said. And He could give that to me, too, if only I would ask for it.

What they never did tell me was that "in this world you will have trouble." I missed that part. I wasn't ready to drop my past, and when I did, the backlash was ugly not only within me, but in the reactions of those around me.

I had bitten off more than I could chew, and opted to put on a smile ... after all, we had to be examples at all times. We were witnesses.

You can probably guess what happened next: I fell on my butt. It took a couple years and some much-needed formation once I came back to the Church, but I'm so much more well-adjusted to the ebb and flow of faith.

Of course, I still have my moments. Sometimes, it feels like I can't live up to who I'm called to be. There are seasons where I grow so weary that I just...quit.

Then I read the second half of Paul's message to Timothy:

"Bear your share of hardship for the Gospel with the strength that comes from God."

God can overcome anything.

"In the world you will have trouble, but take heart, for I have overcome the world."

And God can -- will -- see me through even the worst of trials. Sometimes, all I need is a reminder.

Still, small and hidden...

There isn't much left of winter now. As long as it's still relevant, I want to post this video from the beautiful and talented Audrey Assad (who, I'm sure you know by now, I never shut up about). I'm going to see her in three weeks!!!

This song has always spoken to me, in the sense that I am always looking for neon signs along my faith journey. Predictably, I usually only find them when I learn to rein myself in a bit, take a breath and humbly listen for His voice.

Enjoy.