Letting Go and Letting God

Sometimes, our faults can become painfully apparent. The look of disappointment in the eyes of someone we profoundly respect can not only wound our pride, but crush our spirits, as well.

Imagine what it would feel like if it were God looking at you that way, and not just your spiritual director.

Scary, isn't it?

Let's face it: the Lenten season is usually that time of year where we begin to realize exactly what Paul meant when he said that "all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God" (Romans 3:23). The elect are going to be going through scrutinies over the next few weeks, so it seems only fair that the faithful should be joining them through this process, albeit in a lesser way.

I stress too much. I worry too much. I rely too much on my own faculties instead of giving myself up to the grace of God. The list goes on: I fail, time and again, to be a witness to my Faith. I can be a stumbling block to others. I say one thing, and do another.

Why? Why do I let Him down so much?

...I know why. *I* am why. There is too much of me, and not enough of Him. As much as I try to do what I know I should, when I don't rely on Him, I fail.

I just can't handle some things--okay, many things--on my own, and it's when I get myself into the mindset that I am the sole instrument of change that I get into trouble. Too often, I convince myself that I'm Wonder Woman. I'm not.

That's where letting go comes in. Letting go is an act of surrender, and of freedom. To let something happen is to give our assent to it, to give permission. In letting go of ourselves, we give God permission to come in and transform us--spiritual housecleaning, if you will.

He doesn't want us to do things on our own. He wants to take care of us!

Why is it so hard to let Him?

Deadlines are Everything

The reason I tend to thrive during Lent hit me over the head today: deadlines!

I'm just under halfway to my BA in Journalism, and of course, deadlines our crucial to my field. Between two years of school and a summer internship at a local newspaper, I've become accustomed to having a time limit for things. You'd be amazed at what you can accomplish when you have fifteen minutes to fill a giant hole where a story should have gone. Why do you think I've been able to write 50,000 words in 30 days for the last three years? ;)

Lent is like that for me. With the stress of current schoolwork, my recent acceptance to university (Deo gratias!), and juggling various relationships, Easter tends to come like a bullet train. Though we should always be working toward greater sanctification, there's something about Lent that's supercharged. Perhaps it's the solemnity of the season, and the graces that come with more Confession or more frequent reception of the Eucharist. Maybe it's our conscious effort to do penance, to cleanse ourselves before 40 days of celebrating in Easter season.

Or maybe it's just the deadline.

Intense penance that goes for several weeks is plenty of time to truly kick a bad habit, or start a new routine (like my Daily Mass readings), but it's not so long that we start to buckle. The dedication comes for me in the knowledge that it the suffering won't last forever. It will eventually end, and when it does, I will hopefully have been transformed once more. I'm learning that in time, these little changes make all the difference. One step at a time!

Square One

Rend your hearts, not your garments,
and return to the Lord, your God.
For gracious and merciful is He,
slow to anger, rich in kindness,
and relenting in punishment.
--Joel 2:13

Here we are again. Another Lenten season, and one last sprint until Easter. Sometimes, it can seem a little more like a decathlon, if you ask me.

When I was younger, I used to hate Lent with all its melancholy and penitential quirks. Now, though, I have a profound appreciation for the opportunity presented to us over the next 47 days. I can't say I'm excited to do penance--I'll be giving up sweets, which is a killer--but I do look forward to the positive changes I know I'll see as fruit from this.

Making sacrifices teaches us to cast aside our self-centered attitudes in favor of humility. Fasting reminds me that everything I have is because of God's graciousness. Sometimes, we lose sight of that. Lent is our opportunity to remember our Provider in thanksgiving.

This year, I'm focusing less on what I've given up, and rather with the things I've chosen to take up:

1) Daily Scripture readings. I'll be doing the readings for Mass on my own, along with reflections from The Word Among Us. My other half and I will also be doing a Bible study together, or at least as often as our schedules will allow.

2) The Divine Mercy Chaplet. Readers who have been around for a while know that I have a devotion to the Divine Mercy, though its zealousness comes and goes. I'm going to make a conscious effort to pray the chaplet again, at least three times a week. More than that, though, I want to work on truly embodying that devotion by being more forgiving and charitable, especially to my family.

The latter of those will really turn me upside down if I stick to it, and I am definitely ready to embrace that. The readings for Ash Wednesday show us that Lent isn't only about suffering, but healing. We are told over and over again to return to the Lord and let Him transform us. All we need to do is open our hearts.

Have a blessed Lent, everyone!

Light Beyond Darkness

"My God, my God! Why hast Thou forsaken me?"

We all know these words, some of us unfortunately all too well. They are the words of an abandoned soul that cries out for deliverance, only to receive no reply.

Most poignant and striking of all, though, is the source of these words: Jesus Christ, the Son of God, in the midst of suffering the Passion that would be our redemption. One would think that Christ would never doubt His Father. Think of all that He knew, said, and was able to accomplish. How could He experience such anguish and abandonment?

I've been doing a lot of thinking after finishing the two posts before this one, on dryness and hope. There are times even in the lives of the holiest Christians that God seems further away, somehow unreachable, or even absent altogether. Those periods of dryness can be because of sin, or omission, or a number of other things, but I believe that sometimes it simply can't be helped. Were it not for Adam's sin, we would still be perfectly united with the Lord, with no interference or imperfections to get in our way.

We are human--this we cannot change. Sometimes, the well of our faith can go dry. While we can't change that, either, we do have a choice in how we respond.

Look at Bl. Mother Teresa, for example. The greater part of her life was spent without even a single consolation from God, despite all she did to serve Him and the poor. Yet she persevered in her work, doing what she saw to be His will without thanks or recompense. She was honored, sure, and given worldly things from benefactors, but it wasn't what she wanted.

The other option is more grim. We can lose our faith, and lose our hope. I know all too well what despair in the spiritual life can do. It makes it difficult to pray even the ordinary, everyday prayers. Going to Mass can be excruciating; as we watch others respond to the graces given through the Eucharist, we might feel nothing. It might feel trite. Sometimes, we may doubt that our Lord exists at all. If He did, He would touch us, or make us aware of Himself, and not abandon us as He's appeared to...

To the zealous, this might seem inconceivable, but it does happen. Look at Christ, who begged not to suffer, to be rescued.

The most we can do in times of trouble is ask for the grace to persevere. There are times in the journey where, for whatever reason, the Father stops carrying us and asks for us to walk by faith, and not by those sweet consolations. Some of us succeed, and some do not.

Faith, to me, is almost like marriage. Being Catholic is not the easiest thing in the world; indeed, I'll be the first to tell you that reverting remains the hardest thing I've ever done. However, despite all the trials, uncertainty, and disagreements we may have, we remain in our Faith. We abide by the vows we have taken in Confirmation and renewed in Baptism because it's not only right, but true. As an old friend told me before my reversion, truth is terribly hard to swallow.

What we get in return is the incredible peace, mercy, love and grace that only God can give us. Those things remain, even when their noticeable signs fade away. Nothing is ever worth giving that up.

Hope Against Hope

Troubled soul, don't lose your heart--
Joy and peace He brings.
And the beauty that's in store
Outweighs the hurt of life's sting...
--Jeremy Camp, "There Will Be a Day"

Hope.

To me, it is the sweetest of virtues, and also the most stubborn. Affirmations of faith are usually coupled with, in the next breath, questions of doubt; gestures of charity to the needy are quickly followed by rude words to our fellow drivers, and harsh words to those we love at the end of a long day. Hope, though, has always managed to stick with me in a way that the other two haven't.

Perhaps it's my personality--I'll be the first to admit that I'm extremely cheery and optimistic about things. When applying for scholarships in my last year of high school, my parents were stressing while I was laid-back. Things would work out, I'd told them, and they did.

The assurance that "things will work out" doesn't always work as well in situations that are more dire, however.

My pastor's homily this weekend echoed with a sense of worry and uncertainty that we undoubtedly all feel in the face of such a shaky economy. Friends and family alike are losing not only jobs, but homes, and sometimes even spouses. What do we optimists say then? What do we do when suddenly our words are no longer good enough to bring peace?

This one struggles with helplessness. Fortunately for me, Christ is the help of the helpless.

It's true that (and my confessor would fall over if he read these next words), as much as I'd like to, I can't fix everyone. I can't heal every hurt that comes into my path. Believe it or not, I'm not the Savior of the world. God gave us Jesus for that. And that, too, is why He is God, and I don't even come close.

"Cast all your worries upon Him, because He cares for you," St. Peter wrote (1:7). Where my words fall short, He comes in and does amazing things, whether through me or in other ways, those little consolations that my friend Catherine calls "God hugs".

The most I can do, I've learned, is to pray that I can be a channel for that peace for the people in my life that need it the most, and to try to give a little hope even when things are grim. It suits me well, and the results, whenever they happen, are so worth seeing.

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.