Dear Ladies,
The joy of humility is acknowledging your own insignificance and knowing that you are loved, cherished, adored and indespenseble anyway.
May God continue to bless you.
Tuesday, October 1, 2013
Friday, September 20, 2013
Why We Do It.
Hello Ladies,
These last few days I've been working on a post that is really, really angry. I make some good points in it. It's about isolation. It's about constant interruptions. It's about not being able to finish a sentence, go to the toilet by yourself, and not being able to get a child to go to bed. This is the stuff of early motherhood is made of. It is real. It is frustrating. And happily, it's not what this post is about.
You see, moms don't do it for the money or the glory. We do it because it is in front of us. If we do it with great love then we can get by. We can also do the same tasks feeling defeated, bitter, and covetous. Some mothers don't do it at all and the children are physically and/ or emotionally neglected. But when we do change that diaper, we never, ever do it for ourselves.
So why do we do it?
Today I took my girls to visit my dad. My dad is now totally bed and wheelchair bound. He is now confined to his bed for several weeks (except for doctor's appointments) due to sores on his bottom. He has to use a bed pan. I am typing with tears in my eyes. My mother died before my children were born so I know that as awful as it is to see my father this way, at least he is with us. Was he lying there feeling sorry for himself? Was he bitter because I have a future in this life and his is winding down? No. He lay there, helpless, with sores on his bottom, a model of integrity.
He spoke to me about how the picture a my 8th grade teacher took of us dancing during the Valentine's Day dance at school. I was picked on in the 8th grade. When I saw that picture posted on the classroom wall I thought it would fuel more bullying. Instead the other girls were jealous.Their dads never danced with them. I got a copy of that picture, put it in a cheap frame and gave it to my dad for Christmas. He still treasures it - cheap frame and all.
He told me that my daughters (and son) are beautiful - they look like their mother. (For the record they look like my husband's side of the family.)
When I complained that my youngest daughter had been fussy and only wanted mama, he laughed and told me it was because I was doing such a great job. He told me it was a sign of trust.
He thanked me for raising his grandchildren with love and discipline.
He thanked me for bringing the children over.
When I had to leave (the baby was fussy) he told me that it was my job to take care of my children, not to worry about him. Right now my children are safe in bed. I worry about my dad.
I love my dad. He's awesome.
Writing all this, I realize that it's easier to do those silent, hidden, tedious tasks set before me with great love because I am loved. I also have someone whom I adore who believes in me.
One day, sooner or later, my father will die. My mother, with all of her problems, died, if not at peace, then in hope. I believe that she is now in heaven.
Ladies, we all come from God's imagining. Our potential is greater than we can ever comprehend. We are born. We are broken. We are scattered. If we are very lucky, our lives become a love song, sung in harmony with those who have dared to sing since the dawn of humanity. Maybe the tune will continue without our voices, but the result will be greatly diminished. We are unique. We are important. We are a single thought given form and freedom to become greater in our capacity to love.
When I held my son for the first time I stopped seeking knowledge and began seeking wisdom.
It isn't that my children deserve "the best". They deserve the best from me. And my father, in his helpless, childlike state, knows that the only thing to regret is that which we failed to do for others with great love. That and not being able to play on the ground with the grandkids. But now I'm crying again.
May God continue to bless you.
These last few days I've been working on a post that is really, really angry. I make some good points in it. It's about isolation. It's about constant interruptions. It's about not being able to finish a sentence, go to the toilet by yourself, and not being able to get a child to go to bed. This is the stuff of early motherhood is made of. It is real. It is frustrating. And happily, it's not what this post is about.
You see, moms don't do it for the money or the glory. We do it because it is in front of us. If we do it with great love then we can get by. We can also do the same tasks feeling defeated, bitter, and covetous. Some mothers don't do it at all and the children are physically and/ or emotionally neglected. But when we do change that diaper, we never, ever do it for ourselves.
So why do we do it?
Today I took my girls to visit my dad. My dad is now totally bed and wheelchair bound. He is now confined to his bed for several weeks (except for doctor's appointments) due to sores on his bottom. He has to use a bed pan. I am typing with tears in my eyes. My mother died before my children were born so I know that as awful as it is to see my father this way, at least he is with us. Was he lying there feeling sorry for himself? Was he bitter because I have a future in this life and his is winding down? No. He lay there, helpless, with sores on his bottom, a model of integrity.
He spoke to me about how the picture a my 8th grade teacher took of us dancing during the Valentine's Day dance at school. I was picked on in the 8th grade. When I saw that picture posted on the classroom wall I thought it would fuel more bullying. Instead the other girls were jealous.Their dads never danced with them. I got a copy of that picture, put it in a cheap frame and gave it to my dad for Christmas. He still treasures it - cheap frame and all.
He told me that my daughters (and son) are beautiful - they look like their mother. (For the record they look like my husband's side of the family.)
When I complained that my youngest daughter had been fussy and only wanted mama, he laughed and told me it was because I was doing such a great job. He told me it was a sign of trust.
He thanked me for raising his grandchildren with love and discipline.
He thanked me for bringing the children over.
When I had to leave (the baby was fussy) he told me that it was my job to take care of my children, not to worry about him. Right now my children are safe in bed. I worry about my dad.
I love my dad. He's awesome.
Writing all this, I realize that it's easier to do those silent, hidden, tedious tasks set before me with great love because I am loved. I also have someone whom I adore who believes in me.
One day, sooner or later, my father will die. My mother, with all of her problems, died, if not at peace, then in hope. I believe that she is now in heaven.
Ladies, we all come from God's imagining. Our potential is greater than we can ever comprehend. We are born. We are broken. We are scattered. If we are very lucky, our lives become a love song, sung in harmony with those who have dared to sing since the dawn of humanity. Maybe the tune will continue without our voices, but the result will be greatly diminished. We are unique. We are important. We are a single thought given form and freedom to become greater in our capacity to love.
When I held my son for the first time I stopped seeking knowledge and began seeking wisdom.
It isn't that my children deserve "the best". They deserve the best from me. And my father, in his helpless, childlike state, knows that the only thing to regret is that which we failed to do for others with great love. That and not being able to play on the ground with the grandkids. But now I'm crying again.
May God continue to bless you.
Thursday, September 5, 2013
A Question for My Readers
Hello Ladies,
To date my blog has been more of a ramble than anything organized. Sometimes I think this is a huge failing. To this end I am working on a systematic theology for mothers based on Pope John Paul II theology of the body, Marian theology, Blessed (Mother) Teresa of Calcutta, and various mystics.
If there is any questions, theological or otherwise, you wish to have addressed please do not hesitate to let me know.
Sincerely,
Theology Mom
To date my blog has been more of a ramble than anything organized. Sometimes I think this is a huge failing. To this end I am working on a systematic theology for mothers based on Pope John Paul II theology of the body, Marian theology, Blessed (Mother) Teresa of Calcutta, and various mystics.
If there is any questions, theological or otherwise, you wish to have addressed please do not hesitate to let me know.
Sincerely,
Theology Mom
Forgiveness
Hello Ladies,
Lately I have been thinking about forgiveness. A lot.
As you might already know, an elder of my family was dying at the time of the birth of my youngest daughter. Did the prospect of new life bring her joy? No. She told the entire family and anybody who would listen that this child should NOT be born. She told anybody who would listen that we should only have two children. She told everybody that I felt trapped by my pregnancy and that I did not want, that I even resented, the child.
Ladies, sometimes I look at my youngest baby and want to cry at the cruelty of her words. How this woman could even think those things, much less utter them? And who in their right minds would believe them?? This is the sort of slander that this woman had been spreading for years before her death. I don't know what angers me more - that she said them or that people choose to believe it.
My husband and I are still dealing with what this woman said. Relationships within the family have been broken. Horrible accusations and insults have been met with stony silence. What should be a strong family is now fragmented. (And people still believe that I don't love my child. The bastards!!)
And of course we are right. We are the reasonable ones.
Which is why I have a hard time forgiving. No, I simply can't forgive.
Growing up, I remember watching silly television shows where every problem is neatly and humorously dealt with in a half hour. Injuries were caused by misunderstandings, not by spite. But spite DOES exist and we do deal with people who couldn't care less about reconciliation.
So now I believe that this 'forgive and forget' thing is just a load of crap perpetuated by people who don't want to deal with the real issues and want to go on as if nothing had happened.
What I DO believe in is the transformative love of God. Let me explain. I don't think we can 'forgive and forget' because we approach forgiveness as an act of will, not of healing or transformation. I simply cannot will myself to pretend that what happened didn't happen. I cannot pretend that I am not hurt by it. I will never say that on some level what happened was good, right, a misunderstanding, or acceptable. And I will not try to see things from the point of view of a bitter woman who died as a direct result of her addictions.
What can I do? I can pray. First I flung my anger at God and asked for deliverance from it. Then I began to pray for those who wronged me. I didn't pray for any particular outcome, just that they should know the love and grace of God. I prayed for myself. I poured forth my anguish at the harm that this slander did (and continues to) inflict. And one day, God answered:
"Yes, it was wrong. No, you did not deserve it. Yes, it hurt you. But I was with you. I am still with you. Please, come to me and be healed."
Well.
Ladies, I do not believe that we can forgive. But I do believe that God can share His vision with us. I may or may not be right in this situation. I may or may not be justified in my anger. But I will not be a victim of slander. If God wants me to let go of this so I may be a part, however small, of His beatific vision, I will let go. And when I see my misguided relatives again, with practice, I can allow God's love and forgiveness to flow through me. I am small, formed of dust and Breath. That is the best I can do.
May God continue to bless you.
Lately I have been thinking about forgiveness. A lot.
As you might already know, an elder of my family was dying at the time of the birth of my youngest daughter. Did the prospect of new life bring her joy? No. She told the entire family and anybody who would listen that this child should NOT be born. She told anybody who would listen that we should only have two children. She told everybody that I felt trapped by my pregnancy and that I did not want, that I even resented, the child.
Ladies, sometimes I look at my youngest baby and want to cry at the cruelty of her words. How this woman could even think those things, much less utter them? And who in their right minds would believe them?? This is the sort of slander that this woman had been spreading for years before her death. I don't know what angers me more - that she said them or that people choose to believe it.
My husband and I are still dealing with what this woman said. Relationships within the family have been broken. Horrible accusations and insults have been met with stony silence. What should be a strong family is now fragmented. (And people still believe that I don't love my child. The bastards!!)
And of course we are right. We are the reasonable ones.
Which is why I have a hard time forgiving. No, I simply can't forgive.
Growing up, I remember watching silly television shows where every problem is neatly and humorously dealt with in a half hour. Injuries were caused by misunderstandings, not by spite. But spite DOES exist and we do deal with people who couldn't care less about reconciliation.
So now I believe that this 'forgive and forget' thing is just a load of crap perpetuated by people who don't want to deal with the real issues and want to go on as if nothing had happened.
What I DO believe in is the transformative love of God. Let me explain. I don't think we can 'forgive and forget' because we approach forgiveness as an act of will, not of healing or transformation. I simply cannot will myself to pretend that what happened didn't happen. I cannot pretend that I am not hurt by it. I will never say that on some level what happened was good, right, a misunderstanding, or acceptable. And I will not try to see things from the point of view of a bitter woman who died as a direct result of her addictions.
What can I do? I can pray. First I flung my anger at God and asked for deliverance from it. Then I began to pray for those who wronged me. I didn't pray for any particular outcome, just that they should know the love and grace of God. I prayed for myself. I poured forth my anguish at the harm that this slander did (and continues to) inflict. And one day, God answered:
"Yes, it was wrong. No, you did not deserve it. Yes, it hurt you. But I was with you. I am still with you. Please, come to me and be healed."
Well.
Ladies, I do not believe that we can forgive. But I do believe that God can share His vision with us. I may or may not be right in this situation. I may or may not be justified in my anger. But I will not be a victim of slander. If God wants me to let go of this so I may be a part, however small, of His beatific vision, I will let go. And when I see my misguided relatives again, with practice, I can allow God's love and forgiveness to flow through me. I am small, formed of dust and Breath. That is the best I can do.
May God continue to bless you.
Friday, July 26, 2013
"Offering It Up"
Hello Ladies,
Today I have learned a very important lesson: Sometimes things just suck. There is no other way of describing it. Sometimes you cannot plaster a manic smile on your face and pretend that things are 'just fine' because you have faith in God. Sometimes bad things happen that you did not bring on yourself and that you can do nothing to change.
As a child, my father would often tell me to "offer it up". Um, what? Excuse me? What on earth does that mean? I could never figure it out and my dad could never explain. To me, it sounded too much like saying things were ok when they weren't. Or having to suffer with things that should be dealt with.
Today I finally figured out what my dad has been trying to teach me all these years.
This morning I received a dreaded text: Dad fell. He's going to the ER and either everything will be fine (meaning he miraculously broke nothing) or, more likely, something is broken and because of his age and health there will be nothing they can do. We have known for years that he would not be able to survive another (yes, another) serious fall. What to do?
What I wanted to do was panic (which I probably did). I wanted to rush to the ER just in case. But it just wasn't feasible to rush to the hospital with three young children in tow. (My son has a fever, no less.) So I prayed. I prayed for my dad's safety. I dared pray for the miracle that my dad managed to be unharmed. And I prayed that God lead me to where He needed me.
I offered up my desires and fears. I told God that I would do what He wanted if He took care of the things that I could not handle.
Because, Ladies, as mothers, our lives are no longer our own. And sometimes we need a little extra help and wisdom to do the task in front of us with great love.
So I stayed home. I tended my sick child with great love. I put the baby down for a nap with great love. And I waited for my brother to call me from the hospital. And I prayed that God give me strength to face what was happening. Through prayer, I did not resent the mundane tasks set for me. Through prayer, I trusted God in His wisdom.
I offered it up. And I did not suppress my feeling and pretend that they were wrong or did not exist.
I offered it up. And I was not powerless.
I offered it up. And I found the peace that only God can give.
And my prayers were answered. Somehow, though my father is old and feeble, he did not break. The doctors were amazed. They used words like 'lucky' and 'amazed' several times. They shook their heads and smiled. I was able to see my dad at home this evening and not in the hospital. There is relief and joy in our family.
More than anything I am grateful that I can tell my dad that I finally understand what he's been talking about all these years. Would you believe that I was so happy to see him that I forgot to mention it?
May your day be as blessed as mine has been.
Today I have learned a very important lesson: Sometimes things just suck. There is no other way of describing it. Sometimes you cannot plaster a manic smile on your face and pretend that things are 'just fine' because you have faith in God. Sometimes bad things happen that you did not bring on yourself and that you can do nothing to change.
As a child, my father would often tell me to "offer it up". Um, what? Excuse me? What on earth does that mean? I could never figure it out and my dad could never explain. To me, it sounded too much like saying things were ok when they weren't. Or having to suffer with things that should be dealt with.
Today I finally figured out what my dad has been trying to teach me all these years.
This morning I received a dreaded text: Dad fell. He's going to the ER and either everything will be fine (meaning he miraculously broke nothing) or, more likely, something is broken and because of his age and health there will be nothing they can do. We have known for years that he would not be able to survive another (yes, another) serious fall. What to do?
What I wanted to do was panic (which I probably did). I wanted to rush to the ER just in case. But it just wasn't feasible to rush to the hospital with three young children in tow. (My son has a fever, no less.) So I prayed. I prayed for my dad's safety. I dared pray for the miracle that my dad managed to be unharmed. And I prayed that God lead me to where He needed me.
I offered up my desires and fears. I told God that I would do what He wanted if He took care of the things that I could not handle.
Because, Ladies, as mothers, our lives are no longer our own. And sometimes we need a little extra help and wisdom to do the task in front of us with great love.
So I stayed home. I tended my sick child with great love. I put the baby down for a nap with great love. And I waited for my brother to call me from the hospital. And I prayed that God give me strength to face what was happening. Through prayer, I did not resent the mundane tasks set for me. Through prayer, I trusted God in His wisdom.
I offered it up. And I did not suppress my feeling and pretend that they were wrong or did not exist.
I offered it up. And I was not powerless.
I offered it up. And I found the peace that only God can give.
And my prayers were answered. Somehow, though my father is old and feeble, he did not break. The doctors were amazed. They used words like 'lucky' and 'amazed' several times. They shook their heads and smiled. I was able to see my dad at home this evening and not in the hospital. There is relief and joy in our family.
More than anything I am grateful that I can tell my dad that I finally understand what he's been talking about all these years. Would you believe that I was so happy to see him that I forgot to mention it?
May your day be as blessed as mine has been.
Saturday, June 29, 2013
Unity in Wine, Bread, and feasts! Hooray!
Hello Ladies,
Today I would like to talk to you about many things. I would like to talk about heaven, salvation, hope, connection, faith, Jesus, loneliness, communication, and freedom. This will take us through history, misunderstandings, theology, and finally understanding and transcendence.
Several years ago I was in church. My grandmother had recently died and to say that I miss her would be an understatement of epic proportion. She had been a guide to Christian life and a source of wisdom and consolation during my turbulent upbringing. When she spoke about love, forgiveness, Jesus, and the strength needed to be a woman, I listened. For my Protestant grandmother, heaven meant being in a garden with Jesus. Just Jesus, I asked? Her preacher said so, but she could not imagine heaven without being with her own mother and other 'kin'. Even so, she was sure that Jesus would provide for her whatever she needed. She was a strong woman who changed the world around her. Her obituary read like a textbook for feminism and social activism. Did she ever use those words to describe herself? No. She was quiet and gracious. She listened to Jesus, who was her strength, and trusted in Him. In doing so she was the scandal of her church (she went back to work when her children were in school to pay the bills and eventually divorced her husband). But she never gave up on her faith or her church. She just quietly changed the world.
That particular mass, I was incredibly sorrowful. I was happy for my grandmother, who had 'run the good race' and was now at peace. But my loneliness was like an aching hunger that would never be sated. She was gone, gone. I could only pretend that there was no hollowness inside and get used to being without her. Before I knew it the Eucharistic prayer started. It was then that it happened: The day seemed to brighten and light began to be born in my hollowness. I suddenly realized that she was there at the Mass. For a few moments time didn't matter. I was in communion with countless others throughout time who had spoken the same prayers in a variety of languages. I was with my Protestant grandmother, who was in heaven. I was with those who would come long after I had returned to dust.
Sanctus, Sanctus, Sanctus Dominus Deus Sabaoth.
Pleni sunt caeli et terra gloria tua.
Hosana in excelsis.
Benedictus qui venit in nomine Domine.
Hosana in excelsis.
Holy, Holy, Holy Lord God of hosts.
Heaven and earth are full of your glory.
Hosana in the highest.
Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord.
Hosana in the highest.
Soon after I became warm and had to sit down. The 'vision' lasted while the host was present.
I kept quiet about it for a while, thinking that I was studying too much theology and needed to take a break. My professors, knowing of my great loss, were concerned and compassionate. One pulled me aside and asked how I was doing. Not taking 'fine' for an answer I finally revealed my 'vision'. Her response floored me.
When we take part in the Eucharist, we take part in the Kingdom of God.
You would think, being a theology major, that I would know this. But I was a budding academic who could cooly remain aloof from such fantastical notions as being affected by my subject material. (Okay, you can stop laughing now.) Suddenly my world shifted. Going to church was no longer a pleasant duty but an ardent desire to get closer to Jesus. The Eucharist was no longer just a ritual but an invitation to be transformed by a foretaste of heaven. It became obvious why Catholics and our Orthodox sisters and brothers would place the Eucharist at the center of faith.
In the Gospel of John, Jesus says that whoever does not eat of His flesh and drink of His blood will not have life in him. This was so scandalous to his followers that many of them left. The synoptic Gospels, Matthew, Mark, and Luke, record the Last Supper word for word. The host and chalice were common drawings in the catacombs. When the early Christians were thrown to the lions one of the major charges against them was cannibalism. And yet they were willing to die joyfully for their beliefs.
Not only was the Eucharist, as we understand it today, a fundamental part of Christianity, but so was the Mass. Yes, the Mass. Complete with procession of the Word, opening prayers, readings from the prophets and the apostles, a reading about the works and words of Jesus, prayers of intercession, and the Eucharistic prayer - handed down word for word. (For more information read The Mass of the Early Christians by Mike Aquilina. It references all of the bible verses, church fathers, and historical documents. Or you can look it up online. I'm not just making this stuff up.)
Now the most incredible thing isn't that it's been passed down for 2000 years in essentially the same, recognizable format. The incredible thing is the we take it for granted. Something that people died for is now a ritual or some sort of dirty secret. "Yes, I go to church because that is what I do. But I don't worship the bread or anything." Ever hear anything like that? But I had a similar attitude. I was shocked to find Jesus in church because these things don't happen these days.
Maybe we just set low standards for ourselves. Maybe we don't think God really loves us. Maybe we think that mystical encounters happen only to saints.
Let me tell you a secret: Saints are not those who are the best. Saints are those who know that they are entirely reliant on God. There is no schizophrenic divorce between church and the "real world". God cannot be removed from the saint because God is the saint's heartbeat.
Do you believe that Jesus left us a way to ingest His substance in simple bread and wine? Those who knew Him on earth certainly believed it. Do you feel you are taking the Eucharist for granted? Ask the Holy Spirit to guide you. Go to Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament and sit quietly for a while. Go to mass and wonder how many people have uttered the same prayers in hope and faith.
I have just touched the tip of the iceberg in my own journey and I have been transformed. Have you?
May God Continue to Bless You!
Today I would like to talk to you about many things. I would like to talk about heaven, salvation, hope, connection, faith, Jesus, loneliness, communication, and freedom. This will take us through history, misunderstandings, theology, and finally understanding and transcendence.
Several years ago I was in church. My grandmother had recently died and to say that I miss her would be an understatement of epic proportion. She had been a guide to Christian life and a source of wisdom and consolation during my turbulent upbringing. When she spoke about love, forgiveness, Jesus, and the strength needed to be a woman, I listened. For my Protestant grandmother, heaven meant being in a garden with Jesus. Just Jesus, I asked? Her preacher said so, but she could not imagine heaven without being with her own mother and other 'kin'. Even so, she was sure that Jesus would provide for her whatever she needed. She was a strong woman who changed the world around her. Her obituary read like a textbook for feminism and social activism. Did she ever use those words to describe herself? No. She was quiet and gracious. She listened to Jesus, who was her strength, and trusted in Him. In doing so she was the scandal of her church (she went back to work when her children were in school to pay the bills and eventually divorced her husband). But she never gave up on her faith or her church. She just quietly changed the world.
That particular mass, I was incredibly sorrowful. I was happy for my grandmother, who had 'run the good race' and was now at peace. But my loneliness was like an aching hunger that would never be sated. She was gone, gone. I could only pretend that there was no hollowness inside and get used to being without her. Before I knew it the Eucharistic prayer started. It was then that it happened: The day seemed to brighten and light began to be born in my hollowness. I suddenly realized that she was there at the Mass. For a few moments time didn't matter. I was in communion with countless others throughout time who had spoken the same prayers in a variety of languages. I was with my Protestant grandmother, who was in heaven. I was with those who would come long after I had returned to dust.
Sanctus, Sanctus, Sanctus Dominus Deus Sabaoth.
Pleni sunt caeli et terra gloria tua.
Hosana in excelsis.
Benedictus qui venit in nomine Domine.
Hosana in excelsis.
Holy, Holy, Holy Lord God of hosts.
Heaven and earth are full of your glory.
Hosana in the highest.
Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord.
Hosana in the highest.
Soon after I became warm and had to sit down. The 'vision' lasted while the host was present.
I kept quiet about it for a while, thinking that I was studying too much theology and needed to take a break. My professors, knowing of my great loss, were concerned and compassionate. One pulled me aside and asked how I was doing. Not taking 'fine' for an answer I finally revealed my 'vision'. Her response floored me.
When we take part in the Eucharist, we take part in the Kingdom of God.
You would think, being a theology major, that I would know this. But I was a budding academic who could cooly remain aloof from such fantastical notions as being affected by my subject material. (Okay, you can stop laughing now.) Suddenly my world shifted. Going to church was no longer a pleasant duty but an ardent desire to get closer to Jesus. The Eucharist was no longer just a ritual but an invitation to be transformed by a foretaste of heaven. It became obvious why Catholics and our Orthodox sisters and brothers would place the Eucharist at the center of faith.
In the Gospel of John, Jesus says that whoever does not eat of His flesh and drink of His blood will not have life in him. This was so scandalous to his followers that many of them left. The synoptic Gospels, Matthew, Mark, and Luke, record the Last Supper word for word. The host and chalice were common drawings in the catacombs. When the early Christians were thrown to the lions one of the major charges against them was cannibalism. And yet they were willing to die joyfully for their beliefs.
Not only was the Eucharist, as we understand it today, a fundamental part of Christianity, but so was the Mass. Yes, the Mass. Complete with procession of the Word, opening prayers, readings from the prophets and the apostles, a reading about the works and words of Jesus, prayers of intercession, and the Eucharistic prayer - handed down word for word. (For more information read The Mass of the Early Christians by Mike Aquilina. It references all of the bible verses, church fathers, and historical documents. Or you can look it up online. I'm not just making this stuff up.)
Now the most incredible thing isn't that it's been passed down for 2000 years in essentially the same, recognizable format. The incredible thing is the we take it for granted. Something that people died for is now a ritual or some sort of dirty secret. "Yes, I go to church because that is what I do. But I don't worship the bread or anything." Ever hear anything like that? But I had a similar attitude. I was shocked to find Jesus in church because these things don't happen these days.
Maybe we just set low standards for ourselves. Maybe we don't think God really loves us. Maybe we think that mystical encounters happen only to saints.
Let me tell you a secret: Saints are not those who are the best. Saints are those who know that they are entirely reliant on God. There is no schizophrenic divorce between church and the "real world". God cannot be removed from the saint because God is the saint's heartbeat.
Do you believe that Jesus left us a way to ingest His substance in simple bread and wine? Those who knew Him on earth certainly believed it. Do you feel you are taking the Eucharist for granted? Ask the Holy Spirit to guide you. Go to Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament and sit quietly for a while. Go to mass and wonder how many people have uttered the same prayers in hope and faith.
I have just touched the tip of the iceberg in my own journey and I have been transformed. Have you?
May God Continue to Bless You!
Monday, May 20, 2013
Life Bearers
Hello Ladies,
I have been reading a lot of Mother Teresa's writings lately. I love how she does not aspire to greatness but endeavors to bring God into the most menial of tasks. Her spirituality is built on suffering: suffering for Christ who suffers on the cross for love of us. She herself suffered immensely in her calling. How did she manage during her dark times? The most obvious answer is that she turned to Jesus, her spouse. And she did. She also had years of training in obedience, theology, spiritual direction, devotion to Mary and the sacraments, and had incredible support from her bishop and the community. In short, she relied on the Body of Christ and not solely on her own power. Obviously we Marian moms rarely have the opportunity to go to daily mass, Eucharistic adoration, and an annual month-long retreat. Yet we are also called to bring God into the most menial of tasks.
One thing I do not recommend is focusing on the suffering aspect of Christ. Or, place the suffering Christ in the correct perspective to our calling. Remember that these remarkable Sisters or Charity go through years of formation and a great deal of training in order to embrace their suffering spouse in a healthy, balanced way.
It has occurred to me that there is no functional spirituality specifically for mothers. Or perhaps I should say that there probably is, or has been, but has since been lost. I once asked an elder of my family how she managed to raise six children in an impeccably clean house. (I'm only half joking when I say that her floors are cleaner than my dishes.) She told me two things: that children were allowed to roam outside on their own in those days and that women were trained from a young age to be wives and mothers. She had a longer stay in the hospital after each birth and she certainly wasn't expected to cook or clean for several weeks after the birth of a child. She lived in a community that valued her children and her hard work. She didn't believe that she would be able to manage the same thing now that children had to be constantly supervised and mothers, working outside the home or not, are, in her opinion, isolated. In her words, motherhood, nay, parenthood, is no longer valued. (Obviously not everybody feels this way. There have also been some amazing changes. She was just very secure in her role and would feel very insecure in the shifting society. In short, she did not need a special spirituality for mothers because they were living it in community. She had a hard time understanding my question.)
The point isn't to make martyrs of mothers and fathers but to point out that there has been a fundamental shift in society. Everybody is trying to catch up. I'm not saying anything new in my theology. It's probably been said before in a much better way. But nobody has bothered to tell me what it is so I'm searching for it on my own. This is where my meandering thoughts have brought me (unsystematically, of course):
I have been reading a lot of Mother Teresa's writings lately. I love how she does not aspire to greatness but endeavors to bring God into the most menial of tasks. Her spirituality is built on suffering: suffering for Christ who suffers on the cross for love of us. She herself suffered immensely in her calling. How did she manage during her dark times? The most obvious answer is that she turned to Jesus, her spouse. And she did. She also had years of training in obedience, theology, spiritual direction, devotion to Mary and the sacraments, and had incredible support from her bishop and the community. In short, she relied on the Body of Christ and not solely on her own power. Obviously we Marian moms rarely have the opportunity to go to daily mass, Eucharistic adoration, and an annual month-long retreat. Yet we are also called to bring God into the most menial of tasks.
One thing I do not recommend is focusing on the suffering aspect of Christ. Or, place the suffering Christ in the correct perspective to our calling. Remember that these remarkable Sisters or Charity go through years of formation and a great deal of training in order to embrace their suffering spouse in a healthy, balanced way.
It has occurred to me that there is no functional spirituality specifically for mothers. Or perhaps I should say that there probably is, or has been, but has since been lost. I once asked an elder of my family how she managed to raise six children in an impeccably clean house. (I'm only half joking when I say that her floors are cleaner than my dishes.) She told me two things: that children were allowed to roam outside on their own in those days and that women were trained from a young age to be wives and mothers. She had a longer stay in the hospital after each birth and she certainly wasn't expected to cook or clean for several weeks after the birth of a child. She lived in a community that valued her children and her hard work. She didn't believe that she would be able to manage the same thing now that children had to be constantly supervised and mothers, working outside the home or not, are, in her opinion, isolated. In her words, motherhood, nay, parenthood, is no longer valued. (Obviously not everybody feels this way. There have also been some amazing changes. She was just very secure in her role and would feel very insecure in the shifting society. In short, she did not need a special spirituality for mothers because they were living it in community. She had a hard time understanding my question.)
The point isn't to make martyrs of mothers and fathers but to point out that there has been a fundamental shift in society. Everybody is trying to catch up. I'm not saying anything new in my theology. It's probably been said before in a much better way. But nobody has bothered to tell me what it is so I'm searching for it on my own. This is where my meandering thoughts have brought me (unsystematically, of course):
- Whenever we get lost or don't know how to pray, ask the Holy Spirit to pray through you.
- Mary was a life bearer. Jesus was conceived through the power of the Holy Spirit. (Medieval art depicts the Holy Spirit entering through her ear. This was very big for them. I'm suggesting that you breathe in the Holy Spirit and pray that you may bring life into every situation. This is a good way of praying because everybody likes to breathe, it's practically addictive, and it's highly unlikely that you will get pregnant by doing so.)
- As Mother Teresa said, we were born to love and be loved. Why were we born so small and helpless? To learn how to be loved so we can teach others how to be loved. Even Jesus was born a helpless baby. This means that we need to let go of our fears and feeling of inadequacy so that the Holy Spirit has room flow through us (kenosis!). In short, we need to fully accept that we are wholly, passionately, and uniquely loved by God. The rest will follow.
God does not expect us to be perfect. He only asks that we do what is in front of us with great love. This takes practice. Mother Teresa was called to love the Suffering Spouse. I believe that we are called to allow the love of God, the basis of all creation, to move through us. I believe that breathing in the Holy Spirit is an excellent form of prayer to allow us to do so. I believe that by doing this, we will be able to accept God into the most mundane, unpleasant moments of our unique, busy lives. I believe that we must get rid of our own self-depricating, angry thoughts, that we must allow ourselves to be loved by God, in order for this to work. And I believe that Jesus continues to suffer out of longing for each and every one of us. But I'll let Mother Teresa tell you about that.
May God continue to bless you.
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