Wonderful Christmas

Merry Christmas!

This started out as a post about the wonderful music I was privileged to be part of for our parish Christmas masses. But as I reflected on that, including my small part in it, I quickly realized that I was in danger of getting my Christmas celebration a bit out of context.

Christ, my Savior, is born! The eternal Word has taken on human flesh, and now my life contains a joy for which I could not otherwise hope!

Love has come!

Welcome Nic!!

Our newest grandson was born yesterday, and I hope his mom doesn't kill me for posting her post-partum picture on the site! (And it still amazes me how great she looks after childbirth.)

Children are such a joy!

Next up: we'll see how "big" sister (at 16 months) manages to adjust to not being the center of the universe!

Nice weekend

Y'know sometimes things are really great, and you just have to enjoy them.

First off, my bride of (almost) 26 years got canned on Friday, for circumstances that were only minimally under her control. Oh, wait, that's supposed to be the bad news. But she'll now be available to watch the grandkids on a regular basis, which is going to be important as soon as our anticipated newest grandson is born. Meanwhile, she's free to help our daughter out in these last few days of her pregnancy and the first few weeks of having a new son to take care of along with her 16-month old daughter (who is cute and bright as can be). We took her mind off of the firing by watching a chick flick (How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days), which was small sacrifice compared to having her dwell on how her day had gone.

Saturday was plenty busy, with a great men's group meeting in the morning, a cycling team lunch (we've started early discussion of participating in the Race Across America in 2008; we may all be crazy, but we're also all excited about it!), and then a company Christmas party in the evening. It could have been hectic, and got a little anxious in the late afternoon, but by and large it was great. My wife gave me (us) my (our) joint anniversary/Christmas gift, a very nice new digital camera that we're going to use to take photos and video of our new grandson and of course the rest of the crew throughout the holidays. I've been wanting us to have a decent camera for at least 20 years!

Sunday, very nice Mass, with great Advent music. Then out to the tree farm where we've gotten our Christmas tree for over a dozen years. We saw several people we know, including one a riding buddy and his family (one of whom I called by the wrong name - sorry Zack!). We got our tree in record time. I told T. that I thought I'd found the secret of getting her to choose a tree efficiently -- which I think I have -- then told her it was to tease her mercilessly for about a day beforehand about how picky she is -- which isn't it. Honey, just in case you're reading this, I'm not going to tell you!!

After getting the tree up and in water, we picked up the older 4 grandkids and had them over for dinner. After evensong, the (currently) youngest granddaughter came over, too, so it was a great family evening to cap off a wonderful weekend.

Advent reflection 1

Veni Redemptor! Come, Redeemer!
Maranatha! Come, Lord!

I love the season of Advent, with its identification with the messianic longing of our forebears in faith. For what long ages they looked to God to deliver their redemption! When it came, how few of them recognized His coming. Among these, some yet maintain their trust in God's loving care for them while still awaiting the promised Messiah. Others, because of the incomprehensible horrors wrought upon them, have lost the capacity to believe that the God who proclaimed that David's kingship would never be destroyed could possibly exist. Some who still consider themselves Jewish have come to believe that Jesus is indeed the Promised One whom they've sought for so long. I relate to these feelings of hopeful longing, resigned disappointment, and jubilant celebration.

I love the season of Advent, with its recognition that none of us who walk this earth has fully embraced Christ's coming into our own lives. Some of us, like our Jewish brethren, don't recognize Christ's presence among us. Even for those who do, there is a transformation which God is working in each of us which no earthly person experiences in its fullness. The season of Advent reminds us that Jesus longs to come into our lives more fully, to heal our flaws and restore us to the perfect love for which we are created. I'm convinced there is no level of maturity in Christ at which we can feel that we've "arrived." Just the opposite! The more we grow, the more we recognize how great are our shortcomings. We see that we have no hope of ever reaching Perfection, yet we come to know that, in loving grace, our Redeemer never fails to reach us. He doesn't keep us apart from himself until we achieve the ideal to which we are called; rather, God brings us into His perfect presence to draw us more and more deeply into union with Him. By the Holy Spirit's movement in our lives, we are drawn ever further into our true being, in ways we could not hope to accomplish by our own efforts. As we are thus redeemed, becoming filled with Christ's love, it reaches through and beyond us to those around us who have also failed. Our longing becomes for them to be transformed with us!

I love the season of Advent, with its anticipation of the eternal divine kingdom to come. Of course, Christ has established a kingdom of love here on earth. Yet our world is still fallen, still afflicted by sin. Even we who strive to be His followers sometimes fail to fully dwell in the kingdom of God's love. We look for the day when we will no longer stumble, no longer cry, no longer feel the pain of living in a broken world. As people of faith, we recognize how our brokenness and pain yet serve to reveal the love of God, who works through all sorts of horrendous circumstances - those natural, those born of our own choices, those spiritual - to reach those with his love who would otherwise reject him. "The problem of pain," which causes so many to reject God's existence, abounds in our world, and yet through it God brings more and more precious children into the kingdom of light. Yet we eagerly look toward the day when there is no more pain, no more brokenness and failure, but only the eternal joy of dwelling in God's presence.

I love the season of Advent, with its timelessness, its small glimpse into eternity. Past, present, and future, all intertwined and experienced simultaneously. It has-always-been/is/always-will-be this way, as God has revealed to us in our past the Redeemer who comes to us now to lead us into the eternity which will be ours in our future. Having looked for Jesus, in this moment receiving Jesus, we eagerly await the fullness of Jesus.

Veni Redemptor! Maranatha! Come, Redeemer, Lord!

Family stuff

I'm boggled at how other people's brains work, especially when they're brains I had such an influential role in forming.

Our oldest daughter has been baffling for some time now, but it just keeps getting worse. Okay, so she's only in touch when she needs something. I suppose that's her prerogative. I'm glad when she calls anyway.

So about six weeks ago she asks us if we'll go ahead and pay for our oldest grandson's next swimming class and they'll pay us back on the weekend. No problem.

If you think this is going to be a tirade against never being paid back, you're only partly right.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, youngest daughter is expecting her second child in December, a little boy this time, so not much in the way of hand-me-downs from his big sister, or there'd be a greater likelihood of her dealing with her own baffling adult offspring in twenty years. So the wife is stuck planning the shower with no help from anyone, including the two sisters. Middle sister at least chipped in a little money, but no input from oldest at all.

Friday night is the last swim class of the aforementioned session. And for at least the third time in this class, wife shows up at grandson's lesson, only no grandson! Sunday afternoon, oldest calls her little sister with regrets for not being able to make the shower, because the kids are sick. Oh, and don't call,

A wonderful day

What a day of blessings. Sleeping in. Very nice Mass, with the Rite of Acceptance. Got home and was contemplating a bike ride when Teri reminded me I had a flight planned for this afternoon with a friend from prayer group. So I was able to combine the two, riding my bike about 10 miles to the municipal airport, flying with Jim for a couple hours, then riding home. What a great afternoon! Came home to discover "my" NFL team, or at least as close as I have to one I root for, had beaten the local team, on top of a surprising win for my college team yesterday. A nice evening with my wife, teaming up on getting dinner cooked and the dishes cleaned up.

Too many blessings to list all of, really. It's been the sort of day that some people chase after all the time, and become filled with angst if they don't have them regularly. But I don't really look for days like this. I just trust God to put me where I should be, and try to let Him make me the person I'm called to be there. Along the way, sometimes there are wondrous days like this. But the best day here is a passing shadow compared to the eternal joy God has waiting for those who will accept the gift of grace.

Reframing the discussion

This Sunday's Gospel reading:

"Good teacher, what must I do to enter the kingdom of heaven?"

His society had told the rich young man, his whole life, that he'd already found favor with God. His riches were the evidence of God's favor. Yet, he recognizes in Jesus an authority that can answer the uncertainty that remains within him. He doesn't recognize his fundamental assumption that assurance is found in meeting some minimum set of requirements; he has learned from scribes and Pharisees that it must surely be so, and that the trick is to figure out what those requirements are and then make sure he fulfills them.

Jesus changes the framework of the discussion. It isn't a matter of what we must do to enter the kingdom of heaven. It is a matter of how we will respond to the kingdom of heaven being given to us, through grace and mercy. As long as we view heaven as our reward for the kind of person we are, we will never respond wholeheartedly to the gift that is freely given. As soon as we truly see the sin in our lives as God sees it, then we know the depth of grace. As we live therein, our longing becomes to share it, without limit.

Grown children

As they were growing up, I often marvelled at how our children taught us so much about the love of God.

Now that they are grown, I find the lessons I learn through my relationships with them all the more pertinent. I wish it were usually because of the wisdom that comes forth from their lives, as it sometimes is.

More often it is from watching helplessly as they make decisions over which we have no control, decisions which we know are not truly in their own best interest. It is then that I'm most aware of how much God loves us. Our all powerful God has relinquished control over us so that we might choose to live as we think best, accepting or rejecting diving Love and guidance according to our own will. Yet God's love for us never wavers, regardless of the decisions we make. God waits for us to realize our true need, our actual best interest, and real love. When we finally reach out in the correct direction, though our reach is always short of being able to bridge the gap between humanity and Divinity, God reaches us.

A lesson in priorities

When taking on a sporting activity, I sometimes find it a challenge to keep my original goals in mind. At 46, it isn’t as if I’m ever going to become a competitive runner or cyclist, and that’s okay. But I still tend to push my performance rather than focusing on the camaraderie and fellowship that I set out for in each activity.

In running, the temptation isn’t as obvious a problem. All the team runners take the races at our own pace, and it’s just a matter of keeping my training in line with my minimum goal of keeping the pain in my legs to a minimum after a race. A weekly run should be all I need to accomplish that, and mostly short ones with an occasional longer on tossed in should get that mission accomplished. When a run, such as the one last night, results in less than a PR, I need to keep my disappointment in check and remember that I’m really just there to support the team.

But cycling is a little more problematic, especially since drafting makes it more of a group activity and we have such a variety of skill levels. Among our regular weekly riders, I’m probably the first or second slowest, but other group members who ride with us from time to time are slower, and I probable have the worst bike (the Hammer doesn’t count anymore; we miss you Larry!).

Most days, it’s just a matter of riding as well as we can, and that’s okay, but occasionally we have a ride planned that’s more of a group activity than a training ride. On those days, I’ve got to get myself out of "push it" mode, especially when I have more decision-making input. Some days, the fellowship is more important than the training.

It's another example of how a good thing can become a bit of a false god, if we're not careful.

The Eucharist

At Holy Trinity in Glen Burnie this weekend, Fr. Headley's insights stimulated my thoughts beyond the ideas that he actually expressed. The Lord will use a good homily to that effect on a prayerful and reflective person when they're open to the Spirit, I suppose. I'll paraphrase and expand on his thoughts a bit, then move on to my own. The gospel reading was from John 6.

After beginning with a few observations about the role of Wisdom in revealing the Truth, Fr. Headley moved on to an observation that you'd have to be spiritually deaf to miss from the gospel reading, pointing out how Jesus invoked the manna as the forerunner of the Eucharist/himself, and himself as the manna. Obviously many in his audience had a problem with this analogy; having known him in the context of his earthly life, and unable to accept what he was telling them about his divine nature, they couldn't grasp that he was more than an inspiring teacher but in fact the very nourishment they needed for eternal life. Too, he was invoking one of their most treasured images and applying it to himself, in a way that seemed preposterous on the surface. Throw in the likelihood that many of them may not have believed in the possibility of life beyond death, and it is no wonder they couldn't accept what he was saying.

Fr. Headley went on to describe our experiences of earthly banquets of providential love, if you will, especially those in which we encounter a tangible sense of loving acceptance in the context of food, but even "love banquets" beyond these food-based celebrations. Each of these, he suggested, are for us metaphors and precursors to the Eucharistic banquet which Jesus offers us and in which we find the fulfillment of their promise.

It seems to me that this idea takes on even more depth in the context of the timeless nature of God, and how that intertwines with the human, timebound experience of salvation history. It isn't just that Christ fulfilled the Jewish Passover. Rather, God, simultaneously seeing how we (would) treat his Son when he walks on this earth, and how we (would) respond to the gospel millenia after his resurrection, provides a deliverance from slavery for the people from whom the Son will receive his human flesh, which will serve to allow us to recognize him as he later reinvokes those images for us. This has been the purpose of every revelation of God throughout salvation history. Further, it is the purpose and role of every revelation of love which we experience in our lives. It isn't merely that Christ and the Eucharist fulfill the deepest meaning of these other events, but rather that the ultimate purpose of each event is to allow us to recognize and accept Jesus as the very nourishment without which we cannot live.

Even the doubting we may experience, however deep and complete it may be, serves this purpose.

My "Jewish" dream

Last month I had a dream. A young Jewish man who was beyond the usual age for a particular music study scholarship was presenting an opera he'd composed, with musical and dramatical themes deeply rooted in his experiences of being Jewish. The primary instrument was the pipe organ (?? - dreams!). The audience loved it, and rewarded the composer with a lengthy and raucous ovation. While the applause was still ringing, a member of the school of study to which the young man aspired approached him to offer his congratulations. The young man couldn't help but ask if it might serve as a successful audition for his admission. The teacher responded in the negative, observing that the environment actually would serve to ruin the young man's pure insight. He told the young man that he was sure that he could succeed in their program, but that he felt it would destroy the best part of him. "You may have a positive effect on New York," he said, "but New York will have a far more negative effect on you."

I'm paraphrasing, because I've let too much time pass since the dream.

When I woke up, I thought how utterly ridiculous it was for a Jewish man to have misgivings concerning New York. There are thriving Jewish communities in New York.

I came to realize that my dream might be a metaphor for spiritual life.

There are many areas in which a spiritual person can have a positive effect. But in immersing himself in them, he may well lose more than he contributes.

I'm not a spiritual separatist. However, there are many places in which I should not dwell.

RAIN

Tomorrow should be a challenging day: 160 hot, humid miles across Indiana on a bicycle. We drive to Terre Haute tonight, get up early on Saturday and to Richmond by late afternoon; I 'm hoping we're done by around 5.

It's amazing what we'll put ourselves through for the sake of group membership and a sense of accomplishment!

Go Team Dog!

Grace

Everybody in the world wants a second chance . . .

. . . until it’s someone else who desperately needs a second chance. Then, too often, it’s, “They don’t deserve another chance, after what they did.”

Y’know what? None of us do.

"What you have received freely, freely give."

I contend that the largest obstacle to the manifestation of this command by Christians in the world today is that too many of us fall into at least one of two categories:

• we have not fully received the gift of forgiveness which we have been offered
• we don’t truly believe ourselves undeserving of the grace we have received

That is, we insist on evaluating ourselves in terms of others, as respectively worse or better. We would never think to judge others, of course, because we’ve been so clearly warned against it. Yet in evaluating ourselves in such terms we unconsciously judge, in spite of the warnings.

Christianity is about a different thing entirely. By the action of the Holy Spirit:

• I see that I desperately need what Christ has done for me, could never deserve it and, in fact, have no hope without it (end of evaluation of self/others)
• I embrace the gift of Christ, both of his sacrifice on my behalf in atonement for my sins and of his presence in my life (beginning of my transformation in Christ)
• I recognize that every neighbor desperately needs what Christ has done and the new life I am experiencing in him, realizing that no one else deserves it any less than I do (beginning of personal evangelization mission, sharing mercy and love with others)

But without the first step, often referred to as the first spiritual truth, no matter how much we may think we've taken the second one, we can never overcome our tendency to judge others, whether we're conscious of it or not.

Strength vs. weakness

Some people see religion as a crutch, something the weak need to help them deal with the difficulties life brings.

This may be true of many religions, but there are two ways (aside from its verity) in which Christianity differs from these.

First of all, Christianity readily acknowledges that it is a religion for the weak. St. Paul says "Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. But he said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.' Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ's sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong." (2 Cor 12, 8-10) If you're strong enough to be able to stand between God and Satan in your own strength, then you don't need a Savior; you're already better than the rest of us, and Christianity isn't the religion for you.

And when asked why he ate with tax collectors and prostitutes, Jesus replied, "It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners." (Mk 2, 17)

But Christianity is not a crutch for those who just need a little help getting to heaven. It is a gurney to carry in those who have no hope of getting there themselves.

I am so weak. Lord, may I live by your strength.

In the quiet

It is time to take stock of my decision-making when:

• I'm not willing to be quiet and listen, either in the morning or the evening


• My schedule fills up with activity


• I choose mindless entertainment or even utter wasting of time over anything thought-provoking or nurturing


• I begin seeking affirmation in the wrong areas

Opportunity knocks

Every day, opportunity knocks.

It isn't always the opportunity we're looking for.

But each day presents us the opportunity to come into God's presence, to spend time just being loved by the One who loves us perfectly.

Unless we receive it, what we have to offer others is paltry, and far less than they deserve.

Until we receive it, we mistake all kinds of other experiences for love. In fact, much of what we think of as love, what we mistake for love when we haven't experienced real love, is often just self-indulgence of one form or another.

It may be codependency, power struggle, co-existence.

But when we spend time in the presence of Love, our perspective shifts. It doesn't happen all at once, of course, but we gradually become more attuned to the love that awaits our full participation.

Good meeting tonight

I went to my wife's small group this evening. What a nice meeting. Every now and then I guess I need to be reminded that the Truth in whom I believe is bigger than my failings.

This weekend we celebrate the feast of Corpus Christi. While literally translated "The Body of Christ," this is celebrated in the Church in America as "The Body and Blood of Christ." The selected Scripture readings for this Sunday clearly indicate that the blood is an important element of the feast, as the first two readings have to do with the sprinkling of the Hebrews of the Old Testament with the sacrificial blood, and then the letter to the Hebrews comparing and contrasting the effect of Christ's blood.

While the feast is certainly about the Eucharist, as indicated by the Last Supper reading from St. Mark's gospel, it seems to me that it is impossible to discuss the Eucharistic presence of Christ without also considering his mystical presence in his Body, the Church. The reason that the bread and wine are transformed into Jesus' body and blood is so that the Church may be likewise transformed, which happens as individuals are increasingly transformed. And the reason for the institution of Old Testament sacrifice was to presage Jesus' sacrifice, so that we would recognize it and subsequently be transformed in him.

A fresh post, finally!

Time to return. Have been quite busy. Cycling, church, Habitat, etc.

I have a regular Tuesday evening prayer group I co-lead, and I hate to miss it two weeks in a row. Meanwhile, I've been trying to meet with another Tuesday group as well, except I keep having other Tuesday stuff come up instead. Last week we had a really nice visit with our in-laws, who came in from out-of-town for a couple days, so it was important to me to spend as much of their visit with them as possible. Three weeks ago was Confirmation. Not long before that I was tending my wife who was recovering from surgery. The thing is, if this keeps up, I'm going to have to reevaluate my sense that I ought to be meeting with this other Tuesday group from time to time!

At any rate, I hope to spend some time on here reflecting after morning prayer time again. At least the prayer time has been there, even if the reflection time hasn't!

TOSRV 2006

How wonderful to accomplish a challenging task. Even though it was my third year doing this two-day, 210-mile bike ride, there is still a great sense of having risen to the challenge once again. It's kinda' nice to be a veteran, and to see the newbies gain their own sense of accomplishment.

Each year presents its own challenges. This year we didn't get the forecast rain for Saturday, but Sunday made up for it. We encountered a fair number of flats, including one for me on Saturday and at least two or three to others on Sunday. The lengthy lunch break on Sunday while we waited for the late arrivals, who did admirably in the face of their own adversity, ended up putting us in the rain for an hour longer than we'd have encountered otherwise. But the rain wasn't nearly as torrential as at the Seagull century in October, nor the wind nearly as strong. And for once we all finished pretty close together.

Go Team Dog!

Other "dirty" thoughts

More thoughts rooted in the dirt under my nails on Saturday:

Yes, the more we nurture a relationship, lavish healthy care on it, the more beautiful it becomes, just like a well-tended garden. But in our relationship with God, it is always he who is tending and nurturing us. Unlike the flowers in my garden, though, we have a choice to make concerning whether we will be tended.

Now, carrying that thought onward and linking it to the previous post, too often we choose to tend and nurture weeds in our lives. They respond fabulously, too, growing to the best of their ability, overrunning the garden. So again, we must choose what we feed carefully. We will fail to achieve the beauty which God wants to reflect off of us if we don't allow him to weed and prune us, to keep us in line.

We shouldn't expect God to contribute to the garden's growth when we're promoting the weeds. And we should be aware, just as the workers in the field in that parable about the wheat with the weeds, that we don't always recognize the weeds in our lives. We need to trust God's tending even (especially) when he seems to be nurturing something in us other than what we think needs to grow.

We sometimes tend to think of ourselves as weeds or as flowers, in a judgmental way. It is more helpful for me to think of my life as a garden (a vineyard?), made up of both types of plants. It is really important for me to allow the Diving Gardener to tend me!

Gardening insights

Yesterday morning I was planting a few gladiolus corms and pulling weeds from the flowerbed. I've never been much of a gardener; we've lived in this house for nearly thirteen years, and only over the last few have we planted anything. Three years ago I planted a few tomatoes and some zucchini for the first time, along the side of the house. A year later I cut down several yew bushes in front of the house to make room for some flowers. I've put in a few vegetables and annual and perennial flowers each year since.

It occurred to me yesterday that gardens are like relationships: the more you invest in and tend them, the more precious they become. They take on more beauty, and become increasingly worth investing more effort into.

A little while later, while planting some trumpet vines in the back, a further thought struck me: the more we invest in something, the more worthy of pursuit we perceive it to be. Whether we pursue relationships, gardening, money, possessions, power, sexuality, physical achievement, or any number of other interests, the more we invest ourselves into them, the higher we value them because of our investment. It makes me remember how important it is to be careful about what I choose to invest myself into.

Balanced fear?

I had a very tense night last night, one that challenged my trust in God.

My wife had a significantly risky surgery on Tuesday. On the one hand, it was somewhat routine, but on the other, contained a small but real risk of death. She needed to have a section of her colon removed, and there was (is?) a significant chance that the remaining sections would not heal together properly. So after two plus days of post-surgical nausea and vomiting, when she developed a fever last night, I came face-to-face with the possibility of life without her. It wasn't a pleasant prospect.

It took me a long time to start appreciating and loving my wife as she has always deserved. After 25 years of marriage, we finally have the kind of relationship of which (I think) every couple dreams at the outset of their marriage. I can't possibly convey how little I deserve to be in this kind of relationship, the many and extreme ways I nearly destroyed it. That is part of why our marriage is such a sacrament to me, an embodiment of God's love, which none of us can ever deserve, either.

So when she began running a fever last night, after two days of nausea and vomiting, a complex issue became an important one to me:

Do I really trust God to provide for my (and my wife's) every need, in this life and beyond it?
Do I really value God's love more highly than everything else in my life, including every other relationship?
Do I really believe that life in Christ is worth living, even if I am called (as I still might eventually be) to live it without the earthly relationship that matters most to me?

For now, I am relieved that my fears for my wife's health were unfounded, that her recovery is in fact on track. I'm grateful for the opportunity to consider such questions. And I'm thankful, and must be careful not to be excessively so, that I can consider them in the security of an earthly relationship which I treasure and which has been preserved.

Thank you, God, for my wife, but even more, thank you for my life in you.

More Triduum unpacking

Holy Thursday:

How nice to see the families that came forward, children washing and drying the feet of their parents, their siblings. I hope we gain the insight we're supposed to from this ritual. It is the mundane and, if you will, highly unpleasant task that we are called to undertake in love. I'm not opposed to this ritual, by any means. I just want it to mean all it should for us.

But, like the sacraments, I believe there can be a grace at work in such acts that far exceeds our awareness of it.


Good Friday:

Fr. Dave's reflections on the Stations of the Cross during our celebration of the Passion of the Lord was a wonderful bridge to this form of prayer which is practiced in many parishes on Good Friday.

I hope people are engaged rather than put off by our chanting of St. John's passion narrative. I know it engages me, but as a participant, it had better! The odd thing is, I find I can relate to everyone whose words I express, in some way. And I know that my role in Jesus' crucifixion is at least as great as any of theirs.


Easter Vigil:
Wow! The joy of sponsoring him is beyond words. To have walked these past months with all of these newly baptized and confirmed members of the church is priceless! And Teri was thrilled to be able to distribute first Eucharist to so many of them.


Easter morning liturgies:
It was such a joy to be able to participate in music ministry. I missed that aspect of the vigil service, though I would not have traded in my role for anything! I didn't expect to be at both Easter morning services, but then Teri decided she was going to 10:30 mass after all, so there wasn't any point in my staying home.
The brass was fabulous. The handbell choir did a great job! But my favorite addition had to be Julian, who did a great job with the percussion in general, and the timpani in particular. Easter Alleluia was fabulous!
I hope we truly helped people gain a closer sense of the joy of the resurrection, and of the rejoicing we have in store for us for eternity.

Both in the vigil and morning liturgies, Fr. Dave talked about little George, who after running into the bedroom wall early in the morning on his first day of school, guessed it was because "I still have too much dark in my eyes." Fr. Dave, if the mark of a good homily is that it leaves us chewing on it for a while, then this was certainly was one.

In addition to the darkness of self-centeredness and hedonism, I think there is a darkness of pride. Maybe it was the first darkness in creation, and maybe every other darkness really has it its roots there. I sense that a lot of folks think that a little religion is okay, as long as you don't go too crazy with all of it. Don't, like, expect me to sit through a bunch of extra stuff at liturgy, especially week in and week out. And don't expect me to actually interact with someone undesireable, either because they are beneath my social peer group, they're too plain, they've done something disgusting, they smell, they're not very bright . . . basically, their faults are outside my comfort zone. BTW, I'm not picking on others, here. This message is hitting me where I live. And it ought to. I have Christ living next door to me, and I don't bother helping him shoulder his cross. And the reason I don't is because of my pride.

I'm not beating myself up over that, just recognizing that Jesus wants that part of me to die so that he can resurrect it into something wonderful.

Christ is risen, Alleuia! And he's going to make sure that I'm fully risen in him.

What difference does it make?

That's the real question for this weekend, isn't it?

What difference does it make in my life?
What difference does it make in the lives of those around me?

I know I'd have no hope without it.
I know every decent thing I do is because of it.

How about you? What difference does it make?

"Shout with joy to the Rock who saves us"

More from adoration. I'm amazed at how, no matter how much I've prayed, reflected and written on Ps 95, it keeps providing new inspiration, new insight. [I think this is part of why I believe in Scripture: I've enjoyed works of fiction that were well-written, that I've read passages of over and over again. Eventually, they reach a point at which each reading is a reminiscence, and there is no new real discovery. Scripture remains fresh. I know I've prayed this psalm over 100 times, including on previous Tridua, yet there is ever new applicability.]

We are to "shout with joy" to you, O Lord. Yet we need not shout for you to hear us, so why do you tell us to shout? Is it merely so that the assembly may be emotionally uplifted? Or might it be a shout that is to bear witness of your love and glory to the downtrodden, the empty, the seeking, the lost?

"He holds in his hands the depths of the earth, and the highest mountains as well."
The depths and the heights of my own life, as well. They can seem, to me, to be so great, though they are nothing compared to the depth of your love, Lord.

"Come then, let us bow down and worship, bending the knee before the Lord, our maker."
How much more should I humbly worship since our maker has borne the punishment I deserve! O, angels of God, minister to him who bears my burden. (Another eternity moment - the prayer of each believer who offers this is answered in the Garden this night.)

"We are the flock he shepherds." Through the betrayal, judgement, more beatings, taunting, spitting, crowning with thorns, scourging, condemnation, Via Dolorosa, crucifixion, and grave, to Resurrection, you shepherd us Lord! ["I am the good shepherd, who lays down his life for his sheep."]

"Today, listen to the voice of the Lord," and hear him cry out "I Am," "Anyone who is of the truth hears my voice," "I thirst," "Today you will be with me in paradise," "Here is your mother," "Father, forgive them," "Eloi! Eloi lama sabacthani," "Why have you abandoned me," "It is finished."

[Hear him speak one or more of these words into the circumstances of your life. - an experience I was having with each of them, then an approach Fr. Dave mentioned in his Passion homily]

"Stay here, and keep watch"

Thoughts before the Blessed Sacrament, 0200-0400, part 1:

Now I feel the weariness, Lord, the weakness, which your disciples felt and were overcome by. I believe, you felt it, too, Lord, but the trial ahead of you outweighed your longing to rest. You would rest - your body, at least - in the tomb.

What an odd happenstance in reading the "wrong" day's Psalms yesterday for the Office of Readings. Otherwise I wouldn't have read, in Ps 44: "Yet you have crushed us in a place of sorrows, and covered us with the shadow of death."

I'm reminded of Michael Card, from whom I learned long ago that the Garden of Gethsemani, on the Mount of Olives, was so named because of being the place where the olives were crushed - pressed - to extract their oil. How fitting that Jesus should be crushed there by the weight of our sins. What agony!

We have too often refused to be crushed, to be pressed into holy oil with which you might anoint those around us, Lord. We have chosen instead to take the less challenging way, not seeing how it ends up ultimately being more painful. The pressure you felt at Gethsemani was the weight of our sins, which you allowed to crush you into perfect conformance with the Father's will, so that we (I) would not have to bear it's fullness. I know that my soul could not survive the burden of my sin. Neither could your earthly body, Lord, for you died bearing it.

In the Garden

Prior to Holy Thursday night prayer:

We could not dare presume, Lord, that we could abide with you in the Garden this night, to keep you company in the dark hours before your arrest, trial, torture, and crucifixion. We know we've fallen asleep too often, Lord. We have heard you ask, in disappointment on our behalf, "Could you not wait with me for an hour?" In your love, Lord, you have roused us again, and offer us another precious opportunity to watch and pray with you. The cup before your lips, from which you plead to be spared, is the cup of my iniquity, Lord. I thank you for accepting it that I might be free of it, free to drink the cup of life in its place, the cup of salvation.

We wait, watch, and pray with you, Lord, for in perfect Love your Spirit keeps us here.

Mass of the Lord's Supper

Last night, for the first time, our parish opened up the ritual cleansing of feet to the congregation, as opposed to the dozen volunteers we've restricted it to in the past. It allowed us to experience the discomfort of the apostles and the service of Jesus, though certainly each was more limited than the participants physically present at the original Holy Thursday experienced. I was pleased - though not surprised - by how many parishioners came forward to participate.

At the risk of embarrassing someone I know (and I'm leaving the person anonymous), at one point after I'd returned to my seat and my wife had become emboldened to go forward after all, I asked someone if they were going to participate. "Nah," they replied, "My feet stink." I tried to reassure that this didn't matter, without seeming pushy, and then let it go. But I've been thinking about this since.

If this person is reading my blog, please don't think I'm judging you in any way - I'm just thinking out loud. Also, I'm borrowing heavily from sources I can't remember anymore:

At the time and place wherein Jesus washed the disciples feet, "shoes" primarily meant "sandals." The reason that a person who'd bathed would need their feet washed was that they'd probably been walking to get where they were going, and while sand and dirt might be the most common contaminants they'd pick up, they certainly weren't the worst. While the feet might not smell from being enclosed all day as we experience in our modern society, the various things (use your imagination) that people might inadvertantly trudge through would make them pretty disgusting. Washing the feet was considered such a menial and disgusting job that it was one of a very few tasks which a slave could not be commanded to do for his master.

So when Jesus girt himself with the towel, it is no wonder that Simon Peter objected, yet the Teacher and Master insisted in a way he knew Peter would not refuse.

When someone who feels their feet are unapproachable, for whatever reason, allows the Body of Christ to minister to them in this way despite their misgivings, they give us a great gift. As long as only people with clean-smelling feet come forward, we do not get the full sense of the depth of loving service which Jesus gave us as an example.

I'm thankful for the response of our parish to this invitation. And I hope that next year even those who are reluctant will allow us to serve them, and in turn be served by them, in this special way.

Triduum invitation, 2006

Ok, here's the spot. The next few posts will contain reflections on the weekend, perhaps similarly to what I entered in my journal (and last two posts).

Meanwhile, please feel free to comment with your own observations on the Paschal mystery, either in response to mine or by the Lord's inspiration to you. Thanks!

Holy Thursday/Good Friday, March 24/25, 2005

I don't know where I journaled in '04; maybe I'll find it. (In this and the last post, square brackets are editorial additions at the time of posting.) Here are my reflections from last year:

11 pm
A few “eternity” thoughts struck me tonight, along with a few “Body of Christ” thoughts:

- Jesus girds “his Body” with a towel, and washes the disciples’ feet. “If We Are the Body,” then of course Jesus girds us with the towel as we serve in his name [as he serves through us]. He girds himself, not he girt himself [i.e. in the past], for we are eternal!

- “If We Are the Body,” then it is we ourselves we offer to the Father on the altar, not only the historical Christ or the glorified Christ. “We pray that your angel may take this offering to your altar in heaven,” take us there, in our brokenness, and transform us, so that “as we receive from this altar your sacred Body and Blood” we are transformed more fully into the Body [thanks, Fr. Paul and Fr. Dave!]. The offering we must ultimately make is to not hold back any part of ourselves, and we aren’t there yet, but as Grace more and more transforms us, we are more and more able to offer Christ in us to the Father.

4:50 am

“Come, let us worship Christ, the Son of God, who redeemed (redeems) us with (by) his blood.” – response to Invitatory Psalm

O precious Blood, spilled for me. I put you to death, O Lord. It is I who betray you, who abandon (run from) you, who imprison you, who try you, who condemn (condemn!? How dare I? Nonetheless, it is so.) you, who beat you, who spit upon you, who whips you, who crowns you with thorns, who mocks you, who forces you to carry the cross, who treats you and your clothing as sport, who washes my hands of you, who seeks to be merely entertained by you (a la Herod), who cries out against you, who taunts you. All this though under rightful condemnation for my own wrongdoing, who runs from you, who sleeps rather than watch . . .

[Despite this undeniable truth of my sinfulness . . . ] Yet also, this day, if you’ll allow it, Lord, I will: become You, wrapped in a towel washing feet – or serving in the most humble way in our day; watch and pray; keep you company as closely as possible (a la Mary); follow you along your way; carry the cross with you; weep for your broken, abused Body [in the world today] and do all I can to comfort you; wipe your bloody, bruised face; offer you a moment’s relief from your thirst; watch you nailed, call out for your mercy, and offer it; thirst in your broken Body; accept the care of your beloved ones, and the responsibility for caring. I will, by your grace this day, be faithful, as you live in me and your Spirit transforms me. I will offer forgiveness and receive it. I will drink the cup set before me, knowing that the Father’s perfect will brings Resurrection forth from each moment of death.

“Come, let us worship Christ, the Son of God, who redeems us by his blood!”


“Come, let us sing to the Lord, and shout with joy to the Rock who saves us.”
Ps 95 takes on new meaning in the context of this day [extensive reflections on Ps95 have preceded and followed this in my journaling as I pray it so often; I will probably post these separately], and Good Friday is reflected in this psalm. This is a difficult day, Lord, for us far less than for you because we experience it in the eternity you have purchased for us, so we can rejoice that you are redeeming us by your hellish trial. Come, let us sing of your [unfathomable!] love! This is how you save us! However else we are delivered in [and through] this life’s circumstances, it is always primarily by your cross.

“Let us approach him with thanksgiving, and sing joyful songs to the Lord.”
We are alive only because of your death and subsequent resurrection, Lord. Too often we stay far off from you, even in the joyfulness. How much less [often do] we draw near. You call us (me!)to be near in your ghastly brokenness, to see your broken Body and respond to it, to recognize your Body in the brokenness of those around me, and to draw near to it/you with thanksgiving (what less could I feel for all you have done?). Let us/me sing joyfully over your sacrifice, and let me see that it is the same Body that hung on the cross which you serve through me in the 21st century, in the sick, the homeless, the addicted, the broken, the abused and the abusive, the terrorizer. Let me approach you in them, upon your cross, with thanksgiving and a joyful song.

“The Lord is God, the might God . . . the dry land, too, for it was formed by his hands.”
You who made the entire world, Lord, allowed the world to condemn, abuse, and kill you. What unfathomable humility! What a wonder, that all-powerful You made yourself subject to our whims. [This demonstrates the degree to which] You create us with free will. In thus creating us, you accept death at our hands [through which you free us from death]!
What love, Lord, that you created us anyway [in spite of this]! Then died for us.

“Come then, let us bow down and worship, . . . for he is our God, and we are the people he shepherds, the flock he guides.”
We put our Creator to death. Only you could allow it, Lord. And this is how you shepherd and guide us. “The Good Shepherd lays down his life for his sheep,” [you tell us]. “Come, let us worship” we will echo again in the liturgy of this day [as the wood of the cross is exposed].

“Today, listen to the voice of the Lord. Do not grow stubborn . . . They shall not enter into my rest.”
For us, Calvary is our Meribah and Massah. Every time we harden out hearts against you, Lord, it is at Calvary. We challenge and provoke you, and in response you die for us. But woe be unto us if we remain hard-hearted, having seen you on the cross for us. We refuse your rest when we do so.


“I confess that I am guilty, and my sin fills me with dismay.” – Ps 38
Your sacrifice is greater than my sins have been, O Lord. Gazing upon you as you are beaten and whipped, buffeted and scorned, spat upon and pierced for me, I know that I have done this to you, for “my sin fills me with dismay.” But “If We Are the Body,” our sin had this effect on you but has the same effect on us, only you bore it in full to deliver us from it.

Heb 9, 11-25
[I just grasped the link between the concept of a] “Testament” and the death of the testator! If we are to be your Testament, Lord, we must die with you to ourselves.

St. John Chrysostom
This reading just blows me away [each year]. It draws me into you, Lord.
What business does the Body of Christ have refusing to be imprisoned, beaten, spat upon, and put to death? It is our great privilege to suffer with Christ, to be rejected with him [for the sake of those rejecting him, as we ourselves have indeed done].

Holy Thursday/Good Friday, April 17/18, 2003

The first of two posts containing reflections before the Blessed Sacrament during the Holy Thursday night/Good Friday morning adoration vigil:

2:10 am
What a gift you give us, Lord, to allow us to come into your presence, before your throne of grace, reverently worshipping you and interceding for those whom we love!

Thank you, Lord, for your holy suffering for me, for those I love. Thank you for allowing me to pray for my cousins [with whom I’d been recently reunited following their father’s death], each by name, to lift up their concerns, especially for their father, and also for the resulting rededication in prayer for my own dad. May you, O perfect Father, draw both Gary and Carl home to you in wholeness for all eternity.

Thank you, as well, for a blessed Holy Thursday Mass of your Supper. Bless Jodi and Matt this weekend as they lead us in music ministry. Bless Cassie and Heather on their trip. Bless my daughters with a renewed love for you, O Lord. Help our grandchildren to grow in you, as well. Heal () and () of their brokenness. Draw them to you.

2:30 am
Thank you for the Divine Office, and for your gifts of the Spirit!
Ps 22: “But I am a worm, and no man. Scorned by men. Despised by the people.” Lord, if you bore my sin, as you surely did, how could you have not been scorned, despised. I am scorned and despised not as I should be, for love of You, but because of my own sin. Yet in you I am made whole, and find my dignity in the only refuge for which I have any hope. And what a Hope!

“All who see me deride me.” Lord, I know this Psalm refers to you, but I (please forgive my impudence, if it be) find myself in it, too. I thank you for answering my prayer: “O Lord, do not leave me alone . . . Rescue me . . . Save me.”

Ps 38: “My wounds are foul and festering, the result of my own folly . . . I confess that I am guilty, and my sin fills me with dismay.”! And thank you again for answering this prayer: “O Lord, do not forsake me. My God, do not stay far off. Make haste and come to my help O Lord, my God, my Savior!”

Heb 9: “. . . how much more will the blood cleanse our consciences from dead works to worship the living God!” The blood of the sacrifice was the blood of the “testator,” now Christ. “Without the shedding of blood there is no forgiveness.” The symbols of heaven called for these purifications, but reality for a perfect sacrifice. Parallel the delivery of today’s Jews from Egypt in union with their/our ancestors (“For this night we are delivered from our slavery”), being present today in the event of the distant past, with our participation today at Christ’s eternal sacrifice.

We are born to live in Him. For this reason, He was born to die for us.

St. John Chrysostom:
The saving power of the lamb’s blood was only because it prefigured Christ’s! Satan cannot enter into that which is protected by the blood of the Lamb! Our lips => the door of the Lord’s temple. Water and blood from the Lord’s side => Baptism and Eucharist. From his side Christ fashioned the Church, his Bride => Adam and Eve.
“By one and the same food we are both brought into being and nourished.”

Easter vigil

"Easter Vigil is only for the strong."

"It's typically a minimum of two full hours to get through the service, and if it's done right, it's liturgy at its very best and you don't want to miss it."

Which of these two invitations would be more likely to get you to the service?

Our pastor, unfortunately, used the former one, though I can't complain too much as it is one of the few times I've been disappointed in him in any way. I'm afraid to see how the parish is going to respond to it! I want the church to be full as our RCIA candidates and elect receive the sacraments of initiation.

The second quote above is from a blog I stumbled across, and represents my point of view better than I could have said it myself. At our parish, which uses every reading, the service is about 2-and-a-half hours, followed by a reception for the new Catholics. This is my first year being involved in our parish RCIA program (the last time was 1990 at Shemya); I'm usually too involved with music. But when I was asked by someone for whom I care deeply to be his sponsor, it was an opportunity I just couldn't turn down. What a blessing it has been to see the newcomers grow together, to watch them grapple with their respective concerns, and especially to see them grow closer to the Lord. I'm so excited for all of them, both in this wonderful time and for the walk with God they have ahead of them.

Quiet Presence

Today was the first time I can ever remember our men's group sitting for so long as we did, just quietly basking in the presence of the Lord. I had what seemed like an incredible glimpse into eternity, almost a vision of the whole of salvation history - past, present, and future - being present in the moment that we were gathered together in silence. And I could tell as we sat together that we were sharing a wonderful awareness of God's presence.

We also had a wonderful reunion with dear friends from long ago who were in town for the weekend. It was a joy to be able to see how their family has grown, to share these few brief hours together in their company.

The Lord's Prayer - Our Daddy

Last night I heard a wonderful reflection on The Lord's Prayer, offered by a fellow parishioner and dear friend. The beginning of it caused me to reflect a little on what this prayer means to me.

Unlike my friend, I don't have many fond memories of my earthly father. In fact, speaking of "my father" is a little tricky. Do I mean my biological father? Rarely. He decided soon after I was born that life with my mom was a little too much like what he'd been trying to escape from, which maybe hadn't been so awful after all. I'm glad he went back to his family; it's where he belonged. But four and a half decades later, I still wonder: did he ever think of me again?

Most often when I say "Dad," I'm referring to my adoptive father, who married my mom when I was around 3. One of my earliest memories is of being carried into his house on his shoulder, when we moved in. I fondly remember going to Orioles' games, and one Colts' game, with him, and watching both on television often. He taught me to appreciate sports as a spectator, and because of his longing to relive the glory days of his youthful athletic prowess - abilities which I didn't share with him - to dread them as a participant. I know he tried to accept me as his own, but in retrospect I think he never quite managed it. Eventually he drowned in the bottle by which he attempted to escape his misery. That leaves the worst anecdote untold, but I pray he has accepted the peace and love in death that eluded him in life.

Rarely do I refer to my stepfather in any other way than as "my stepfather." For one thing, he didn't marry my mom until I was grown, though he was very much a part of our lives by my mid-teens. He taught me many useful things, and nurtured my self-confidence in ways Dad just wasn't equipped to do. Aside from that, I choose to say little about him here, mostly because I've forgiven him my deepest hurt as I've received similar forgiveness myself. We don't speak often, but I always pray for the best for him.

Which brings us, at last, back to this wonderful prayer. Even though my own experiences of earthly fatherhood have not been generally positive - and I realize I'm not alone in that - I know I have a Dad who loves me perfectly. Our Father, our wonderful God, is a Papa who is always eager to draw us into his loving embrace. We need never fear him; though the circumstances of life may vacillate between excruciating pain and abundant joy, our Divine Daddy is with us, sharing our joy and comforting our sorrow. Whatever we have done to distance ourselves from him, he always offers us understanding and forgiveness. Through Jesus, his eternally begotten Son by very nature, he has chosen each of us and made us a beloved son or daughter, despite having already seen all the ways we will ever lash out against him, every manner in which we'll ever hurt his other precious children. He is ever reconciling us to himself and to one another through his Son, our Savior (which I think relates to my preceeding post, as well).

I am so glad - so blessed! - to have such a wonderful Abba!

Thoughts from St. Augustine

Most of my blog references to the writings of the saints, unless indicated otherwise in the blog somewhere such as a book I'm reading, are from the Divine Office. This was from Wednesday:

"God could give no greater gift to men than to make his Word, through whom he created all things, their head, and to join them to him as his members, so that the Word might be both Son of God and son of man, one God with the Father, and one man with all men. The result is that when we speak with God in prayer we do not separate the Son from him, and when the body of the Son prays it does not separate its head from itself: it is the one Savior of his body, our Lord Jesus Christ, the Son of God, who prays for us and in us and is himself the object of our prayers.
"He prays for us as our priest, he prays in us as our head, he is the object of our prayers as our God."

No wonder this saint is a Doctor of the Church! It seems preposterous to think I might add anything, and still I type. To misapply scripture: focus on the things above, not the things below!

This is why prayer is effective. It isn't some mumbo-jumbo, a magic trick, a bargaining process, a reward for being good, or an attempt to earn a favor. When we pray, fast, or give alms in one form or another, it is not just us doing it. Since it is Christ at work in his body, thus are we transformed, even though the primary objective we might have in mind is not our own transformation. In fact, all the better if it isn't. It is always what Christ desires for us, though, and what he effects within us. But since Jesus is one with all people, and we are one with our Head, then it is impossible to sincerely ask God to meet our needs alone, or to only meet the needs of others. In each case, God will be working in others through us and in us through others.

A wonderful evening

Lord, let there be no boasting in this post, save in You.

It was so nice last night to get my wife back home. She and our youngest grandchild had a very nice visit with her parents over the previous week. It's hard to explain how it feels to be apart from her. It isn't that she completes me; only God does that. Yet I think we both have a deep sense of belonging together, and when we're not, we miss one another, yet we know we're still united. I don't think either of us feel an unhealthy pining when we're apart. I had a pretty active week, and was never exactly sad, and yet I missed her, looked forward to being with her again, and now she's home. **Pleasant sigh**

In a normal week, her homecoming might have led me to skip our Tuesday night prayer group. But we didn't meet last week because of a conflicting parish event, and I will miss the next two meetings. Besides, Teri wanted to attend her faith sharing group, as well, so it worked out nicely for both of us. What a wonderful meeting, with a reminder to trust that God's gifts to us are always priceless treasures, even if they are sometimes veiled.

The other reason I might have wanted to skip last night's meeting was the women's basketball final. Nobody picked the Terps to be in that game, and even after beating the concensus best team in the country for the second time (UNC's only two defeats, mind you), no one picked them to win it. We have friends who are Duke alumni, and we put a small wager on the game: a contribution to one another's Easter dinner. Even though the young, inexperienced, underdog Terps won the game - and we won the bet - our friends are going to get a delicious cheesecake from the family recipe anyway. It was an exciting, inspiring overtime victory.

Afterward, and after some quality time during and after the game with the mrs., I could tell that my body still needed some time to relax, to unwind, so I reclined on the sofa to read a little of Saint Teresa. As I sat down, I was immediately aware that, as heart-pounding as the game was, the prayer meeting had been a more wonderful thing. My reunion with my wife, too, far outshone it. And this time I was now spending in the silence, in God's presence reflecting on the words written by this inspired saint - well, if they're not inspired they're not saints, but you know what I mean - was the sumptuous dessert of a splendid banquet of a day. I know that this was another wonderful glimpse of the banquet will never truly end.

Glory versus death; pride and fear

St. Leo the Great:

"The earth - our earthly nature - should tremble at the suffering of its Redeemer. The rocks - the hearts of unbelievers - should burst asunder. The dead, imprisoned in the tombs of their mortality, should come forth, the massive stones now ripped apart . . . .

"The body that lay lifeless in the tomb is ours. The body that rose again on the third day is ours. The body that ascended above all the heights of heaven to the right hand of the Father's glory is ours."

Then why do we insist on remaining entombed? Why do we cling to being dead rather than embracing the glory to which we are called? Why do we embrace the pleasures and comforts of this world as if they were the life that lasts?

The other day I had a thought that I think is related to these questions: our two greatest obstacles to becoming the glorious saints God desires for us to become are our pride and our fear, and they are more closely related than we often realize.

Even though I've been blessed with a relationship with the Lord for over 20 years now, I have nonetheless lived much of my life as a slave to sensuality - that is, to the gratification of the senses or the indulgence of the physical appetites as ends in themselves. Our society tells us that the treasure of life lies chiefly in the sights, sounds, tastes and scents, and touches that we experience. Every avenue of art and commerce are predicated on convincing us that our lives will be poorer if we fail to experience what they offer us.

God tells us the same thing.

So why do we insist on believing the world?

Pride, and fear.

We are proud of who we are. We are rational, healthy people who don't need a crutch to get through life. We have accomplished much, and we must have the recognition for it.

And we are afraid that if we believe God instead, we're going to miss out on life. Let's face it, there are a lot of pleasurable things that God asks us to receive differently from him than the world offers it. Moderation doesn't seem fun. We're afraid that life according to God's desire for us will be less than life done our own way.

I know it isn't that simple. But doesn't it seem like that's a pretty big piece of the problem?

With Potter

Separation, Day 2

My wife is out of town for most of a week, and so far I have been too busy to miss her much for most of the day.

But when I've come home from work the past two days, I've missed knowing there was someone who loves me to greet me. This little guy is always excited to see me, but it isn't quite the same.

And when I climb into bed, I miss being able to unpack the day with her, but even more I miss knowing that I'm going to spend the next 8 hours next to the person (besides God) who loves me the most.

Around Saturday evening I'm going to get a chance to catch my breath during the day, at which point I'll probably start missing her a lot more frequently. But I'm really glad this separation is only for a few days, and even if my waking hours are filled to the brim with activity between now and next Tuesday, I'm going to be really glad when she's home.

Seductions (revised)

"'You are locked in daily battle with the Devil. What do you see as Satan's greatest success?'
AMORTH: 'The fact that he has managed to convince people that he does not exist. He has almost managed it, even within the Church. We have a clergy and an Episcopate who no longer believe in the Devil, in exorcism, in the exceptional evil the Devil can instill, or even in the power that Jesus bestowed to cast out demons. '

'How does the Devil go about seducing men and women?'
AMORTH: 'He convinces people that there is no hell, that there is no sin, just one more experience to live. Lust, success and power are the three great passions on which the Devil insists.' "

These excerpts are from a recent interview with Rome's leading exorcist priest. In our modern, rationalistic society, the entire discussion seems a bit quaint and superstitious. How brilliant of our Adversary to convince us of the vast superiority of our supposedly advanced culture. We think we can explain all evil without the need to personalize it, and that belief in a malevolent being somehow reduces our personal responsibility for the wrong we commit. How perilous it is for us to fall for this deception!

As for Fr. Amorth's point about our seduction, I was struck by how well it matches what I heard from Chuck Swindoll last week concerning the three areas by which the world judges us. If we're rich, successful, or powerful, only then are we to be admired. Only then are we worthy of attention or emulation.

Each of these three passions represents a perversion of a gift of God, and each drives us unhealthily when we pursue it inordinately. Matthew Kelly says we can never get enough of what we don't really need, but I'd amend that just a bit. I'd suggest that there is no good thing which God has provided, to meet our true needs and to help us grow, which will not consume us if we become enamored of it and pursue it, for its own sake, beyond necessity. (Maybe that's really the same thing.)

Lust is a perversion of our need for intimacy. We need to be close to others, and particularly to God, but we get this need out of whack. Even married people are called to a chaste (that is, appropriately holy) life in the area of our sexuality rather than making an idol of sexual experiences. Conversely, even the celibate among us have a sexual element of their personhood that they must recognize and acknowledge in the context of their chastity.

The drive for success can be a perversion of both our basic physical needs - sustenance, shelter, etc. - but also of our need for self-esteem. Rather than finding our self-worth in God's love for us, in the gift of our personhood in Christ, we too often esteem ourselves only in comparison with others. This plays out in many ways beyond having the latest technological gadgets and the most impressive home. We see it in people who are more concerned over whether their spouses or their children embarrass them than in truly nurturing and loving them in the context of their relationships.

The pursuit of power is a perversion of our need for control and security. A healthy person controls their choices and their behaviors. An unhealthy one strives to control all of their circumstances in an ever-expanding sphere of influence, often for fear of vulnerability.

It seems to me that there's a lot of overlap between these areas, that the boundaries between them are not cut so clearly. We could probably expand on each one of them at length. Yet the transformation of each of these gifts into a passion represents a fundamental failure to trust God for what we truly need, to believe and take action on the knowledge that God's desires for us are more trustworthy than our own desires for ourselves.

The Interior Castle

I have begun reading this book by St. Teresa of Avila, which I presume is going to be a book about prayer. I'm struck by a couple things about it already, though.

First, in the preface, Father Raimundo Panikkar makes a point closely related to some of my earlier musings on holiness. Being a saint, he suggests, is not about our achieving perfection on our own efforts, but is about God dwelling in the person of the saint. I will certainly be reading the rest of this preface.

I don't like to spend too much time in the preliminaries of such a book, though, before beginning to get a sense of the body of the text. So I've also read St. Teresa's own prologue. In just two pages, I have encountered a humble, obedient soul, who I'm eager to journey along with for a while.

The Second Scrutiny

"But we see, you say, so your sin remains."

Is this as much an indictment of rationalism as it ever was of Pharisaism?
Are not both of these attitudes as prevalent today as they have ever been?

As pertinent as these questions may be, last night I found myself grappling instead with one that is of more value for me. After thirty minutes of (I believe) Spirit-led soul-searching, a technical glitch prevented me from posting what I'd written, the words vanished from my screen. So maybe I'm just supposed to post the question here, for reflection:

In what ways do I insist that I see, and so my sin remains?

Holy Spirit, you alone can reveal this. Show me, and heal me of my blindness.

The Annunciation

Ps 2: "Come, let us break their fetters; come, let us cast off their yoke."

This is still the outcry of the world against the Lord, misunderstanding the nature of his yoke. We want to determine our own destiny. Freedom to us means freedom to do whatever we want, and if the Lord tells us that some things are not best for us or for those around us, well, we're best suited to decide what's in our best interest. We don't need some oppressive set of moral restrictions! Nobody else is going to tell us what's right and what's wrong!

This solemnity of the Annunciation should paint a vastly different picture for us of what God is about, what he wants for us, and what he was willing to bear to reach us. The idea of being sinful, of being in need of redemption, doesn't sit well in the modern mind. Even when we've acccepted the idea of God, we've gotten so focused on the aspect of a loving God that we forget why that love is so important to us.

Christ's incarnation and his evenutal sacrificial death are so integral as to be inseparable. Our RCIA group had a rather lengthy discussion, early in the year, regarding whether we are saved by Christ's death or by his life. It is an impossible debate, because they are so intertwined. Had Jesus been put to death as an infant or toddler, along with so many of his peers, wouldn't he still have been the spotless sacrifice? Yet the public ministry that we needed in order to learn to recognize him, then and now, would never have occurred. Though his birth itself fulfilled prophecies, many other prophecies would not have been fulfilled, the church would never have been founded, and countless lives would never have been transformed. (In considering such mysteries, it is good to remember the idea of God existing outside of time, so that the utterance of a prophecy and its fulfillment are simultaneous.) Returning, then, to the aforementioned discussion, in baptism we both die with Christ and come to new life in him, and we cannot have one without the other.

So in the Annunciation, Mary's yes echoes the eternal Son's yes, to leave the throne of heaven and become fully human while remaining fully God. That yes would be reaffirmed in the Garden, and becomes our yes as we ask the Spirit to live within us, allowing Christ himself to shine through us.

"Let it be done to me as you have said."

Repentance and Holiness - Part III

Our holiness is a perfect gift from God, poured into our lives through our Baptism, but our response to it is often less than perfect. As a result, Christ has given the Church the season of Lent and the sacrament of Reconciliation as opportunities to open ourselves more fully to this marvelous gift, that he might transform us more completely in him. During Lent, we forsake those things that the Holy Spirit reveals to be distractions from God's love, or those the forsaking of which might remind us of God’s love. By our participation with this grace, we are then more open to recognize those ways in which we’ve closed ourselves off from God. In Reconciliation, we turn away from those sins by which we’ve obstructed God's grace, and are restored in our relationship with Him in a unique way. These ministrations of the Holy Spirit bring a joy to our life, and are manifested in a greater desire to seek God’s will ahead of our own. We know that this is all God’s gift to us, not our own accomplishment.

Of course, penitence often doesn't feel ministerial when we're in the midst of it. Sometimes it can feel more like that two-by-four getting our attention. Or it may feel as if we’re being pruned, and the more we've nurtured those wayward limbs, the more the pruning pains us. Yet when it's complete, not only will it not hurt anymore, but the Lord provides growth for new, healthy limbs in place of the old, unbalanced ones. These bring a joy far greater than the small pleasures which we so stubbornly resist giving up and to which we've limited ourselves, and they bear fruit that nourishes us and those around us.

While we are the ones now experiencing the painful death of some previously idolized part of ourselves, it might help us to remember that Christ bore that death long before we decided to participate in it. Our struggle is but the manifestation of his victorious sacrifice in our lives. In this way we may come to understand that it is not, in fact, we who are doing the work of transforming ourselves in some way. We're merely getting ourselves out of the way of the wonderful work he is completing in us.

It is good for us to recall, as well, that we are not the entire vine! As we continue to nurture sub-branches in our lives that grow in unhealthy directions, we're inevitably hurting other branches of the vine. The fact that our limited vision obscures their pain from our consciousness doesn't make it any less real. This is part of why it is so important for us to allow the teaching of the Church to inform our conscience rather than deciding for ourselves what is right and wrong.

Lent and Reconciliation, the season and sacrament of penitence, are about more than our own striving to avoid the sins that have marked our lives, stifled us, and hurt others. Rather, the season and the sacrament represent God speaking our holiness into being in new, unique, and wondrous ways. Each is the equivalent of Jesus giving Peter the opportunity to be reaffirmed and transformed in the aftermath of his denial. That reconciliation has reverberated in our world for nearly two millennia, and we believe that it will continue on for all eternity as we praise God around His throne. Like Peter, we are made holy by God's grace manifested in Christ. The song of repentance and reconciliation which God allows us to sing with Him will carry on in ways we can't foresee, for each voice is the echo of the grace poured out at God's command, the Word who is Himself eternal.

Misattribution and good intentions

I'm sometimes amazed at how my mind gets wrapped up in its own thoughts and assumes that I'm in harmony with the people around me.

This morning I rose early, as I've been doing throughout Lent, and was blessed with some time with the One who loves me most (morning prayer instead of Office of Readings this morning, because I love praying Psalm 51; thus no reflection yet on today's scriptural or extracanonical readings), after which I quickly ate and started on the few dishes that were in the sink. I was in a great mood, with a song from Wednesday's choir rehearsal in my ear, thinking of how blessed I am in general, and how much I love my wife. I was really enjoying this chore, keeping the noise down as she slept just down the hallway.

"Darling?" I heard her call out to me after a few minutes, and went to the bedroom to see what she wanted. "I'll take care of those before Hannah gets here," she offered.

I thought it was really nice of her to offer, but I was enjoying doing this so much, and really wanted to serve her a bit, to perhaps make her day a little better.

"That's okay," I said. "I don't mind, and I have time."

I was turning to head back to my task when she replied, "Well . . . "

I turned back toward her.

"You're keeping me awake."

Oops. So much for making her day better. Turns out I just made it start sooner. Closing the door didn't help, either, as the damage was done. Oh well. Sorry, hon!

Exodus, Tertullian

Exodus 34:
"I will drive out before you the Amorites, Canaanites, Hittites, Perizzites, Hivites, and Jebusites. Take care, therefore, not to make a covenant with these inhabitants of the land that you are to enter; else they will become a snare among you. Tear down their altars; smash their sacred pillars, and cut down their sacred poles . . . Neither shall you take their daughters as wives for your sones; otherwise, when their daughters rendert heir wanton worship to their gods, they will make your sons do the same."

I'm amazed at how the Sciptures continually take on new meaning throughout our lives. Once I might have used this passage as evidence of God's unjustness. "What did those Amorites and Jebusites do to deserve being driven out?" I'd have asked myself, rejecting the possibility that a loving God could be at work in this way. Later, I reached the point of asking God, "Why would you do such a thing, Lord?" Then I could see how the faithfulness of God's people might have served as a sign of God's love and fidelity for those around them, so they too might be drawn into the faithful love of the Lord. When God's people failed to heed this warning, their faithlessness bore a negative witness, instead.

But when I ask the Lord what significance this passage could possibly hold for me today, three millenia after his people entered the promised land, a whole new window opens up. "With what natives of this world have I made a covenant?" I must inquire. "With what influences have I joined my flesh, rather than driving them out of my life?" In our baptism, God delivers us from the death of sin into his kingdom of life, but there remain many things around us that are not his desire for us. When we take them to ourselves and hold them dear, they keep us from experiencing the full, abundant life God has promised us.

Tertullian:
"Prayer cleanses from sin, drives away temptations, stamps out persecutions, comforts the fainthearted, gives new strength to the courageous, brings travelers safely home, calms the waves, confounds robbers, feeds the poor, overrules the rich, lifts up the fallen, supports those who are fallings, sustains those who stand firm."

We mustn't misunderstand. It isn't that by our prayer we accomplish any of these things. "Prayer," as an action that we undertake on our own, couldn't do anything. Rather, God does them all, and as we open ourselves to God and allow him to draw us into true prayer, in spirit and in truth (last Sunday's cycle A gospel), we are brought in touch with God's grace. The more we embrace the aforementioned worldly or sinful influences, the less able we are to pray well and to experience the resulting power of God to transform our lives. But when we allow God to free us from the influence of the "natives" in our lives, he accomplishes all of the wonders St. Tertullian mentions, and more. It is through prayer that God moves in and through our lives most powerfully.

Thoughts on St. Theophilus

St. Theophilus of Antioch:

"A person's soul should be clean, like a mirror reflecting light. If there is rust on the mirror, his face cannot be seen in it. In the same way, no one who has sin within him can see God.

"But if you will you can be healed. Hand yourself over to the doctor, and he will open the eyes of your mind and heart . . . .

"But, before all, faith and the fear of God must take the first place in your heart."

I would expand a little. It has been my experience that the more I have insisted on clinging to my sin, or resisted it only in the ways that I was willing, the less able I was to open myself up to God and to know the joy of simply being in him. It takes a combination of similes to explain what this was like, for me.

- It was the monkey trap, the hollowed out hole large enough for the monkey to work in an open, empty hand, but too small to withdraw a closed one. Resisting God's call to holiness, embracing sin, was like clenching my fist around the nut with which my adversary had baited that monkey trap, and as long as I held fast to the the allure of the prize - which I could never really have - I was caught fast.

- It was like being a small child with a tennis ball in each hand. When God wanted to give me something more meaningful, as long as I clung to both tennis balls, I couldn't receive the far greater blessing God wanted for me.

Often I'm still too attached to smaller gifts. I think that's an issue for all followers of Christ. The more we've let go of, the more we discover to let go of, though the things we retain are progressively smaller than the ones we've already released. But as long as we think we have all we really need, we will never experience the joy of discovering the abundant depth of the life to which God is calling us.

I have the cart before the horse, of course. As long as we think we're okay without God, or with him at a distance, as long as we're convinced that a little religion is okay but we don't want to go overboard, none of this will make any sense. This is why the "fear of God" must join "faith" in "first place in your heart." I've written recently on the fear of the Lord, but I'm not sure I mentioned that it includes an awareness that we have absolutely no chance of measuring up to his standard. Once I know I am completely lost without him, only then will I turn myself over to the doctor, and receive him, only after which can I begin to go deeper with him.

But if I think I'm okay, then I'm really in trouble. "'But we see,' you say, and your sin remains." More on that as we approach the second scrutiny . . .

Freedom

Of late, I've found some of these same strategies helpful for avoiding temptation on the internet, too. Mostly, I'm finally receiving the grace and freedom that God has always wanted to give me in this area. Returning to periodic Reconciliation has helped. It is true that each sacrament offers grace in a form that is uniquely available through it. Being free of an area of sin that has plagued me for much of my life is such a relief. As someone who has struggled - and chosen poorly - in this area for much of his adult life, I can't express the joy and FREEDOM God is giving me in this area.

Business travel

I have a good friend who is traveling this week (hi!), and know many others who travel frequently on business. I'm glad I'm not one of them, even aside from the other things it would interfere with.

It isn't that I don't like traveling, exactly. I love it. I enjoy going someplace new, taking the evening to see a landmark I've never been to, finding a nice restaurant with a special that's a bit different from what I can get at home. But at the end of the day - pardon the cliché, but I mean it literally - I've got to go back to that room. There it lurks, waiting to suck . . . me . . . in: the television, that marvelous modern invention which allows us to spend our time on, usually, nothing fruitful, at best. At home, where we restrict its offerings to a limited number of relatively benign basic channels, it's mostly a mere nuisance. I'm not too likely to get drawn into content that is outright sinful, largely because we've chosen not to subscribe to it, though an increasing amount of network content is just, well, prurient. But when I travel, it's hard to find a hotel anymore that doesn't offer at least some content that I've historically found more tantalizing. That's especially true on business, when the company has more say over my accommodations.

I haven't been away on business for several years now, but before my job became so stationary I began doing some things that helped me avoid putting those images before my eyes. I heard a speaker once suggest putting pictures of the family around the room, especially right on top of the ol' idiot box. I also make sure I'm equipped with some good prayer and reading material, including the Divine Office. Also, I like to have someone who knows my weakness in this area praying for me, a favor I try to return for my friends.

Finally, if there isn't a bunch of extra work to occupy me in the evening, I take advantage of the opportunity to journal. I love to write! I was cleaning out a padfolio the other day and reading through some of my travel and prayer journaling. It was a nice review, a chance to observe my growth and God's grace over the past few years.

St. Joseph

Today is St. Joseph's solemnity. It's normally celebrated on March 19th, but since that was a Lenten Sunday this year, it got migrated to the next available day. It's one of two celebrations of St. Joseph, actually. Today celebrates his role as husband of Mary, and May 1st is the feast of St. Joseph the Worker. Same guy, two feast days celebrating different aspects of his life. The latter date is celebrated secularly in communist or socialist countries as May Day, which seems ironic for those nations which have outlawed religion. At the same time, it leaves me a bit hopeful, as I think of St. Joseph praying for those who have things out of spiritual balance.

Today's feast, however, tends to remind me of both my shortcomings and strengths as a husband. I find myself grateful for the opportunity to be a vastly better husband than the record would have declared ten years ago, and a better one today than yesterday. Just a year ago I'd probably have been a bit morose over my failings, both the larger ones of the past and my current smaller ones. Now I think I have a better perspective on both. Maybe that's because I'm more focused on the present than I've ever been. We can't change the past, no matter how much I'd like to, so I need to focus on being the husband and family man I'm called to be today.

We get less of St. Joseph than I'd like in the gospels, but it's clear that he strove to do God's will, as a husband and a father. We tend not to think in such terms today, but when we do, we tend to find ourselves a lot more fulfilled. Chasing after nebulous mirages leaves us feeling empty, wanting. But we can know pretty well what God wants for us, always generally, and often specifically. He wants us to love well, to give ourselves fully. Contrary to our modern approach to life, that isn't primarily about what we feel (but that's a whole 'nother post).

And paradoxically, giving ourselves fully never leaves us empty.

St. Joseph, pray for us.

The Woman at the Well

This weekend, since we have an RCIA group, we had the gospel reading of Jesus and the Samaritan woman at the well (Jn 4). It's a great illustration of how Jesus works with us, especially the most shameful of us.

Here is this woman, alone at the village well in the middle of the day when Jesus arrived. Anyone who has studied this story knows that this in itself was unusual. The women drew their water in the morning, while it was cooler, and used the time as a social gathering. They'd share what was going on in their lives and catch up on the latest gossip. This woman's isolated water errand later in the day indicates that she was not comfortable with the other women, did not feel welcome in their presence. Perhaps she'd been ridiculed and outcast because of her past.

Even without any sort of divine insight, Jesus would have suspected she was a social misfit, but two other reasons proscribed him from speaking to her: a man would not have conversed with an unaccompanied woman, and a Jew would not condescend to speak to a Samaritan. Nonetheless, he did not let any of these social limitations bar him from the transformation which he wanted for her. Maybe her outcast status was the primary reason that he reached out to her despite her being a Samaritan woman. By his mere willingness to speak with her, he tempered his later words when he began to speak the truth of her status. When in the course of their conversation he made clear that he knew about her, she was prepared to not feel ridicule or scorn from him because he had not started off with an accusation. His discussion of her past becomes a revelation of mercy, because he has already not rejected her despite knowing the truth of which she is so ashamed.

The transformation in her is incredible. This shameful woman who'd avoided her neighbors, been hurt and shunned by them, was now driven to tell them all about the one she'd encountered. Her testimony must have been compelling, for rather than rejecting her further, they came to see for themselves, and discovered the wonderful Savior for whom they'd been longing for so long.

So it is with us. Are not the strongest testimonies to Christ's power given by those who have been delivered from the greatest darkness? St. Augustine says that the Samaritan woman is a precursor to each of us, that she has become a symbol of what happens in our own transformation. I remember, as a proud young man, coming to the conclusion that religion was for the weak. It was only when I encountered my own weakness that I came to understand that Jesus had acknowledged as much: "The well do not need a doctor; sick people do."

There is a wonderful Savior who has loved me, even to death, despite my failings. I suppose this blog is my equivalent of going and telling those around me so that they might want to know him, too.

Repentance and Holiness - Part II

We often hear how difficult it is to be a Christian today, largely due to the pervasive carnality of our modern culture. But a mere glance at the lives of the saints throughout history makes clear that those who would have God work through them have always struggled against a variety of worldly influences. I think our real challenge today is that we'd rather be normal rather than different (weird), let alone holy. Maybe it has always been so. Perhaps, by such a mindset, we give ourselves permission to accept the world's standard for our lives rather than God's, which we deem unattainable. We'd be right to think such a calling is beyond us, if it were up to us to achieve it. If we convince ourselves we cannot sing such a pure song, then it becomes comfortable to tolerate or even indulge in the counterfeit pleasures that the world offers.

In acknowledging that, by my sacramental life and (it should go without saying, for it is one and the same) by God's grace, I am different, I am holy, I hear God's call in my life in a way that helps me recognize where I've compromised. I begin to see the ways in which I've settled for less than God has dreamt for me, a song inferior to the one he would compose. As my life begins to sing notes that match God's melody rather than clash against it, I come to know that there is a joy greater than that to which I erroneously cling.

As is so often the case, there are two opposite errors in which we tune out the song of holiness.

Some people view salvation like this: when we're saved, God declares us to be holy even though we aren't, because of the sacrifice of Jesus Christ covering over our sin. While that might seem merciful, if it were so, God would be a liar. We forget that when God declares a thing, that thing IS! There is no denying it or arguing with it. If God "says" or "declares" that we are holy, then he MAKES us holy, by the power of the Holy Spirit. This is why we paraphrase the centurion at each Eucharist: "Only say the word and I shall be healed." We know that what God speaks, is.

Understanding how we err in the other direction takes some development. The Church links the concepts of salvation (delivery from the penalty of sin) and sanctification (transformation in Christ), as they should be. We view them as a process in which we’re continually transformed by grace as we walk with Christ. Yet we often hinder ourselves from experiencing grace’s full manifestation in our lives. The error lies in this: twisting the concept of this process, we often still think of ourselves as slaves to sin as a result of being human, with scant hope of ever being saintly. Sometimes we go so far as to disdain holiness, for fear of hypocrisy or of failure. But it is this very slavery to sin from which Christ has purchased our freedom. We must avoid embracing the common attitude that holiness is a goal beyond us, for it is a denial that God's grace and power are without limit, a denial of Christ's victory. It can represent a failure to fully believe in Him, a reverse pride that declares that my shortcomings are too great for God to overcome! We must remember that while we may not fully experience our holiness in this life – indeed, the closer we grow to Christ the more aware we are likely to be of our unworthiness of him – it is no less real, and we are to grow in it each day. This happens not merely by virtue of our trying harder or being better, but because of God's grace transforming more of our lives.

This is what we celebrate in a special way each Lenten season. It isn't that we become holy by our efforts, though our willingness to participate in the process is necessary. It's more that, as we become more willing, allowing God to open us more to grace, He enables us to participate in and communicate with his grace more completely. It is the Holy Spirit who whispers to us, revealing those areas in which we remain closed off. If we don't heed the whisper, because of the holy grace God has already poured into our lives through our Baptism, it is the Holy Spirit who ultimately hits us alongside the head with whatever two-by-four it takes to get our attention. In either case, it is also the Holy Spirit who opens those locked doors when we finally yield to his ministrations to us, the Spirit whose voice soars through us, making our life a majestic song of God's glory.

The fear of the Lord

There is a fine-hearted older gentleman in our parish, who has had a passion for evangelization for the entire dozen years I've known him. He abhors the expression "the fear of the Lord." "Fear keeps people away from God," he says. "People must know they have nothing to fear from God, for God is love."

On the one hand he is right. On the other, as Saint Hilary observes, fear of the Lord is not, exactly, fear. In fact, I suspect that fear of the Lord has no more in common with worldly fear than God's love has in common with worldly love.

There are many things we fear, and those fears lead us to behave (or misbehave!) in a variety of ways. We fear being hurt, not experiencing all we want out of life, not being in control, being alone, being unlovable. We avoid what we fear, or get angry because of it. We cower, or lash out. Sometimes we act in ways that fulfill our fear. Ultimately, fight or flight are the only responses to worldly fear. In choosing one or the other, we often make choices that ultimately are not good for us, including decisions that hurt those around us. Fear may be at the root of every unhealthy decision every person has ever made. Abusers of substances, position, people, and power all must learn, in the process of recovery, what part fear has played in their unconscious motivations. Often they learn that fear has been their constant, unrecognized companion. I will never forget the evening, nearly a decade ago, when I learned that I had lived in fear for as long as I could remember, without being aware of it.

Fear is not a completely negative thing. Certainly it is an important element of our instincts for self-preservation. Yet even when we deal with our fear in a healthy way, when we face its sources head on, we are fighting against it in some way.

The point is that the things we fear always motivate us to act, in one way or another. This is about all that ordinary fear has in common with the fear of the Lord. When our love and desire for God become greater than the other fears that we may experience in life, then we begin to know the fear of the Lord. It is what directs our hearts rightly when the influences around us would guide us wrongly. It is the outpouring of divine Wisdom, which quietly tells us that we can trust in God to care for us, even when the evidence would scream that the only way out is clearly contrary to his revealed desire.

It reminds us that, when wrong seems the only answer, indeed, when it seems the undeniable longing of our heart, choosing right will invariably serve us better, in ways we may not foresee.

It allows us to survive the darkest places on our path, where we can see neither our own feet nor the road beneath them, because we know there is an unfailing Light that will keep us from stumbling as long as we follow him.