Feasting and fasting

Last night we participated in what has become a wonderful annual tradition in our parish: the Shrove Tuesday evening prayer and feast, a family-friendly version of Mardi Gras. The children's and adults' choirs sang a few upbeat songs before the service, while families gathered with their kids, and it was an almost raucous atmosphere. I mean, the church was just packed, with everyone pumped for a fun time. Then the evening prayer service started in earnest, with more up-tempo singing and liturgical dance. And while things remained highly celebratory, the mood of the congregation shifted noticeably, as our rejoicing took on a sense of reverential thanks which even all the children seemed to get. The continuous undercurrent of noise that was present during our pre-service music just disappeared as we prayed and sang together.

Our pastor shared briefly on the contrast between the feasting of yesterday and the fast we start together today. He observed that we have just as many things in our life for which we are thankful, for which we have reason to proclaim an alleluia, and which we continue to appreciate during Lent. Still, we choose to shift our attention to ways in which we need to grow. It is a special season of growth and transformation, containing an important element of introspection but without self-centeredness or (especially!) self-loathing. After our joyful prayer together, we went over to the school gym/cafeteria for a snack-fest of nachos, popcorn, Belgian waffles, ice cream sundaes, and assorted other goodies. What a boisterous and joyful event!

All of this had me reflecting this morning on why we fast, and a thought immediately came to mind from a book I'm reading, Matthew Kelly's Seven Levels of Intimacy. At one point, he talks about the childish images that we so often associate with the concept of discipline (not a concept we normally apply to relationships and intimacy), and how we bristle against any intimation of having limits imposed on us. He suggests we instead think of the discipline of an athlete freely choosing to bring out the best in him- or herself. "Discipline," he says, "is a gift we give ourselves." He goes on to describe how our lives and relationships thrive when we gift them with appropriate self-discipline. "Discipline doesn't enslave or stifle us; rather, it sets us free to soar to unimagined heights." Still, discipline isn't the core human experience. Rather, it is the key to making us truly free from enslavement to the inertia and hedonism of modern life. "Freedom is not the ability to do whatever you want." How well this immature approach to freedom fits our faulty notion of discipline! "Freedom is the strength of character to do what is good, true, noble, and right. Freedom is the ability to choose and celebrate the-best-version-of-yourself [one of his central concepts] in every moment. Freedom without discipline is impossible."

Yet, he goes on, freedom is also not the core human experience. Rather, love is the essence of life. But to truly love we must be free, "for to love is to give your self [emphasis his] to someone or something freely, completely, unconditionally, and without reservation . . . Yet to give yourself -- to another person, to an endeavor, or to God -- you must first possess yourself." Self-possession requires freedom, and we are not free without the exercise of discipline.

Thus the season of Lent. Many people have discipline in their lives without a particular season. Still, I find it very helpful in this specific season of each year to journey together with others who are also seeking to become more free, so that we can truly love as we are called to do.

Valentine's Day

One of my goals in life is to never let my wife regret that we don't go out for dinner on Valentine's Day. Tonight, Epicurious.com helped me succeed for another year. She wasn't expecting much, knowing we had some not very impressive sirloin tips and new potatoes in the larder for tonight's meal. So when she came upstairs to find peppered steak with a port, zin, and 'shroom sauce, along with balsamic roasted potato wedges and a nice, simple salad, she was pleasantly surprised, and impressed far more than my effort warranted. And dessert -- strawberries in a chocolate caramel sauce with lightly sweetened whipped cream -- well, let's just say it far exceeded expectations.

Thanks, Mrs. Markelonis (my Bachelor Survival teacher in high school, who taught us our way around the kitchen, among other important survival skills)!

Oh, I almost forgot (what I'm sure, from her perspective, was) the best part! It was a snap to clean up as I went along, so I had all the dinner dishes done before dessert, and the dessert dishes not long thereafter. I hope my darling knows how much I love her!

Prayer in the context of relationship

There are many different ways to pray, and many different things to pray for. Is it right to pray for little, everyday things, as well as over more seemingly important matters? After establishing the context of relationships (previous post, below), I feel comfortable beginning to transition in this discussion of prayer, which is really a continuation:

Another paradox about giving self vs. giving things concerns that the way in which we give our self, which after all can be a little hard to put our finger on, exactly, is to give something more tangible: a hug, time, attention, a carefully-considered gift, help to grow, the choice to sacrifice something we want for the sake of the other (that can be a tough one, and here's another:), forgiveness when we've been really hurt, etc. But in a relationship, we can't only give big things, for a couple reasons. As human (flawed) givers, we tend to need to develop a degree of trust before we can give, and small giving helps us be able to trust ourselves for larger giving. But as receivers, we are also have a hard time accepting (in trust) gifts of others that seem, well, too much for the relationship we have with them. So all giving should serve to build up the relationship, and the giving and receiving smaller things paves the way for giving and receiving bigger things, all of which is ultimately really about giving and receiving one another to a degree appropriate for the relationship.

Likewise, in our relationship with God, God isn't primarily interested in giving us things, he primarily wants to give us himself.

So now we begin to see that it isn't merely okay, but a good idea to ask God for small blessings as well as big ones. (These thoughts aren't original; St. Paul was inspired with them long ago!) In either case, it isn't that God doesn't already know our need before we ask. It is that asking God for what we think we need, and trusting God to provide what we really need (maybe I really need to overcome a small adversity more than I need a close-in parking spot, for instance), and then seeing that God's grace was indeed active in my life in that small thing, helps me to trust God in larger ones.

Oh, the reverse is also true. As we give of ourselves to God (i.e. trusting God's revealed opinion rather than the way I wish the world worked, or putting someone else's needs ahead of my own, recognizing that I'm giving to God in them) in small things, we become more capable of trusting God's loving providence when it comes to bigger concerns.

Another relationship-related aspect of this question: what would any relationship we have be like if we could only talk about the big things, and couldn't "bother" the other with the little ones? We may have experienced something like this in our own teenage years, and see it from the other side as our children go through those challenging teenage years. Didn't it almost seem as if every conversation with our parents was about something major? As a kid, for a while it got to where I avoided my mom so as to avoid the next big discussion. As an adult, I won't swear I dreaded those conversations with my daughters as much they did, but I bet it was closer than they'd realize. Isn't it true that dealing with the little things together along the way increases our capacity to deal with larger issues when they arrive? It nurtures our relationship, and gives us the solid foundation we need for the big stuff. And if we don't deal with life's little things together, don't we feel too far from the other to entrust ourselves on the things that are most important to us? Oh, we might still consult on big things, if they're important enough, but really tend to rely only on ourselves and overvalue our own opinion. As it is, don't we feel a little nervous about how the other person might respond?

I suppose that's just that trust issue again from another perspective. Still, just as discussion with our friends and loved ones over the small matters helps nurture our relationships to provide a forum for the larger ones, likewise turning to God over the "little things" nurtures that relationship as well. God, of course, knows and loves us intimately already. Prayer in all things helps us to begin to know God more intimately, as well.

Don't think for a moment this is an ideal I've achieved! God, please draw me nearer . . .

Relationships (a prelude to some thoughts on prayer)

I was recently writing to someone on the topic of prayer, and I thought it might make good blog material. Like, maybe three or four posts worth. (I guess I can be a bit verbose!). Anyway, here's the first installment:

It's impossible for me to discuss prayer except in the context of my relationship with God, just like I couldn't discuss communication with my wife outside of the context of the rest of our relationship.

Let's bear in mind that our relationship with God is, first and foremost, just that. A relationship usually isn't primarily about giving things to one another, it's about giving ourselves to one another in some way. We don't give ourselves in any two relationships in precisely the same way, but all of them (well, all healthy ones, anyway) provide an opportunity to receive from God in them and give ourselves in return back to God through them.

There are a couple of seemingly paradoxical things about this idea of giving ourselves in any relationship. One is that really giving ourself to another doesn't reduce us, but increases our capacity to love. (So many pertinent ways to go with this one thought!)

- As we give ourself to our spouse, we become more ready to give ourself to him or her in the future
- It is likewise as we and our spouse reach beyond our relationship to jointly give ourselves to others. A particular and wonderful manifestation of this is in giving of ourselves to the new lives we may be blessed to participate in creating
- As we give ourself to our spouse (and our spouse receives us), he or she becomes more able to receive love
- As we and our partner jointly give ourselves to others, those others become more able to receive love. Again, we see this most profoundly in the children we raise. Hopefully, they move from being utter takers, giving us only the joy of knowing we've given to them and the hope of their blank future, to eventually growing into adults who give of themselves in marvelous ways we could never envision
- This receiving and giving of love - and truly we must have received to ever have anything to give - expands our ability to receive and give love

Each of these two basic aspects of giving ourselves in love is a parable of God's love (and like all parables, has its limits; for one thing, God has no need to become more loving).

- As God gives himself (the more PC form of that would be God's self, as God is ultimately either not masculine nor feminine or else fully encompasses all aspects of both genders, but let's not go there; I use a pronoun for the sake of simpler writing and to keep God more accessible to my brain, and use the male one chiefly out of familiarity) to us, and we receive him, we become more capable of receiving love
- When we truly receive God's love, we desire to share it with others, be it our family, our dear friends, or those who have some need that we see are particularly equipped to meet and through which we ultimately give of ourselves to do so
- As we receive God's love into our lives and love God in return, it expands our ability to receive and give love to and from God and others

Now, what happens when, perhaps out of fear or self-judgment of some sort, we are unable to receive or accept love, from God or others? Then we have nothing to give. Our lives become a self-fulfilling prophecy of fear and failure. If I can't receive a blessing from God - directly or through others - either because I'm afraid to trust or because I ultimately don't believe I deserve it, then what I'm really blocking off is my ability to receive the relationship with God or the other person. (We are working our way back toward prayer, honest!)