Amazing Grace

I have loved this song since I was a little girl. My parents had it played at their wedding. When I learned the true story behind the writing of this song, I was moved to tears. Stayed up late one night by myself watching the movie version of the story. The letters in those two words even look attractive set next to each other. But why is the concept of free, unearned Grace so very difficult for this mortal to understand? Perhaps that is indeed why it is Amazing. As someone who hears and integrates "Truth" so much more readily than "Grace"--I think I've found my journey . . .

It's all a gift

Read a daily meditation this morning from the Center for Action and Meditation that had as its central message a reminder that we do nothing to deserve grace, that everything, even the hairs on our heads are given to us, but coming to this understanding, and certainly being open to recieving this grace is one of the most difficult tasks set before Christians. Amen, I say to this. How much of our energy (okay, my energy) is spent trying to be worthy when, all along, I have already been? How appropriate the timing of this meditative gift during this week of thanks! A truly transformative way of viewing our abundance--not something given to us lightly, so therefore, not something that we should steward lightly either. But with this realization comes not the usual pressure, but instead a heart that feels grateful and untethered in its duty. A gift within a gift--I'm learning that it ALL is.

At the risk of offending . . .

I've been pondering John 6 this summer. I've been examining my beliefs, helping my 8-yr-old explore his, and in the process, been wondering about those of others. As a cradle Catholic, there has never not been Eucharist in my life--wondering about it while I watched my Mom receive, preparing for my first time, feeling many times not worthy of it, feeling many times in awe of it, feeling many times as though I don't feel enough about it, thinking it truly bizarre, being offended when others think it bizarre, and my newest (and most blessed experience) to date--actually finding myself craving it. I have read about others having this "craving" experience, so the first few times it happened to me, I thought perhaps I was just "wanting to crave" it--so I could be one of those super-holy Catholics too. But one day late this winter, I found myself walking down the aisle and fighting back tears as I prepared to receive. So of course, I looked forward to going back to Mass as soon as I could--craving Communion, if you will, because I wanted to feel so moved again. No tears this second time, but I have found that these first tears have moved me into a different relationship with both receiving the Eucharist and with my Catholic journey overall--and I am much more aware, with an almost painful, yet peaceful mindfulness with which I accept the Eucharist.

All of this being said, I have also started to notice (perhaps I'm just a slow learner here) in various blogs I happen upon, or the blogs of friends or friends of their friends, much mention of their Christian beliefs. Not all, but many of them are non-denominational or non-mainline Protestant Christians  who list among their core beliefs the Nicene Creed and/or the Apostles Creed. They also write much and deeply about social justice issues. Often there are lovely and profound musings about their sprititual journeys. Frequently these writers discuss the desire to experience Lent and Advent (although not often referred to as Advent) more fully and more presently. One of these bloggers--now a famous published author--even wrote a book centered around the idea of Eucharisto. So, this fairly pedestrian Catholic begins to wonder . . .why aren't all of these lovely people Catholic? It is all there--the Creeds, the social justice, the Church calendar--all except the Eucharist. I suppose this is where I'm afraid of offending, which is not at all my intent. Nor is my intent one of attempted conversion--rather I am asking this question in all sincerity. I will never forget reading an excerpt of one of Gary Will's books--Papa Sin, I think it was, and to bastardize his quote something horribly, he said that that the argument over women being ordained, or a person's use of a condom is NOT why he is Catholic--but rather it is the Creed and Eucharist. That's it. I remember wanting to jump up and down and shout, "hurrah!" I will admit, that my Catholic faith does involve a bit more than that--I love the Sacraments, the candles, the genuflecting, the holy water, and I love me some Saints, but in esssence, Wills, to me, is right. Give me the Creed and the Eucharist and I can hang my hat and take a pew. So, to get back around to the beginning, what keeps all of these people from the Eucharist? What don't I get about their beliefs? (I mean this earnestly). The cycle that keeps running in my head is that many of these people whose blogs I've been reading also profess that the Bible is the inerrant word of God, so, again, at the risk of offending, do they believe that the Bible is the inerrant Word of God--except for John 6? I would love to be snarky when I ask that, except that I don't feel moved to be snarky about the Eucharist, and because I really am curious, truly curious, about what to me feels like a disconnect. Can anyone address this?

Holy Week

 Been thinking a lot about Holy Week as oldest son was invited to a birthday party on Good Friday afternoon, and colleagues at school are planning a happy hour on Holy Thursday evening . . . I am not, and don't pretend to be a strictly observant Catholic--I miss some holy days of obligation, don't go to Confession as often as I should, etc. etc. But the idea of taking my child to play laser tag while Jesus is on the cross, or of imbibing Margaritas while Fr. Jerry celebrates the Last Supper just doesn't quite jive with me somehow . . .although I do suppose both events include friends, bread and alcohol . . .

I have very vivid memories of Holy Week as a child, attending Mass for three days in a row, going to Tennebrae with my Mom at midnight, thinking Good Friday would never end, but then hoping it could take a little longer to get to dinnertime because I knew that Salmon Patties would be waiting for me . . . but then the absolute giddy joy of Easter Vigil--both because well, it was finally Easter, and because I could once again eat chocolate, candy, or indulge in whatever other major sacrifice I had suffered through for six weeks. . . . Curious how y'all have spent, and plan to spend Holy Week?

Roots and Community

For all of my adult life I have yearned for some place to "belong." This yearning comes from a wonderful childhood--I went to a small Catholic gradeschool, junior high and high school that lived and breathed the idea of family and community service, my parents were educators in the public schools in town and were very active in community theatre, politics, our church-- you name it. Although I didn't recognize it at the time, there really wasn't anywhere that my siblings and I went that we didn't somehow belong--that someone didn't know us or our parents. This belonging continued into my college years as I followed the family footsteps and attended my beloved Eureka--as the 5th Finch to walk 'neath the elms, Eureka was new, but yet, I wasn't a stranger.

When the time came for me to leave my college cocoon, I thought I was ready. I had my education, I was 21, and the time had come. What I had no idea of however, was how naked and alone I would feel in that first year by myself in a world were no one knew me or my family, and where all the town names and family names would be new to me. I felt disconnected, untethered, utterly alone. As I met my husband, became a stepmom, had my boys, and kept ridiculously busy with teaching and coaching, there was still an empty hole that cried out to be filled--and my husband felt it too. We both wanted the kind of life that we grew up in for our family. Eleven years into our family, this dream still has not come to fruition for us--our jobs and the needs of our children have given us our current life instead. But perhaps my understanding of how God calls us has grown, for while I still have some idealized vision of a different life for us floating in my "somedays"--I have been surprised by my own contentment lately.

A wise mentor shared with me a few years back that we are all called to put down roots--but some of us put them down deep, and others of us put them out wide. I have always thought I was a deep root person, but yesterday afternoon my best childhood friend called and left a message for me, last night I spent back at Eureka listening to a presentation by my father, surrounded by my family, this morning the boys were excited to go to their eye doctor because they said, "at least we know him--we have the same one every time," this afternoon a dear close friend from my current school called to "check-in," and this evening we are going out to dinner with a former student from my first school. Wide roots, I tell myself, might be a blessing after all.

Anticipation

Getting ready for Palm Sunday . . .it always feels like the catch-in-your-throat before the deep sigh. So expectant, so much stuffed-down anxiety, so much waiting. Not the calm before the storm, but the low-rumblings when you can smell the rain already on the air. The green just-living palms cry-out against the death that is sure to come. Forshadowing life to come again. But not. Quite. Yet.We'll join our Church family dressed in red and try to wrap our minds around the horribly beautiful week ahead of us.

Psalm 139

So at Mass on Sunday, our Responsorial Song was based on Psalm 139. A hymn that I particularly like, and have sung many time before, but this particular time I think I actually listened to the words for the first time--not just how they sounded (which I think I do a lot), but what they meant (which I think I don't do enough). Regardless, I was awe-struck for the first time thinking about what it really means if God knows, truly knows all of my thoughts. What it truly means for Him to shine a light even in my dark places, even when I would rather he not. It is at once scary and oddly comforting. This idea of God seeing into all of my darkness because He is already there, would have, once upon a time, frightened me, but while this idea does give me pause, it is quickly followed by great hope and peace. For if God ALREADY knows all of my yucky parts--then I have nothing to hide--especially from myself. So if I am impatient, or judgemental, or intolerant--no point in rationalizing it to myself--God knows. How profound. How simple. And it strikes me--isn't this one of the first things we teach our children? How easily I forgot . . .