A couple of themes have recently been cropping up as I've gone about my business this past week: gifts & Pope Francis. The latter is not exactly what I'd call a theme per se, but for all intents and purposes* the pope will suffice as such. Furthermore, these two topics, though not mutually exclusive of course, will be dealt with separately... and briefly I hope. It's getting late.
Gifts:
I am one who struggles to accept my own gifts for various and sundry reasons, and I imagine there are many out there who feel the same way about the gifts they have within themselves. Honestly, sometimes I think the whole "gift" ideology is a myth - a big corporate delusion we all entertain to make us feel better about ourselves but which actually just perpetuates the ever increasing narcissism that is raping this generation. And with that I think I just demonstrated at least one reason gifts are a challenging thing to accept.
Although I do think that a certain focus on the self has climbed to an unnecessary height, a healthy level of awareness that each of us has something within us that, maybe doesn't make us unique, but can be used to improve the lives of others is important. I suppose therein lies the crux. Gifts, whatever they may be, are not really gifts unless they serve others. That is perhaps another reason we tend fret about our lack of giftedness. We have been trained to think about our talents in terms of what makes us "special," "unique," "one-of-a-kind," and when we don't see any of those qualities within ourselves - just the plain ol' ordinariness like everyone else - we can start feeling sorry for ourselves That, now that I think about it, is not what the gifts that God gave us are all about. Don't get me wrong. There will be talents and abilities that some will have that others will not. But the point, if I've even settled on making a one, is that whatever we've been given is meant to be given back, and moreover we shouldn't think that what it is we're meant to share is something grand and earth-shaking. For heaven's sake, smile at someone the next time you're on the bus or just walking down the street! Chances are, whether another person smiles back at you or not, somebody will be better off, even if only for a second, because you existed to share what God gave you.
To find your gifts, see how you serve others, and remember two things. You may not be Mother Theresa, and in fact you wont' be, so don't worry about it. Service comes in many and varied ways: a "hello," an offering of help, a listening ear, a laugh, an education, some guidance, an apology, cooperation, etc.. Secondly, it's not about you; it's about God. Let's keep things in perspective.
It was a quick wrap-up this evening. Sorry. But I'll write about Pope Francis another time. In any case, what more can one say about him that hasn't been said already?
Shalom,
Ian
* Is this the correct wording of that phrase?
Wednesday, March 26, 2014
Wednesday, March 19, 2014
Happy St. Joseph's Day!
Well the day is nearly over, but Happy St. Joseph's Day, that is, the Solemnity of St. Joseph, Husband of Mary.
A few brief thoughts about St. Joseph - and they'll have to be brief because it's after 10:00 and I don't like being up so late.
So often in the Bible it is the wife who, whether she is referred to by name or not, is mentioned only inasmuch as she is the "wife of so-and-so." Therefore, I find it notable that in Matthew's Gospel it is Joseph who is listed in that self-effacing manner: "the husband of Mary" (Mt 1:16). Now first off, I'm not condoning the practice of one spouse being known solely with reference to their husband or wife - though I'm not really judging the biblical writers either. It simply is what it is. Secondly, Joseph's name comes at the end of an impressive genealogy in Matthew's Gospel, so one could hardly accuse him of getting pushed under the shadow of Mary, his wife, when it is thanks to his pedigree that Jesus owes his lineage to David (at least in the theological mind of that Gospel writer). Furthermore, Matthew's Gospel depicts Joseph as taking a much more active role in the infancy narrative than in Luke's Gospel, so St. Joe ain't exactly a mere name attached to his wife. But the Gospels say very little about the man, and, as the homilist said today at mass, no words of Joseph are recorded in scripture. What then can be taken from such a unobtrusive, obscure character?
One thing we can learn from Joseph, like so many figures of the Bible worth emulating, is that he listened to God and followed God's command, even when it seemed strange, difficult, or different from the plan he already had in mind. Joseph was going to quietly divorce Mary because she was found with child before she was taken into his home. He was going to do this in such a way that would not expose her shame. A fine and respectable thing to do for one in that predicament in ancient Palestine, I take it. But God asked Joseph to go above and beyond what was expected of him and to take Mary and her to-be-born child into his home, and Joseph responds with trust in the will of God and does so.
I suppose I could go on about a number of attributes of Joseph: how he was the head of the holy family, the earthly father of the Son of God, the poor carpenter who earned his bread by the sweat of his brow, the one who had to lead his wife and son in their travels to and from Bethlehem and Egypt (according to the respective Gospel narratives), etc. But for all of that, and for the sake of getting some sleep soon, I'll simply sum up the two points I have attempted to make. Joseph simply was a man who did what was asked of him by God, and we celebrate a solemnity in his honor today - a solemnity in which he is humbly known in deference to his wife, Mary. And while that title may appear to feed the flames of a Mary-centric Catholicism or seem to be, dare I say, emasculating by sects of secular society, I don't think Joseph would care. The Church celebrates a day of great feasting in the midst of Lent because of a simple, unassuming, husband.
Praise God for that!
Shalom,
Ian
A few brief thoughts about St. Joseph - and they'll have to be brief because it's after 10:00 and I don't like being up so late.
So often in the Bible it is the wife who, whether she is referred to by name or not, is mentioned only inasmuch as she is the "wife of so-and-so." Therefore, I find it notable that in Matthew's Gospel it is Joseph who is listed in that self-effacing manner: "the husband of Mary" (Mt 1:16). Now first off, I'm not condoning the practice of one spouse being known solely with reference to their husband or wife - though I'm not really judging the biblical writers either. It simply is what it is. Secondly, Joseph's name comes at the end of an impressive genealogy in Matthew's Gospel, so one could hardly accuse him of getting pushed under the shadow of Mary, his wife, when it is thanks to his pedigree that Jesus owes his lineage to David (at least in the theological mind of that Gospel writer). Furthermore, Matthew's Gospel depicts Joseph as taking a much more active role in the infancy narrative than in Luke's Gospel, so St. Joe ain't exactly a mere name attached to his wife. But the Gospels say very little about the man, and, as the homilist said today at mass, no words of Joseph are recorded in scripture. What then can be taken from such a unobtrusive, obscure character?
One thing we can learn from Joseph, like so many figures of the Bible worth emulating, is that he listened to God and followed God's command, even when it seemed strange, difficult, or different from the plan he already had in mind. Joseph was going to quietly divorce Mary because she was found with child before she was taken into his home. He was going to do this in such a way that would not expose her shame. A fine and respectable thing to do for one in that predicament in ancient Palestine, I take it. But God asked Joseph to go above and beyond what was expected of him and to take Mary and her to-be-born child into his home, and Joseph responds with trust in the will of God and does so.
I suppose I could go on about a number of attributes of Joseph: how he was the head of the holy family, the earthly father of the Son of God, the poor carpenter who earned his bread by the sweat of his brow, the one who had to lead his wife and son in their travels to and from Bethlehem and Egypt (according to the respective Gospel narratives), etc. But for all of that, and for the sake of getting some sleep soon, I'll simply sum up the two points I have attempted to make. Joseph simply was a man who did what was asked of him by God, and we celebrate a solemnity in his honor today - a solemnity in which he is humbly known in deference to his wife, Mary. And while that title may appear to feed the flames of a Mary-centric Catholicism or seem to be, dare I say, emasculating by sects of secular society, I don't think Joseph would care. The Church celebrates a day of great feasting in the midst of Lent because of a simple, unassuming, husband.
Praise God for that!
Shalom,
Ian
Saturday, March 15, 2014
A Letter to the Angel of Pleasure
Dear Angel of Pleasure,
Please send this message to God for me.
Tell Him that I think he did a fabulous job those seven days*. Indeed, it was very good. I give Him five stars. Really. But well, you know the story: fruit trees & floods, exodus & exile, temples, wars, cribs and crosses. And still, even after that glorious Sunday, mortal flesh continues to find new ways to screw things up (or maybe we just merely repeat old ways).
Anyway, I'll make this brief. I think the human race could be just a little happier if we simply look back on those seven days and see that it wasn't so bad then, and it ain't so bad now. Sure people manage to falter and fall or downright act in the utmost heinous manner imaginable. Let's be real. And for the record, I'm not condoning such behavior. But in the end I'm led to believe that what God made is good, very good!
And so, Angel of Pleasure, I'm turning to you, because I don't think you get as much attention as say guardian angels, seraphim, cherubim, Michael, Gabriel, or Raphael, yet you can help us too. Ask God to send you forth into the world to strike our hearts like a tambourine whenever a grape bursts in our mouths or that savory tang of goat cheese tingles our tongues. Yes, whisper softly in our ears a song of our God when we see a sunset or a sprinkling of snow. Stoke the fading embers in our flesh when we breathe in the scent of a briny sea or a spicy kitchen, a field of daisies or piney woods. Tickle the spirit within us whenever we hear the chickadees sing, or a bow glide across a cello, or even whenever the doorbell announces another one of God's beloveds. And finally awaken our dead bodies when we feel the earth beneath our feet, the wind above our heads, and a loved one at our side.
If you can just send God this message, I'm sure He'll oblige, and hey, I'm sure you won't mind the extra hours either. These are desperate times for both man and angel alike.
Yours truly,
Ian
*I just thought I should reiterate that I'm not a biblical literalist, creationist, or fundamentalist. Surely you can see the figurative message in all this.
Please send this message to God for me.
Tell Him that I think he did a fabulous job those seven days*. Indeed, it was very good. I give Him five stars. Really. But well, you know the story: fruit trees & floods, exodus & exile, temples, wars, cribs and crosses. And still, even after that glorious Sunday, mortal flesh continues to find new ways to screw things up (or maybe we just merely repeat old ways).
Anyway, I'll make this brief. I think the human race could be just a little happier if we simply look back on those seven days and see that it wasn't so bad then, and it ain't so bad now. Sure people manage to falter and fall or downright act in the utmost heinous manner imaginable. Let's be real. And for the record, I'm not condoning such behavior. But in the end I'm led to believe that what God made is good, very good!
And so, Angel of Pleasure, I'm turning to you, because I don't think you get as much attention as say guardian angels, seraphim, cherubim, Michael, Gabriel, or Raphael, yet you can help us too. Ask God to send you forth into the world to strike our hearts like a tambourine whenever a grape bursts in our mouths or that savory tang of goat cheese tingles our tongues. Yes, whisper softly in our ears a song of our God when we see a sunset or a sprinkling of snow. Stoke the fading embers in our flesh when we breathe in the scent of a briny sea or a spicy kitchen, a field of daisies or piney woods. Tickle the spirit within us whenever we hear the chickadees sing, or a bow glide across a cello, or even whenever the doorbell announces another one of God's beloveds. And finally awaken our dead bodies when we feel the earth beneath our feet, the wind above our heads, and a loved one at our side.
If you can just send God this message, I'm sure He'll oblige, and hey, I'm sure you won't mind the extra hours either. These are desperate times for both man and angel alike.
Yours truly,
Ian
*I just thought I should reiterate that I'm not a biblical literalist, creationist, or fundamentalist. Surely you can see the figurative message in all this.
Sunday, March 9, 2014
If You Are the Son of God...
The narratives of today's First Reading and Gospel certainly have a lot in them to unpack. It wouldn't be beyond the realm of reason to have an entire book written about these scripture passages. For all I know, there may be one in existence already, but in either case I don't intend on writing one. Instead, however, I wanted to just offer some reflection on the particular phrase "If you are the Son of God..."
The tempter in today's Gospel (Mt 4:1-11) begins two of his accusations of Jesus with this phrase. I couldn't help but be reminded of the other times that a similar retort was thrown at Jesus in the Gospels. There is, of course, the line from one of the two criminals hung on a cross beside Jesus: "Are you not the Christ? Save yourself and us" (Lk 23:39) Or even at his trial before the Sanhedrin: "'If you are the Messiah, tell us.' But He said to them, 'If I tell you, you will not believe'" (Lk 22:67).
Jesus has a way of, well, not meeting our expectations of Messiah or Son of God. It's not surprising that nowadays Jesus is reduced by some seekers of the "historical Jesus" to little more than a revolutionary or apocalyptic prophet. I can't argue with the assessment that Jesus was indeed revolutionary in some sense of the word, and a prophet with an apocalyptic message (and I say "apocalyptic" without the connotation that it has unfortunately garnered of regarding "the end of the world"). Yet if one bases their denial of Jesus as the Messiah or Son of God strictly on the understanding that Jesus did not do any remarkable thing of divine proportions within history, then I think one has regrettably missed Jesus' point. For the record, I'm not criticizing anyone who doesn't hail Jesus as the Christ or Son of God, I'm merely subjectively objecting to this one tiny, little argument.
I reiterate that it appears Jesus is saying that being the Anointed One, even being God, is not what we expect. Being God is not about hurling down a lighting bolt and making a grand appearance. Did not God manifest Godself to Elijah in "the gentle whisper (1 Kings 19:12)? Being God's Anointed doesn't mean changing rocks into food, even when hungry. And it doesn't mean leaping off a building unscathed just because he supposedly can. God's way, as I understand it, is simple, unassuming, and unimposing.
And when it comes to feeding himself by utilizing some kind of extraordinary power, or even gaining all the world back from the grasp of Satan, or especially saving himself from the horrific and humiliating death on the cross, Jesus never takes the easy route. I'm reminded of the line Dumbledore makes at the memorial for Cedric Diggory in the fourth Harry Potter movie: "The time will come to choose between what is right and what is easy" (or however the line goes exactly). Yes, I did just tie in Harry Potter to a reflection on the Gospel. But is it not relevant to note that Jesus always chooses the path that is right, that is in accord with the will of the Father, that is always for the well-being of others rather than himself and not that which is easy?
It's getting late from where I'm sitting, and I quickly wanted to tie in that rich and haunting First Reading of this Sunday: Genesis 2:7-9; 3:1-7. It is again a story of a tempter, and I just want to draw attention to the serpent's line : "You certainly will not die! No, God knows well that the moment you eat of it your eyes will be opened and you will be like gods who know what is good and what is evil." Here's the thing: Were not the man and woman already made in the image and likeness of God (Gn 1:26)? Could it be that the woman and the man - I'll include him too, even though the text doesn't specify where he was or what he was doing during this little chit-chat with the serpent - missed the point about what it means or doesn't mean to be like God?
I recently learned from one of my professors that the phrase "knowing good and evil" (in Hebrew something like yodey tov v-rah - to the best of my transliteration) is an idiomatic expression for simply knowing everything. I bring this up because it might seem like having moral knowledge would be an innocuous and even laudable quality; whereas knowledge of everything borders that realm of great and awesome power that one can wield this way or that. And in any case, no one likes an insufferable know-it-all. I'm not denying that God has and exercises might and wonder in Sacred Scripture, but isn't one of the messages we receive, particularly in today's Gospel reading, that that is not what being God is about? So sadly, the woman and the man did not see themselves as being in the image and likeness of God. Furthermore, they reached instead to obtain a misconstrued image of God. Oh that they would have seen God - humble and self-giving - already in themselves.
Granted, a door-stop of a book could be written on these multi-faceted and layered texts. These are merely my own musings on the matter, and I don't presume them to be exhaustive or even sound.
I'll end with a line I heard a priest say regarding original sin: "It wasn't the apple in the tree; it was the pair on the ground." *rim shot*
Shalom.
The tempter in today's Gospel (Mt 4:1-11) begins two of his accusations of Jesus with this phrase. I couldn't help but be reminded of the other times that a similar retort was thrown at Jesus in the Gospels. There is, of course, the line from one of the two criminals hung on a cross beside Jesus: "Are you not the Christ? Save yourself and us" (Lk 23:39) Or even at his trial before the Sanhedrin: "'If you are the Messiah, tell us.' But He said to them, 'If I tell you, you will not believe'" (Lk 22:67).
Jesus has a way of, well, not meeting our expectations of Messiah or Son of God. It's not surprising that nowadays Jesus is reduced by some seekers of the "historical Jesus" to little more than a revolutionary or apocalyptic prophet. I can't argue with the assessment that Jesus was indeed revolutionary in some sense of the word, and a prophet with an apocalyptic message (and I say "apocalyptic" without the connotation that it has unfortunately garnered of regarding "the end of the world"). Yet if one bases their denial of Jesus as the Messiah or Son of God strictly on the understanding that Jesus did not do any remarkable thing of divine proportions within history, then I think one has regrettably missed Jesus' point. For the record, I'm not criticizing anyone who doesn't hail Jesus as the Christ or Son of God, I'm merely subjectively objecting to this one tiny, little argument.
I reiterate that it appears Jesus is saying that being the Anointed One, even being God, is not what we expect. Being God is not about hurling down a lighting bolt and making a grand appearance. Did not God manifest Godself to Elijah in "the gentle whisper (1 Kings 19:12)? Being God's Anointed doesn't mean changing rocks into food, even when hungry. And it doesn't mean leaping off a building unscathed just because he supposedly can. God's way, as I understand it, is simple, unassuming, and unimposing.
And when it comes to feeding himself by utilizing some kind of extraordinary power, or even gaining all the world back from the grasp of Satan, or especially saving himself from the horrific and humiliating death on the cross, Jesus never takes the easy route. I'm reminded of the line Dumbledore makes at the memorial for Cedric Diggory in the fourth Harry Potter movie: "The time will come to choose between what is right and what is easy" (or however the line goes exactly). Yes, I did just tie in Harry Potter to a reflection on the Gospel. But is it not relevant to note that Jesus always chooses the path that is right, that is in accord with the will of the Father, that is always for the well-being of others rather than himself and not that which is easy?
It's getting late from where I'm sitting, and I quickly wanted to tie in that rich and haunting First Reading of this Sunday: Genesis 2:7-9; 3:1-7. It is again a story of a tempter, and I just want to draw attention to the serpent's line : "You certainly will not die! No, God knows well that the moment you eat of it your eyes will be opened and you will be like gods who know what is good and what is evil." Here's the thing: Were not the man and woman already made in the image and likeness of God (Gn 1:26)? Could it be that the woman and the man - I'll include him too, even though the text doesn't specify where he was or what he was doing during this little chit-chat with the serpent - missed the point about what it means or doesn't mean to be like God?
I recently learned from one of my professors that the phrase "knowing good and evil" (in Hebrew something like yodey tov v-rah - to the best of my transliteration) is an idiomatic expression for simply knowing everything. I bring this up because it might seem like having moral knowledge would be an innocuous and even laudable quality; whereas knowledge of everything borders that realm of great and awesome power that one can wield this way or that. And in any case, no one likes an insufferable know-it-all. I'm not denying that God has and exercises might and wonder in Sacred Scripture, but isn't one of the messages we receive, particularly in today's Gospel reading, that that is not what being God is about? So sadly, the woman and the man did not see themselves as being in the image and likeness of God. Furthermore, they reached instead to obtain a misconstrued image of God. Oh that they would have seen God - humble and self-giving - already in themselves.
Granted, a door-stop of a book could be written on these multi-faceted and layered texts. These are merely my own musings on the matter, and I don't presume them to be exhaustive or even sound.
I'll end with a line I heard a priest say regarding original sin: "It wasn't the apple in the tree; it was the pair on the ground." *rim shot*
Shalom.
Thursday, March 6, 2014
Lent, Mourning, Compassion?
Ash Wednesday has come and gone - that funny day when more Catholics (and even some non-Catholics) go to a weekday, non-obligatory mass than they do any typical Sunday mass. I suspect attendance may nearly rival that of Christmas or Easter. But hey, I can't criticize people for showing up for the celebration of Holy Eucharist. Oddly enough though, I think the phenomenon of wearing a visibly ostentation symbol of conversion upon one's forehead on the very day the Gospel advocates praying, fasting, and almsgiving in secret is not a little ironic. I also can't help but think that the reception of said symbol is the big draw for most people. But who am I to presume what is in a person's heart for attending mass. Furthermore, it's not as if I wasn't wearing the ashes all day myself. I'm not dogging ashes; I just think the paradox between public witness and private conversion is a little amusing.
So yes, Lent is here. A favored season on mine, but one I so rarely feel prepared to enter into. At first I ask myself why should it matter if I'm ready or not. I mean, isn't that the point of Lent - to prepare for Easter? All well and good, but I guess even a sojourner on his way to a significant destination still prepares his gear and provisions before setting out. For your information, I'm not much of a hiker or camper, so I could be wrong. Either way, at this point it makes little difference. Lent is here now, and now is the acceptable time. What is God calling me to do, to change, to listen to?
Compassion strikes as one of those qualities worthy of reflection this year. It goes with out saying that to suffer with someone (the literal meaning of "compassion"), is no easy or pleasant feat. It's hard enough to endure my own sufferings, let alone empathize with another person's pain. I'm currently aware of someone who is going through trials beyond measure right now. Yet as he spoke about the serious medical predicament of someone in his family, I said nothing - not even an "I'm sorry." Since then I just recall the words of Jesus,"Blessed are those who mourn" (Mt 5:4).
There is a time for suffering, for mourning, for sorrow. One only need be reminded of the canticle from Qoheleth (Ecclesiastes), or at least the song "Turn, Turn, Turn" by The Byrds. Mourning is one of those unsavory states no one enjoys residing in. And I don't know about you, but when someone's day is darkened by tragedy, it's kind of uncomfortable to be around them, to share in their sorrow. But I know that when my life is touched by grief or pain, and I see the world and everyone around me going about with smiles on their faces, it can hurt all the more just to show up and be present. It's like the lyrics of the song "The End of the World" by Skeeter Davis have come to life... well except for the whole bit about breaking up with someone. It's worth, then, being aware that this is the reality for so many others and that maybe they just need someone to acknowledge and accept their grief.
Now I know I'm perilously bordering the old adage "misery loves company," but I'm not suggesting that a person in pain need surround him or herself with sad, sulky people or that folks should feel obligated to match their neighbor's level of mourning. The world does go on after all. But it is still our duty to "bear each other's burdens" (Gal 6:2). I can make someone's suffering just a little easier by showing that I actually do care - a word, a gesture, a prayer. A little bit of empathy can go a long way, difficult and uncomfortable though it may be at times. In the end, however, the latter half of that beatitude may indeed be fulfilled: "Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted."
So yes, Lent is here. A favored season on mine, but one I so rarely feel prepared to enter into. At first I ask myself why should it matter if I'm ready or not. I mean, isn't that the point of Lent - to prepare for Easter? All well and good, but I guess even a sojourner on his way to a significant destination still prepares his gear and provisions before setting out. For your information, I'm not much of a hiker or camper, so I could be wrong. Either way, at this point it makes little difference. Lent is here now, and now is the acceptable time. What is God calling me to do, to change, to listen to?
Compassion strikes as one of those qualities worthy of reflection this year. It goes with out saying that to suffer with someone (the literal meaning of "compassion"), is no easy or pleasant feat. It's hard enough to endure my own sufferings, let alone empathize with another person's pain. I'm currently aware of someone who is going through trials beyond measure right now. Yet as he spoke about the serious medical predicament of someone in his family, I said nothing - not even an "I'm sorry." Since then I just recall the words of Jesus,"Blessed are those who mourn" (Mt 5:4).
There is a time for suffering, for mourning, for sorrow. One only need be reminded of the canticle from Qoheleth (Ecclesiastes), or at least the song "Turn, Turn, Turn" by The Byrds. Mourning is one of those unsavory states no one enjoys residing in. And I don't know about you, but when someone's day is darkened by tragedy, it's kind of uncomfortable to be around them, to share in their sorrow. But I know that when my life is touched by grief or pain, and I see the world and everyone around me going about with smiles on their faces, it can hurt all the more just to show up and be present. It's like the lyrics of the song "The End of the World" by Skeeter Davis have come to life... well except for the whole bit about breaking up with someone. It's worth, then, being aware that this is the reality for so many others and that maybe they just need someone to acknowledge and accept their grief.
Now I know I'm perilously bordering the old adage "misery loves company," but I'm not suggesting that a person in pain need surround him or herself with sad, sulky people or that folks should feel obligated to match their neighbor's level of mourning. The world does go on after all. But it is still our duty to "bear each other's burdens" (Gal 6:2). I can make someone's suffering just a little easier by showing that I actually do care - a word, a gesture, a prayer. A little bit of empathy can go a long way, difficult and uncomfortable though it may be at times. In the end, however, the latter half of that beatitude may indeed be fulfilled: "Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted."
Monday, March 3, 2014
Lent's Approaching... I Guess I Should Write Something
When I was in 8th grade I had a particularly moving Lenten experience. I'm sure I had given up sweets or some trifle thing like that, but I also made a commitment to read the Bible - a chapter a day. To no surprise, I don't think either exercise made that particular Lent the spiritually reinvigorating season that it was. Neither was praying a decade of the rosary a night.
Don't mistake me. I think reading the Bible is a great thing... I'm a scripture student, it's kind of what I'm into. And having some gastronomical discipline ain't so bad either. My point is that, aside from being an anomalously over-pious adolescent, Lent kindled something within me which, despite my best efforts, I have never been able to reduplicate any other year. With that in mind, it is fair to say that all the spiritual reading, and all the rosaries, and all the sugary denials don't make the season... what?
What was it then that made those forty days and forty nights different than all the others of previous and subsequent years? Was it merely youthful piety? It's possible. Did God simply pour out a double-portion of grace to me that year? First of all, I am loath to think that grace is a thing which can be quantified. Second, is not God's grace (in whatever non-quantifiable terms you can imagine it now that I've dug myself a hole) equally present and freely offered. That leaves me to believe that, while indeed the Spirit itself is the source and cause of all Lenten joy, one's disposition, openness and receptivity makes all the difference.
I suppose in 8th grade I was thirsting for conversion in my life, and since then, though I anticipate Lent with eagerness, I have not been as willing as I was to change and to really listen to God. All too often I enter the season of Lent hoping for the consolations I had once had, thinking maybe by doing this or not doing that they will come. Lord knows over these years I have been and will perpetually be in need of conversion. That doesn't change. But what can be different is how receptive I am to God's call to turn back to him with my whole heart.
So whatever I do or don't do, however I fast, pray and give, may it be with an open heart that is seeking God, seeking the Resurrected Christ.
Shalom.
Don't mistake me. I think reading the Bible is a great thing... I'm a scripture student, it's kind of what I'm into. And having some gastronomical discipline ain't so bad either. My point is that, aside from being an anomalously over-pious adolescent, Lent kindled something within me which, despite my best efforts, I have never been able to reduplicate any other year. With that in mind, it is fair to say that all the spiritual reading, and all the rosaries, and all the sugary denials don't make the season... what?
What was it then that made those forty days and forty nights different than all the others of previous and subsequent years? Was it merely youthful piety? It's possible. Did God simply pour out a double-portion of grace to me that year? First of all, I am loath to think that grace is a thing which can be quantified. Second, is not God's grace (in whatever non-quantifiable terms you can imagine it now that I've dug myself a hole) equally present and freely offered. That leaves me to believe that, while indeed the Spirit itself is the source and cause of all Lenten joy, one's disposition, openness and receptivity makes all the difference.
I suppose in 8th grade I was thirsting for conversion in my life, and since then, though I anticipate Lent with eagerness, I have not been as willing as I was to change and to really listen to God. All too often I enter the season of Lent hoping for the consolations I had once had, thinking maybe by doing this or not doing that they will come. Lord knows over these years I have been and will perpetually be in need of conversion. That doesn't change. But what can be different is how receptive I am to God's call to turn back to him with my whole heart.
So whatever I do or don't do, however I fast, pray and give, may it be with an open heart that is seeking God, seeking the Resurrected Christ.
Shalom.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)