by Mary | Nov 10, 2009 | prayer
When I think about my spiritual life, I tend to look forward. As in, when Chiara is in full-time school, I’ll have more quiet time and my life will be more sane and THEN I’ll be able to pray on a regular basis. Or, if I can just finish this one project, I’ll be less stressed and THEN I’ll be able to add Liturgy of the Hours back into my morning routine. Or, this would be a great time to pray — it’s quiet, there’s nothing going on, I’m in a good frame of mind — BUT I should probably fold laundry, make a bed, eat a snack, check Facebook.
In other words, I am very good at coming up with excuses for not praying, even when prayer time falls into my lap. I have allowed myself to get caught in the someday trap, thinking that there is a magical day down the road when all the planets will align and I will find myself with gobs of free time, so much free time that I don’t mind spending a chunk of it in prayer. Aha! That’s the crux of this, isn’t it? The reality is that praying is often hard work, harder than raking or cleaning or writing, and so even though I claim to want it in a big way, I always manage to put it off and blame my circumstances. If only (fill in the blank), I’d be more holy.
But I know deep down that spending time with God isn’t only about sitting down in silent prayer on a regular basis (although that would help immensely). It’s more often than not about learning to see my regular, boring, sometimes frustrating actions as prayers. Remember the post on the laundry last week? Same idea here. As I said to Dennis the other night, as I was lugging the umpteenth basket of laundry up two flights of stairs, if I really did make my laundry a prayer, I would finally know what it means to pray without ceasing. There’s that much laundry.
We don’t find God after all the work and other responsibilities are done, we find God in those responsibilities. But that’s not always easy, is it? I know it’s not for me. Logically I can recognize that I need to see Jesus in the eyes of my children, my husband, my friends, my business colleagues, the lady holding up traffic at the drive-thru window at the bank. But practically that can be a challenge. Smiling my way through difficult things has never been my strong suit. Even as a young kid, my one grandmother would often scold me by saying, “Don’t give me that look.” Yes, I have a “look,” an obvious expression of annoyance, anger, frustration, disappointment, you name it. Mother Teresa I’m not. So the idea of giving up the look and the sarcasm and the yelling for a serene smile is really not that appealing to me, and yet how do I become more centered, more spiritual, more God-focused if I let myself get carried away with the emotion of the day.
So, this week I’m trying to move beyond the laundry and the oatmeal, to a place where I really, truly try to see Jesus in the people around me. Again, it’s sort of easy to find God in a pile of laundry. Dirty socks can’t talk back. But can I see God in my whining 4-year-old, in my snarly almost-13-year-old, in the person in the grocery store who is rude for no apparent reason? Ah, that’s another story.
Pray without ceasing. Some, especially our Eastern brothers and sisters in faith, do that through the Jesus Prayer — “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a poor sinner” — saying it over and over throughout the day in order to develop an inner stillness and an outer closeness with God. Even if we don’t say those words, however, we can nurture that kind of prayerful spirit, using everyday actions to turn work into prayer, struggles into prayer, joys into prayer, worries into prayer.
St. Paul said:
“We urge you, brothers, admonish the idle, cheer the fainthearted, support the weak, be patient with all. See that no one returns evil for evil; rather, always seek what is good for each other and for all. Rejoice always. Pray without ceasing.” (1 Thessalonians 5: 14-19)
So my challenge today will be to make lunch with a prayerful heart, to calm Chiara’s crying with deep compassion rather than strong words, to paint the front door with patience even when the painter’s tape fails, to meet Noah’s teen-aged glare with a smile rather than “the look.”
I found this quote from Mohandas Gandhi that seemed to fit the bill today:
“Prayer is not asking. It is a longing of the soul. It is daily admission of one’s weakness. It is better in prayer to have a heart without words than words without a heart.”
Amen.
by Mary | Nov 8, 2009 | family
Dinner is over and the day is winding down. It’s been a good day. Church, followed by lunch out at an Indian restaurant with Dennis and Noah while the girls were at a play date. After being away for a day on a speaking engagement, I was happy to be home this afternoon doing laundry, straightening up toys and piles of papers, catching up on email, puttering around my office. Whenever I go away, even if it’s for only 24 hours, I realize how much I love being home. And that’s always a good thing.
Being here tonight — as Chiara pushes a toy baby stroller around the house while wearing a tutu and plastic heels, as Olivia argues with her over what they’re going to play, as Noah practices piano — I feel a sense of calm despite an utter lack of anything resembling calm. It’s calming not because it’s quiet or peaceful or relaxing but because it’s familiar and loving and unconditional.
Our less-than-perfect home life still manages to rise to the level of wonderful because it is wrapped in the love that we have for one another. It’s a lot like my less-than-perfect spiritual life, which manages to be resilient and amazing even when I am not doing my part because I am wrapped in the arms of a loving God who waits for me when I’m too busy or too distracted to pay Him any mind.
Tonight, as I look at my kids doing things that are clearly meant to drive me insane, I have to smile because in them I can see how I must look to God. As I flit from one place to another noisily whining about what I need or want, asking for things every time He turns around, and only occasionally remembering to say, “Thank you,” I imagine God patiently listening and resisting the urge to yell, “Shut up.”
We are loved so completely. Sometimes it’s hard to remember that. We think we’re not worthy. We think we have to jump through all sorts of hoops to be loved by God. But He loves us without conditions, without strings, without asking anything of us in return. I’m sure He’d like us to listen, to follow the rules, to pay attention to what He’s saying, but, like any good parent, God doesn’t withhold love because we don’t always live up to His expectations. We are loved simply because we are.
by Mary | Nov 6, 2009 | prayer
OK, well, technically my door didn’t just close. It was removed and hauled off by carpenters. And it was three doors — two in the front and one in the back. This was a huge project we’ve been wanting to do for years and it’s one of reasons I was not able to post yesterday. It was complete chaos here with three workers in our kitchen and front entry, cold air blowing through the house, children doing their usual thing and four events between the hours of 3:30 and 7 p.m. So I hope you’ll forgive me for missing my Thursday blog day. I did think of all of you around 9:30 p.m. and considered the prospect of hopping on the computer and writing something quick, but I really doubted that I could come up with anything coherent at that point.
So it’s Friday, and today promises to be no less crazy than yesterday. Later this afternoon I head downstate to visit with my grandmother. Tomorrow I present my workshop, “Lost Generation: Reaching Adult Catholics Disconnected from the Church,” to the catechists of the Archdiocese of Newark. Lots of prep work left to do even though I’ve given this workshop multiple times.
But I want to leave you with some spiritual thoughts for today and tomorrow…
Every night before bed, I read a reflection from Nearer to the Heart of God: Daily Readings with the Christian Mystics, and last night’s reading really struck a chord. It was a passage by Richard Baxter from The Saints’ Everlasting Rest, and it talked about how God is “in earnest” with us even when we are not in earnest with him, how the Holy Spirit is “grieved” when we resist him, how God is “afflicted with us” and regards every “groan and sigh” we utter.
I loved this image and this reminder. Grieved and afflicted are usually words that convey negative feelings, but in this case those words are flipped on their heads in a way that makes us feel loved and wanted. God yearns for us, aches for our attention. What a beautiful reality. It made me flash back to the days when I was writing the Complete Idiot’s Guide to the Catholic Catechism. I was working on the chapter that focuses on the Holy Spirit and I came to the part where the catechism quotes St. Paul and tells us that the Holy Spirit is the “master of prayer” who intercedes in our lives “with sighs too deep for words.”
“Sighs too deep for words.” I remember that phrase hitting me like a ton of bricks when I was writing. I just stopped everything I was doing to ponder that thought. When it comes to Trinity, the Holy Spirit probably gets the least of my attention. OK, that should be definitely gets the least of my attention. I tend to go directly to Father and/or Son. I love the idea of the Holy Spirit, but rarely call on the Spirit — unless it’s a weekend like this one when I’m going to speak in public. Then I call on the Holy Spirit and beg for the right words, the right tone, the right message for that particular audience. But imagining the Spirit sighing on my behalf, breathing Life into my life, grieving when I’m unaware of His presence, that gives me such incredible comfort.
So today, this weekend, as you go about your busy lives, take a moment to listen for the sighs of the Spirit whispering in the background. Open a door and let the Spirit slip in.
“In the same way, the Spirit too comes to the aid of our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but the Spirit itself intercedes with inexpressible groanings. And the one who searches hearts knows what is the intention of the Spirit, because it intercedes for the holy ones according to God’s will.” (Romans 8:26-27)
by Mary | Nov 3, 2009 | family
Four-year-old Chiara is always trying to put things into chronological order in her mind. You may remember a post I wrote this summer where she tried to wrap her mind around the fact that it’s never tomorrow. Lately when she asks questions, she wants to know if she was a baby when it happened or if she was still in my belly. But every once in a while she asks about something from ancient history — say five or six years ago — and she gets this quizzical look on her face when I tell her that no, she was not yet in my belly. For a 4-year-old whose view of the world pretty much revolves around our house, her school and our church, it’s pretty hard to imagine a time and place beyond all of this, a moment where she did not exist even in my belly.
We were driving to her preschool recently when she asked one of her many questions about our life as a family, something about when Noah (who is almost 13) was a baby. And, on cue, she asked if she was in my belly then. So I had to tell her again that she was not yet on the scene. But this time, instead of just looking at me as if I was speaking in tongues, she said:
“You mean I was still in God’s dreams?”
Well, that just melted my heart, and I would have stopped the car on the spot and turned around to hug her if it wouldn’t have caused a huge accident. She has said it several more times in the past week. I love the fact that she now has a poetic and beautiful explanation that makes sense to her, one that reminds her that she has always been in a safe and loving place, even before she blessed us with her presence here.
Last night, she came walking into the kitchen with our wedding album and she pointed to various pictures and asked questions. I told her how much I loved those pictures and, of course, she asked, “Why?” When I told her it was because it was from the day I married her daddy and that was a very special and happy day, she said:
“Because you couldn’t wait to get home and find out what kids you got?”
Sort of, although the finding out part may have taken a little longer than what Chiara is estimating. From God’s dreams to our house. It may sound simplistic, but it’s really just a pared down version of this beautiful passage from Psalms:
“You formed me in my inmost being;
you knit me in my mother’s womb.
I praise you, so wonderfully you made me;
wonderful are your works!
My very self you knew;
my bones were not hidden from you,
When I was being made in secret,
fashioned as in the depths of the earth.
Your eyes foresaw my actions;
in your book all are written down;
my days were shaped before one came to be.”
— Psalm 139: 13-16
by Mary | Nov 2, 2009 | Uncategorized
My post at OSV Daily Take today:
All Souls’ Day is a favorite day of mine on the Church calendar. That comes across as morbid to some folks, but it’s anything but. Then, again, I’m a big fan of purgatory, too. I like today’s focus on the family and friends who have gone before us. I like to remember that we remain connected even though we are separated, that they are experiencing the eternal life that we are working toward. And I love the fact that purgatory hangs out there like a giant safety net, waiting to catch me if I don’t measure up. And, really, how can I possibly measure up? I would not be so presumptuous as to assume that I will be fast-tracked to heaven when this earthly life is done. I think working my way toward perfection in purgatory sounds like a pretty generous offer.
I came across this quote from Pope Benedict XVI that really says everything I feel about purgatory but in a much more eloquent way:
“I would go so far as to say that if there was no purgatory, then we would have to invent it, for who would dare say of himself that he was able to stand directly before God. And yet we don’t want to be, to use an image from Scripture, ‘a pot that turned out wrong,’ that has to be thrown away; we want to be able to be put right. Purgatory basically means that God can put the pieces back together again. That he can cleanse us in such a way that we are able to be with him and stand there in the fullness of life. Purgatory strips off from one person what is unbearable and from another the inability to bear certain things, so that in each of them a pure heart is revealed, and we can see that we all belong together in one enormous symphony of being.”
Exactly. And that is why this day is so hopeful. In our remembrance and celebration of those who have died, we see second chances, opportunity, life. We see the path we will one day walk, whether we are ready or not. And if we are not quite ready, well then, purgatory will give us time to polish up our acts once and for all.
Here’s another great All Souls’ Day quote from Father Hans Urs Von Balthasar:
“Purgatory: perhaps the deepest but also the most blissful kind of suffering. The terrible torture of having to settle now all the things we have dreaded a whole life long. The doors we have frantically held shut are now torn open. But all the while this knowledge: now for the first time I will be able to do it — that ultimate thing in me, that total thing. Now I can feel my wings growing; now I am fully becoming myself…”
And finally, I found this powerful and personal reflection on All Souls’ Day on
From the Field of Blue Children. Blogger Cathy Adamkiewicz posts about staring at her own tombstone, the one that marks the grave she will one day share with the daughter who has gone before her:
“Today, on the Feast of All Souls, I stood at my own graveside, but I didn’t shed a tear.
“I thought about my daughter, who awaits me there, and I remembered her life with awe and gratitude. I missed her with an ache that will never leave my bones, but my heart is not heavy. It soars to meet her.
“I looked at the descriptions cast in stone: husband and father, baby girl, wife and mother. The roles that will define us for all eternity.
“I suppose it is an excellent practice to ponder the fact that we will all be dust some day. As I stood on the very spot where I hope my grandchildren and their grandchildren will kneel someday, begging mercy on my soul, I realized the truth.
“It will all be over in a flash.”
(Read the full post HERE.) Cathy has written a beautiful book about the short life of her baby Celeste.Broken and Blessed: A Life Story is a moving testament to the power of one tiny and fragile life to change the world around her. That book deserves a post of its own, which I promise to write later this month.
