Journeys of a Catholic Poster Girl

So I have worn the veil to Mass three times since I received it. The first two times were at daily Mass, which are less crowded, and today was the Sunday unveiling (unveiling of the veil…haha!).

The first time I wore it, I felt a bit self-conscious. It also brngs up questions like, when do I put the veil on? When I’m in the church building? Before I enter the sanctuary? In the sanctuary? When I get to my seat? I decided to put it on upon entering the sanctuary. If I’m wearing a coat this can create some issues, because I don’t want it to fall off when I remove my coat, but so far that hasn’t happened. When I leave Mass, I take it off when I’m out of the sanctuary, meaning that if I was going to get doughnuts or whatever post-Mass, the veil would be off.

So I get to my seat, veil in place, and Mass proceeds as usual. It helps me focus, because my peripheral vision is sort of skewed by the veil. My veil is lace, so I can see through it, if I try, but I sort of like the fuzziness on either side of me. It helps me concentrate.

I try not to fiddle with it, but it does have a tendency to slip back on my head so I have to pull it forward sometimes. (I like it right about where bangs would begin.) But no far it has not fallen off, even when I bow or lower my head.

And no, I haven’t received any looks or questions. But at this parish, it’s not uncommon to see girls of about six or seven wearing a small chapel cap or veil, so I’m not really doing anything all that special. At another, less traditional parish, I’m sure I’d get some looks.

So, this is my veil experience thus far. I have found it helps me concentrate (I’m not wildly looking around anymore, because I don’t want the veil to fall off!), which can only be a good thing at Mass.

Talking about new religious avenues for myself over here.

Surrender is hard.

OK , we knew that. If anything about Christianity was easy, then a lot more people would be good Christians–myself included.

Today at Mass we heard the end of John Chapter 6, which we’ve been reading all month, also known as the “Bread of Life” discourse, where Jesus gives us great Eucharistic theology–”My flesh is true food, and my blood is true drink”.

John tells us that many of the disciples stopped following Jesus after this–the saying was “too hard”. But when Jesus spoke to the twelve–”Do you also wish to go away?” Peter said, “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of everlasting life.”

Peter is an interesting apostle. He can be brilliant–here, and when he says that Jesus is “The Christ, the son of God”, in Matthew, –and he can also be breathtakingly stupid–telling Jesus not to go to Jerusalem, “thinking as men think”–or just way out of it–wanting to build the booths for Moses, Jesus and Elijah on Tabor.

But the thing I like about Peter is that he falls, and then gets back up and does it all again. He denies Jesus three times, but then goes on to be Pope, and to be crucified. Peter is entirely, wonderfully human.

When I think about surrender, I think about what Peter said in today’s gospel. Where else can we go? If you are Christian, you believe that Jesus is “The way, the truth, and the life.” That’s it. No other way. Only Jesus can take us to the Father. So we follow him, because he has the words that Peter was talking about–the ones of life.

But to really follow him, we have to give everything, and follow him. Sell it all, leave family and friends, and, most importantly, leave behind self.

But we like ourselves, don’t we? For the most part, anyway. There are things I don’t like about myself, but for the most part, I like how God made me. And if God made me this way, then why do I have to give it up, to follow him?

Again, we get Peter and Jesus:

[Jesus] said to [Peter] the third time, “Simon, son of John, do you love me?” Peter was distressed that he had said to him a third time, “Do you love me?” and he said to him, “Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you.” (Jesus) said to him, “Feed my sheep.  Amen, amen, I say to you, when you were younger, you used to dress yourself and go where you wanted; but when you grow old, you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will dress you and lead you where you do not want to go.” (Jn. 21:17-18, NAB)

Where you do not want to go.

That’s the thing. It’s not that we mind “dying” to self, if that means giving up those irritating habits, and becoming a “nicer” Person, someone who “does what Jesus would do.”

But dying to self means just that–dying to it. In Peter’s case, he would be led to a cross, just like Jesus.

And I think we know what surrender means. And we don’t want to go.

It’s hard to surrender. I haven’t done it. I might think I’ve done it, but then someone reminds me that everything comes in God’s time, and God is in control, and then I sit there going, “yup. I’m dumb.”

He knows everything. And I know just about nothing. But I always think I know better. Just like Peter.

From that time on, Jesus began to show his disciples that he must go to Jerusalem and suffer greatly from the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed and on the third day be raised.

Then Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him, “God forbid, Lord! No such thing shall ever happen to you.”

He turned and said to Peter, “Get behind me, Satan! You are an obstacle to me. You are thinking not as God does, but as human beings do.”

Then Jesus said to his disciples, “Whoever wishes to come after me must deny himself, take up his cross, and follow me.

For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.

What profit would there be for one to gain the whole world and forfeit his life? Or what can one give in exchange for his life?

For the Son of Man will come with his angels in his Father’s glory, and then he will repay everyone according to his conduct.

This is something we’ve all experienced, even the Great Saints. St. John of the Cross called it “the dark night of the soul”.

So what do we do about it?
Jen has some great ideas.

Fr. Z, as we know, is always great.

But with this speech, and his comments, it is beyond great. 

It is required reading. 

Archp. Burke’s comments at the National Catholic Prayer Breakfast are definitely worth reading in their entirety. 

They sum up a question I’ve talked about before here: am I (are we) American Catholics, or Catholic Americans? 
I think this speech goes a long way in answering that question.

Some of you long-time readers may remember my first silence retreat experience.

I didn’t take one last year, and I regretted it. Didn’t want to make that mistake again.

So, in April, I’ll be heading to our diocese’s St. Therese Retreat Center for a weekened of silence, prayer and reflection with women from throughout the diocese.

If you live in the Columbus Diocese, and would like to sign up, there’s still time! More information, and a printable, mailable registration form, can be found here.

I am very much looking forward to this, especially since it comes soon after my birthday. It will be a lovely time to pray and reflect.

or, The Lightness of Spirit After A Good Confession
Recently I’ve been trying to go to Confession more. Not that I’ve suddenly taken to committing adultery and coveting my neighbor’s goods, but I thought it would be a fruitful spiritual practice. My sins, as they are, are more of the omission type in nature–things I should have done, but didn’t–or things that are small, but erode the soul. Petty things.

But I hadn’t been in awhile. One of the things about doing shows is that time for Confession is usually time for rehearsal. Or time to recover from said rehearsal. So I hadn’t been.

Last Thursday I went to St. Joseph’s in downtown Columbus, and went. The Cathedral offers confession on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and it’s about three blocks from my office. So down I went, on a lovely spring day.

There was a bit of a line, so I pulled out my rosary and prayed the Luminous Mysteries. As I prayed, the cathedral organist was practicing in the choir loft. More people joined the line. The sun found its way through the stained glass windows and fractured into rainbow colors on the old floor.

After I finished the mysteries, it was my turn.

My confession was short, and the penance even shorter. But the particular priest who was giving confessions that day did a marvelous job. Through his ministry I felt forgiven, cleansed, ready to head into the second half of Lent with a deeper purpose. The doubts and misgivings I’d had over the past few weeks seemed…lessened. Burdens lifted.

After I left the reconciliation chapel, I headed to the tabernacle to say my prayers.  I particularly love praying before this tabernacle–it’s in a tiny alcove, atop a marble slab carved with DaVinci’s Last Supper. Angels encircle the tabernacle, which is a brilliant gold.

I knelt on one of the prie-dieus and said my short prayers. Adoration that day was truly that–adoring the Godhead in the Eucharist. I wished I could stay for Mass and receive Him!

As I went back to my office, I felt renewed, lighter, happier…more at peace.

1. My Lent has been pretty…uneventful. With the show it’s hard to fit in time for everything. I’m wondering if I can do like some super-charged Lent after the show closes this weekend? I could go to Stations of the Cross this Wednesday, so I think I may do that.
2. For awhile I’ve been feeling a lot of aridity–no desire to pray, no real desire to “be holy”. Not that I’ve become a bad person or anything, but the things of the Spiritual Realm seem to be reduced to sporadic Bible Reading and nighttime prayers. Need to work on this.
3. I really do LIKE Lent. This year just seems–off. But then again, there is a great story about St. Teresa of Avila, who had many great plans for a certain Lent. But she was bedridden for the entire season. I suppose God knows how we can best serve Him, and will use any means to get our attention!
4. Catholic news: This, in Connecticut, is really appalling. S0rry, but lay people don’t get to have this much say in a diocese. Deal with it. And I believe something called the First Amendment makes this totally unconstitutional.
5. Good Lenten reading (when I actually do it): Lent and Easter with JPII and Death on a Friday Afternoon, by Richard John Neuhaus.
6. I did buy, as part of the St. Francis Project, the prayer book “Praying with St. Francis.” I do like it alot and am thinking about using it for evening prayer, instead of my Magnificat. It has morning and evening prayer, plus short articles on St. Francis, prayer in his time, and the role of prayer books. It’s published by Paraclete Press.

I am having a hard time right now getting my will inline with God’s. I need more help than just my own resources.
Any prayers would be gratefully appreciated.

As Jesus passed by he saw a man blind from birth. His disciples asked him, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?” Jesus answered, “Neither he not his parents sinned; it is so that the works of God might be made visible through him.

Today’s Gospel is my favorite Gospel passage, since it reflects so neatly upon my own experience. Many people today share the same feelings as the disciples–if you have an illness, or are experiencing difficulties and trials, you must have “done something” to deserve them. Because God is a good and just God, so why would anyone endure trials or sufferings if they didn’t deserve them?

A corollary is also seen–people who are “oppressed and afflicted” (Isaiah 52) wonder what they have to done to offend God. “Why me, God?” can be a frequent cry (see the Book of Job). And here, Jesus provides the answer: “so that the works of God might be made visible through him.”

In Catholicism, Suffering is not Suffering for its own sake. As John Paul The Great wrote in his encyclical Salvifici Doloris (On the Meaning of Suffering) in 1984:

The Redeemer suffered in place of man and for man. Every man has his own share in the Redemption. Each one is also called to share in that suffering through which all human suffering has also been redeemed. In bringing about the Redemption through suffering, Christ has also raised human suffering to the level of the Redemption. Thus each man, in his suffering, can also become a sharer in the redemptive suffering of Christ.

In the Way of the Cross message of 2005, John Paul invokes Paul:

The adoration of the Cross directs us to a commitment that we cannot shirk: the mission that St. Paul expressed in these words: In my flesh I complete what is lacking in Christ’s afflictions for the sake of his body, that is, the Church. (Colossians 1:24).

So here we have some of the basis of the Church’s doctrine of “Redemptive Suffering.” It is not a waste to suffer. God sees and sympathizes with us. All of us suffer to different degrees–spiritually, physically, mentally, etc. But this doesn’t mean that God doesn’t love us. Mother Teresa once said that in suffering, Jesus is bringing you close enough to Him so that He can embrace you, He can kiss you. Suffering brings you closer to God.

Sure, there are ways we’d like to get closer without actually suffering. I don’t know anyone who wakes up and says, “Yes! Today’s another chance to suffer! Woohoo!” But God does not abandon us. Even when we think he has–as Jesus did, on the cross, “My God, My God, why have you abandoned me?”–he has not. Through His Passion and Death, Jesus has been through everything a human being can endure. He knows what we are feeling.

Our suffering can bring others to him. When I was in the ICU in 2001, friends that hadn’t been to church in years went and prayed. The same thing happened during my transplant. I’m not aware of any Great Conversions from these experiences, but my circumstances brought other people before God, and made them aware of Him and His dominion over us. My talking and normal activities hadn’t done that–it took something very, very dramatic to get these kids into a church. Maybe they haven’t been since; I don’t know. But I know they were there at least once, asking God for a favor. Sometimes the “God as ATM” theory is the first way you get people to go to church–ask God for something and see what happens.

God’s work can be made manifest through you–but you have to consent to it.