"Beloved" - Lent Journal (29/40)

Have you ever noticed how often the authors of the New Testament letters call each other "beloved"? Paul, John, Peter, James, and Luke all use the term, and I think it's just beautiful.

I wonder who started doing it first? Was that a common phrase even in the ancient world that we just miss because of lack of context, or is this something distinctive to Christianity? I would guess the latter.

In all three Synoptic Gospels, the Father calls Jesus "my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased". This declaration is more than just a sign of affection, it's an identifying mark for Christ as being the second person of the Trinity. In other words, the Son is always the beloved of the Father - it is a necessary and essential characteristic of who He is.

What is fascinating about Christianity is the claim that we can actually enter into that dynamic (with God's grace, of course). When God became Man, he took on our humanity and elevated it. We are then invited to receive that gift: and what a gift, that we may be called the children of God! We are blessed to be able to join in the eternal dance of Lover, Beloved, and the Love they share.

So many of the New Testament letters and epistles are spent unpacking that and attempting to explain the significance of that idea, and it's certainly why we call each other brothers and sisters. But that term has been somewhat domesticated and has lost a bit of its punch when we throw the terms around without living out that reality in how we treat each other.

Now, beloved - that term still carries some weight, even if only sentimentally. It reminds me of sweet Spanish mothers calling their dear children mi amor, of lovers calling each other dearest.  Which I think is why it strikes me as so wonderful to see.

Now - all that being said, I suspect the authors are going for something much deeper than the lovely sentiments of terms of endearment when they call each other beloved. I read it as referring to our family ties - not with each other, but with Christ. The suggestion is that we are beloved in the same way that Jesus (the Beloved Son) is beloved.

That says a lot about our dignity in God's eyes, but it also speaks volumes about the reverence we should have for each other. When we use the word to refer to another, we are making a statement about their value, and reminding ourselves of the depths of love we aught to share with all humanity, though this is especially the case with all baptized Christians. And when I say all, I mean all - no strings attached. We can disagree, but we still need to see Christ in the face of the other.

So, beloved - be grateful for the respect and dignity that you deserve; but also remember that same perspective when considering how you speak about others.

Do You Believe This? - Lent Journal (Sunday Lent V)

My confession yesterday was impatience with God.

On the one hand, I do trust that God has a plan, and that His plan is good even in the trials. On the other - I just want things fixed. Between my son's challenges with reading comprehension, wanting my ex and I to communicate better, social distancing with my girlfriend, wanting answers with what integration looks like in managing my gender dysphoria, praying for my son to receive the sacraments, and just wanting some normalcy ... I can't help but relate to the cry of exiled Judah: how long, Lord?

Clearly I wouldn't have made it 40 years in the desert, or 70 years in Babylon. I'm that child who wants things my way, right now.

I mean, I do believe God has my best interests, and is working for my Good. I just wish He would hurry up about it, because it's so hard to trust that waiting on a good thing is best for us. Of course, the things I'm waiting on are minuscule compared with what many of you are waiting on: matters of life and death.

I think we have to admit that faith is a process, one that we struggle with our whole lives. Can't we all relate to the men and women who looked at Jesus's delay in coming to Lazarus and said, could not he who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept this man from dying? Or, to put it more pointedly: don't you love us?

Of course He does. But that love doesn't look the way we expect it. God is interested in matters much more important than whether we are satisfied in our dreams and plans in this moment. He's interested in our salvation - in making us Saints. The Lord who spent two millennia revealing Himself to us through salvation history, won't hesitate to let us wait a lifetime for our own goals to be met - assuming we even have the right goals, which seems unlikely.

I suppose in a way that is at least part of what Jesus was hoping to accomplish by waiting. Or, for that matter, the examples of Noah; Abraham; Moses; Hannah; David; Jeremiah. God's ways are not our ways, and it seems we move much quicker than Him.

But God's patience for us surpasses our impatience for Him a thousand-fold. Trusting God isn't just a one-time intellectual ascent to some doctrinal statements - it's a relationship, one that develops and unfolds. Jesus enters into that space, the space of our broken hearts waiting to be healed, and meets us there. He finds us in the tomb, waiting to roll away the stone. Or He finds us standing outside, weeping and wondering where He was; because that's what it took to draw us to Him again. In the meantime, we need to be like the psalmist:

I wait for the LORD, my soul waits, and in his word I hope; my soul waits for the LORD, more than those who watch for the morning, more than those who watch for the morning.

I don't know, honestly. If you were to ask me what God is doing by allowing all this tragedy, I couldn't even begin to provide a satisfactory answer. But God reveals Himself to us as a lover and a savior. He promises to love us more than we love ourselves, and provide for us all that we need in order to be satisfied. In this context, Jesus's question to Martha is one we should sit with:

Do you believe this?

Celebrating Holy Week - Lent Journal (28/40)

With this Lent being about three years long now, it's hard to think that we are only one week out from Holy Week, and two weeks out from Easter. Seeing as we are only two weeks into at least 6 weeks of social distancing and closed churches, it's time to start thinking through how to commemorate Holy Week without the opportunities for attending the standard Triduum liturgies [1]. Personally I won't be with my son this year for the weekend of Easter, and opportunities to celebrate in a group are limited. Thankfully, I know many parishes are planning to offer stripped-down versions of the Holy Week liturgy; but personally I think I'm going to need to supplement that.

So, with that in mind here are some thoughts on ways we can make the most of things and still enter into the most sacred time of the year (either as a family, or on your own):

• Commemorate Palm Sunday with a procession around the neighborhood, singing "All Glory, Laud, and Honor". Many of us have blessed palms laying around the house from past years, and while they are more than a bit dry and stiff, I don't see any reason we can't reuse them. This can be done either as a family or by yourself; just remember that the Communion of Saints are singing along with you.

• Veil religious images, especially crucifixes, during Passiontide. If you're a traditionalist, that would begin this Sunday; otherwise, it begins with Palm Sunday.

• On Holy Thursday, re-enact the foot washing within the home, if possible. Especially with frayed nerves and living arrangements that are nearer than usual, find opportunities to serve each other and show those you love that you are in this together.

• Also on Holy Thursday, perform the stripping of the altar: take down the religious images and put them away. Churches won't be removing the Blessed Sacrament from the tabernacle this year, but we can empty our homes and experience the starkness.

• If you aren't under curfew and are feeling up to it, make a Holy Hour, or an all-night vigil, in front of your local parish. While Eucharistic Adoration won't be an option, Christ's presence extends beyond the walls of the church. Whether directly in front of the church doors, from the parking lot, or from your home, you can still watch over our suffering Lord as he endures the agony in the garden.

• On Good Friday, pray the Stations around the house. Designate different rooms or locations in the yard with the 14 stations.

• Recite the Seven Last Words with friends and family over Zoom. Assign each saying to a different person, and invite them to share their reflections and sorrows.

• Read the Passion narrative in the four Gospels. Let yourself be struck by the way Our Lord loves you, and the lengths to which He went to demonstrate His desire to give you fullness of life.

• Don't forget to fast and abstain from meat on Good Friday! As far as I'm aware, neither requirement has been abrogated - and it's going to be that much harder this year, between being at home and the days all flowing together.

• On Holy Saturday, remind yourself that this is the one day that the lack of Mass and the inability to receive the Eucharist is actually normal. Rest for a few hours in being reminded of ordinary life, and the way that living according to the liturgical calendar provides a season for all moments of life - even this one.

• For the Easter Vigil, buy or make a candle to be treated as the Paschal Candle. Turn the lights out and spend some time reflecting on the day that humanity extinguished the Light of the World. Let your heart break with the uncertainty and disappointment the disciples felt, and try to put yourself in the shoes of someone who doesn't already know that the resurrection is about to come.

• Once evening has come and the Vigil has begun: light the candle outside, and come into the dark house. Light candles around the home from that initial flame, and take in the glow of the light of the world spreading as hope comes back into our hearts.

• Celebrate Easter joy by going around the neighborhood proclaiming Christ's resurrection.

• Break out the holy water during the renewal of the baptismal promises - bless the home, yourselves, and each other (reverently, of course; we're not talking about an excuse to have a water fight).

• Pray for all those currently in RCIA who had thought they would be receiving the Sacraments this Easter. Think of how you feel missing the Eucharist, and unite your own sufferings with theirs.

• For Easter Sunday, dress in your Easter best. Visit the church and Jesus if possible. 

• Keep the Easter meal simple: feast, but do it in solidarity with all those who are suffering in any way in this time.

[1] Side note: One positive of all this is there won't be any churches hosting Easter egg hunts on Good Friday or Holy Saturday this year.

Two Weeks Update - Lent Journal (27/40)

Well, here we are two weeks in - still maintaining distance. I know we're all in the same boat, but since it's late (as always) I wanted to jot down some rough thoughts from the past week, my personal experience.

You know, on the one hand I am so grateful we have the Internet and our technology to enable us to isolate. On the other, I am so glad for this weekend and an opportunity to get away from my computer. Between work, the blog, reading the news, and video chats, I don't know that I've spent so much time starting at screens. I badly need to get away and give my eyes a break.

Yesterday I moved my patio table and chairs to my front lawn - am currently growing sweet potato slips in jars. No idea if they will work out, but I wanted to give it a shot. I planted the rest of my garden this week on Tuesday: beets, radishes, spinach, beans, carrots, lettuce, and strawberries. With Spring finally arriving, I've been going on daily walks and taking in the falling cherry blossoms, getting out and enjoying the beautiful Atlanta weather (if you ignore the pollen count). Windows have been open during the day, and the fresh air has been so refreshing.

There have been plenty of opportunities for prayer recently. I mentioned this before, but my girlfriend and I have been praying daily Rosary in the morning at 7:30am; Angelus at noon; and Divine Mercy Chaplet (with a group) at 3pm. I've also been generally keeping up with daily scripture reading. We're up to Tobit, Second Isaiah, and the Gospel of Mark. Two thirds through reading the Bible "in a year" (which I've been working on for about 2-1/2 years).

Early this week I was working through Lamentations, Jeremiah describing the Babylonian Exile, and the Passion narrative in Matthew's gospel - so many parallels with today's circumstances. In the meantime Sam and Frodo were entering Cirith Ungol and approaching Shelob's lair. I told my girlfriend - I need something positive and uplifting to read.

This week, and especially today, I've been missing human contact. While video chatting is nice at helping maintain connections, you just can't look eye-to-eye because of the location of the camera. Beyond that, there is just a certain dimension that is missing, and I'm really starting to ache for physical touch.

You know what, though? That's a good thing. I would be sorely disappointed if I found myself entirely comfortable with being alone. Having a longing and recognizing a lack are the healthy response to reality - we aren't supposed to find our hearts satisfied easily, because they hunger for greater things. So I am encouraged by the fact that I want more, and better, even as I trust God in the solitude and try to offer it to Him as a sacrifice.

Off to bed now, and off of technology for a bit (though I'll still be blogging and video chatting). Time to get in touch with the simplicity and beauty of reality again.

Letting Him Help - Lent Journal (26/40)

My son has been having a tough time with remote learning, especially with how long it is taking him to complete the assignments. I've been trying to convince him to ask for help (in the capacity that I can, when he's at mom's house), and it's been a point of conflict for us. He keeps telling me "I'm okay", wanting to reassure me, and if we're honest maybe also wanting me to back off and let him do it his way. Part of getting older is wanting to be more independent, and it's hard for me to let him be.

I think I am at least slightly justified in worrying; when I hear him say that he didn't finish his school work until 9-10pm, something isn't working. When it's Thursday afternoon and he hasn't started a few week-long assignments that are due Friday, I get angsty. To be fair, some of this is just on me because I tend to get anxious anytime something happens to him that I have no control over, or when I just don't know what is happening (divorced dad problems - pray for me to simply trust and let go!). We need advice from his teachers, we need resources, we need to sit with him and help him understand the material.

And he keeps saying, "I'm okay". On the one hand I get it, because he wants me to have confidence in him, and he wants to have self-confidence. He is also a not-quite-10-year-old who thinks he knows so much (sometimes he really does), but he doesn't have the mental tools to properly manage time.

In the meantime, I continue to ask that he just let me help - that he call me when he doesn't understand something. I'm okay. Call me when it's taking longer than it should. I'm okay. Call me when he needs computer support. I'm okay. Call me to help figure out what to work on first. I'm okay.

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It occurred to me today while I was trying to walk off my worries: don't we all do the same thing with God? We keep Him at arm's distance, trying to do it on our own. I'm okay, we tell Him as we find ourselves struggling; but we have to do it on our own, because we have to be strong and independent.

Our Father looks down on us as we struggle, doing it the hard way and feeling defeated in the process. He reaches down and offers us a hand, again and again. He takes so many more deep breaths than I ever could, so much more patient than I am as a father. He loves us and compassionately speaks:

My dear child ... I know you think you're okay. But I can see you struggling on your own. You have so much more to learn, and you don't have to learn on your own. I AM here for you, and I want to guide you. You don't have to be strong and independent. You need to let me be the One Who Is Strong. 

I know you think you're okay. But just being okay isn't enough - I want you to be great.

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But you know, what is amazing about our Father is the way He will respect our boundaries - how He lets us struggle, even as He calls us to let Him in. He will let us have things our way, even while He knows it won't be good for us. He knows that often we come to see we made a mistake through experiencing the consequences of our actions.

At the same time, He also unceasingly points the way out. Every time Israel turned away from The LORD in the Old Testament, God raised up a prophet to warn them - this isn't good for you; come back to me. When Judah turned to foreign nations and their gods to defend them from outside threats, God's word would follow - Turn to me and live; let me help. While I have no doubt that we can ignore the signs, God's love for us is a constant desire that we find the path to salvation.

I don't know how God does it, because it drives me mad. Maybe it's my own lack of trust in God's Providence, or just feeling a need to compensate for not being there enough. Maybe it's my own grasping at that which is God's: the need to be in control and know how things will turn out. I just know that there is a balancing act between how much I let him go it alone and how much I step in to show the way.

In a sense, this is an area in my own life where I'm trying to go it alone, sometimes failing to look to God for answers or strength or peace of heart. I'm a child of the Father too, and I need to let Him help me too. We all do.

Longing to be Borne - Lent Journal (25/50)

Last year when teaching our teens at church about the Eucharist, I started my talk with the following riddle:

Who was the first person to receive the Eucharist?

A few suggested John, the beloved disciple, for being the nearest to Jesus at the table at the Last Supper. Others suggested Peter, and a few guessed John the Baptist (which is obviously wrong, but you can't fault the teens for at least trying to guess). Finally, one clever teen raised his hand and said:

"Well, if the Eucharist is Jesus, and receiving the Eucharist means having Jesus in your body ... then I guess Mary?"

Today was the Feast of the Annunciation, and we celebrated both Mary's great fiat mihi secundum verbum tuum. Her yes, cooperating with God's yes for us, brought about the Incarnation - the Creator's entry into Creation.

Today we wonder at the daughter of the Father becoming the Mother of the Son. As a human person, I can look at Mary and love her with such gratitude for what she's done for me. As a baptized Christian, I can look at Mary as my adopted mother who loves me just as she loves Jesus. As a sinner, I can be amazed at what God did in making Mary immaculate: the way it shows how holy He can make me, if I ever stop getting in my own way.

But one thing I can't relate to - at least, not through lived experience - is the physical sense of actually carrying Christ in my womb. Being a man, on a natural level the buck stops there, and I can't enter into that mystery. For friends who are mothers, they can relate to the tenderness and the depth of love and intimacy they have with their children as they bring them into the world.

They have a longing for that closeness to never end, and I don't blame them: what a gift, to be that near to another soul. I think that longing must also draw them nearer to Our Lady in relating to those months and years of being Christ's mother.

I guess what really amazes me though is the way God longed for Mary to bear Him - both for her own sake, and for ours, and I suppose also for the delight God has in His will being done. That God loves us so much as to save us is incredible enough; the fact that He actually desires to unite Himself with us, though, is unthinkable.

My friend Mary Grace pointed out that March 25th has traditionally been celebrated both as the date of the Annunciation and the date of the Crucifixion because the two are entangled: Jesus's birth was always destined to lead to the Cross.

At the same time ... I wonder: the Incarnation and Crucifixion were a means to an end, leading to something greater: Union with the Divine. I mean - there is no doubt that we needed redemption and reconciliation, and the way God brought that about was fitting. So I certainly would never dream of taking anything away from the Cross. But even that isn't "sufficient" (in the sense that we are each still in the process of being sanctified).

Mary longed for her child once she knew she would bear Him. We long for God once we realize our hunger. God longs for us until we are home. Our hearts are restless until they rest in Thee, and in the meantime God continually calls us until we rest in Him.

Perhaps that's part of the reason we have such a love for the Eucharist. God was first borne by Mary, but in a very real sense He desires to extend that same dignity to each of us: we each can carry Christ.

Wonderings on the Annunciation - Lent Journal (24/40)

Was it silent and still in Nazareth when Gabriel came to Mary?

Was she at home, or out walking?

What was on her mind before the angel knelt before her and asked her favor?

I suppose a young woman like Mary - always a saint in the making, always full of grace - was perpetually caring for someone; who was she thinking about that evening?

Whose burden was she carrying before being given this new task?

Did Christ's conception take place the same night that Mary gave her fiat?

I wonder how it felt - holding God in her womb?

Did she radiate light from the moment of Christ's conception?

When Saint Christopher carried Christ on his shoulders, he was weighed down by the weight of the sins of the world; was that the case for Mary too, as she carried Christ in her womb?

Did she realize she was the new Ark of the Covenant immediately, or was it a mystery that took decades for her to unwrap?

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I was starting to wonder if Mary ever doubted if she would be strong enough, but it occurred to me: Mary was the first to have a true relationship with God since the beginning. She knew implicitly that she would never need to be strong enough. She understood that God would be the one to fulfill the promise. She knew where to turn when things were difficult, and trusted His will in all circumstances.

Mary received God's promises and humbly accepted them as the gift that they were. We each have our own promises from God, though many of us drown Him out with noise and distractions.

I wonder, when we listen and cooperate with His grace - what new life will we carry within ourselves?

Quick Hits - Lent Journal (23/40)

It's hard to really give much thought to anything other than worldwide efforts to survive right now, so tonight will just be bullet-form again. I'm also wondering about the merits of moving to every other day instead of daily, but I need to pray on it.

• There are few moments that I am glad to work for a supply chain software company, but right now is one of them. Our clients include Publix and Home Depot, and they need all the support they can get to keep inventory.

• So many of us have come out of the first week of social distancing ready to support their local communities. The Atlanta Facebook community has coordinated mask making for local hospitals that will be out of protective equipment in less than two weeks. They need volunteers for every part of this effort: supply donors, sewers, pickup / delivery.

• Last week a group of us started praying a daily Chaplet of Divine Mercy at 3pm over video chat. Since then, my girlfriend and I (and her family) have started praying the Angelus at noon, and now my girlfriend is video-hosting a daily rosary at 7:30am. Lots of opportunities for prayer, and lots of need as well, especially in groups.

• I'm so glad to see Church leadership finding so many ways to extend God's mercy. If you aren't Catholic this won't make much sense or may just seem unnecessary, but for those who are:

• Bishops and pastors are being encouraged (where necessary) to grant general absolution to the faithful. To be clear this is not a doctrinal change - however, the practice is not common except in emergency circumstances where individual confession may not be an option. Individual confession is still so much better though; as hard as it can sometimes be to speak my sins to another human person, it's so enriching to and beautiful to hear the words "I absolve you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit".

• The Vatican granted a set of plenary indulgences this past week to support the faithful and those who love them. This includes those who are quarantined; those who risk their health and lives in caring for the sick; and those who pray for the end of this pandemic.

• The Franciscan Friars of the Renewal will be streaming a nightly parish mission including Eucharistic adoration, music, prayer, and preaching. There's so much about this I'm excited about.

• Fr. Giuseppe Barardelli died from COVID-19 today - an elderly priest in Italy. He had given his respirator to a younger patient, and as a result become ill. A tragedy, but also a beautiful witness to the love and mercy of God. Fr. Barardelli, pray for us!

• So many opportunities from pastors and bishops for live-streamed Mass - not as entertainment to watch, but as prayer to unite ourselves with and participate in: the source of spiritual life for the Church. Heartfelt homilies, praying for spiritual communion even as physical communion is not currently available.

• My girlfriend and I will be spending tomorrow evening enjoying "company" (from afar) with each other, and COVID-19 will not be a topic of conversation. This, after tonight when we only got to talk for about 30 minutes and the entirety was discussing today's local happenings and what we can do to help.

Brief Thoughts - Lent Journal (Sunday Lent IV)

A few brief thoughts that came up from today's readings:

• Isn't it curious how the LORD never reveals the full plans? He could have simply told Samuel, "Go and anoint David, Jesse's son, in Bethlehem". Instead, Samuel's faith is tested by having to go without knowing - he discovers God's plan in his faithfulness. This allows him the joy of being surprised by who is chosen, and who is rejected. Where am I being asked to trust without knowing the full story?

• Anointing with oil was symbolic of the richness of creation. It always makes me remember Confirmation, specifically the scent of the oil. I remember feeling the rush of the Holy Spirit at the Easter Vigil three years ago, a truly awesome sensation - which you could certainly partially attribute to good old-fashioned adrenaline, but was such a vivid extraordinary feeling that I have a hard time reducing it to anything naturalistic.

• "He guides me in right paths ... even though I walk in the dark valley I fear no evil; for you are at my side" -- It still seems so counter-intuitive that God leads us into the dark valley. Or I suppose the appropriate preposition would be through instead of into. Our Father wants us to come to understand that we can rely on Him for everything, which means we have to come to see that we can't do it on our own.

• I have been working my way through the Bible - I just finished Jeremiah and most of Isaiah after getting through Kings and Chronicles. The lesson of primary importance is that same message - God asks that we look to Him for answers. This is so counter-cultural for those of us who were raised in contemporary American individualism that says self-reliance is the only type of reliance that can be counted on.

• The suggestion that we are light in the Lord is such a surprising twist in the spiritual life. While God is capable of doing all things on His own, the implication here is that we become the lights that expose darkness in the world, so that it can be rooted out. We are constantly on mission to enter into the deep dark undergrowth of society to uncover that which would otherwise go unnoticed. The Church needed that type of mentality through the decades of sexual abuse.

• We also need that mentality in our own lives, here and now. We need daily examinations, and we need to ask the Holy Spirit for the gift of humility and honesty in investigating every corner of our souls for the corruption of sin.

• There's too much to cover about the man born blind. Sometimes we get so caught up on the question of whether a person's circumstances were their own fault. Jesus's answer should undermine an accusatory attitude that would treat others as being outside of the Body of Christ. If any pain or suffering is allowed by God, it is so that the works of God might be made visible through him.

• The story of the man born blind isn't just about physical blindness. It can just as easily be applied to spiritual blindness in our own lives. What are we blind do, either in our own lives or in society around us? What do we fail to see, and where does Christ wish to enter in and open our eyes? 

Redemptive Suffering - Lent Journal (22/40)

Tonight my girlfriend and I were video chatting, and I think we both were feeling the burden of uncertainty and lack of control over the future. We've been trying to maintain balance: paying attention to the news (both local and ecclesial); trying to talk through concrete plans for how to prepare for the worst; keeping cautious with social distancing; and trying to not focus exclusively on COVID-19. I'm sure we aren't alone in feeling as if this is the only topic on everyone's mind right now, and just needing to talk about anything else to keep some sort of normalcy.

I can't tell exactly what we are more anxious about: the prospects about potentially becoming infected ourselves, of potentially infecting those who we care about, or the likelihood of some form of rationing and food/supply shortages. I went to the grocery store tonight and my mind immediately went to food insecurity during the Great Depression and needing to stand in line for hours to receive daily rations.

The Catholic perspective on all this is so curious because it is so honest about the reality of suffering. I've already written about hope, but what didn't go into that discussion was the Catholic answer to the question: why does a perfectly loving God allow suffering? Now, 11:30pm is hardly the time for me to engage that question with any veracity (nor am I equipped to give more than a basic and perhaps unsatisfactory argument). But at the very least I can wrestle with the painfully beautiful claim that God allows suffering and evil to bring about a greater good. In other words - God promises to redeem suffering, transforming it so that we can actually be grateful for whatever suffering we endure.

It is definitely an act of the will to accept that as a principle by which to live your life - within the greater Catholic framework, that is. You can't just say everything happens for a reason without a broader understanding of the world that can back up the belief. For example, unless there is an afterlife you can't honestly say you believe in the concept of universal justice. Similarly, unless God is the transcendent reality that sustains all creation can we say both that God is in control and that we have free will.

I think we can understand these things in the abstract and still want nothing to do with them in our lived reality. Because I would prefer this not to be happening, and in the moment it is impossible even to attempt to predict what greater good will come out of this. Then again, I'm sure the same was set of the black death; the fall of Rome; the suffering of innocent bystanders; so many other atrocities that weigh on us emotionally.

So on the one hand I do want to point out all the beautiful gifts that are already coming out of this virus:

• A return to simpler and slower lives
• The care of medical workers
• Upholding the dignity of every person, employed or unemployed
• Seeing how much we all touch each others' lives, and what we have been missing the past couple decades of loneliness and shallow friendships
• Remembering the importance of Mass, and especially of the Eucharist
• Incredible examples of pastors caring for their flocks in creative ways

But I can also imagine that those who have actually been directly affected by this virus - those who have been infected or have lost loved ones - aren't interested right now in seeing any redeeming value to something that has caused them so much pain. The question that seems appropriate is why did I have to be sacrificed for this greater good to come about? Why me?

I don't want to dismiss that question, because we worship a God who cried out My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? from the cross. We need to show so much support and compassion to those who are suffering, and platitudes just don't cut it. When confronted with suffering - especially the suffering of those we love - we don't want to see the silver lining; we just want it to stop.

But at some point we have to be confronted with the question of hope yet again: is God present in every moment or not? Is Emmanuel - God-with-us - the truth of how reality is configured? Is God truly benevolent? Do I trust my Father that He has my best interests in mind and is infinitely concerned with doing what it takes to demonstrate His love for me?

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I have this image I've been chewing on the past couple years, of Purgatory. Typically when we discuss it we are focused on the need for expiation of temporal punishment due to sins. But I'm convinced that what most of us need healing from is our relationship with Our Father. I think when we die, we will meet Saint Peter, who will hand us the million-page tome of our lives, with all the details filled in for how God was working in every moment. And our time in Purgatory will be spent reading the book, realizing for the first time So that's what He was doing there; I'm so thankful I went through that.

I know there is merit in simply trusting without seeing, and to some extent the onus is on us to accept the truth that God loves us; but God is merciful and tender and compassionate, and I sincerely believe He understands that we need His help to get to that point.

It Takes Both Kinds - Lent Journal (20/40)

This past Winter break, I was planning to visit my friend Beth and her family up in Maryland. It was about a three hour drive each way from Richmond (where my parents live), and I wasn't going to stay overnight because I was flying back home the next evening, so I knew Thursday would be a packed day, but I was really looking forward to it. Unfortunately on Christmas Day, I got a text from her saying at least two in the house had gotten a bad case of the stomach flu, and she suggested I stay away for my own sake.

I wrestled with this for most of a day, before I ultimately decided to visit anyways. I hadn't seen her since high school, and she was one of those who had gotten sick; with five kids in the house, I figured she and her husband could use an extra hand for the afternoon. My plan was to avoid touching or eating anything that she or her kids had touched, wash my hands, and generally be careful. Plus, she was already mostly feeling better and nobody else was showing symptoms yet.

Beth and I had a wonderful visit - we went to Mass together and received the Eucharist side-by-side for the first time, we generally caught up, I had a great time with her kids, helped ease things around the house, and enjoyed dinner with them before leaving. I drove back to Richmond, got to my parents' house around 1am, and went straight to sleep.

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I think you know where this story is going. I started feeling sick that same night, and by morning I wanted nothing to do with food. I sipped Gatorade and broth most of the day, sitting and reading while trying not to move or upset my stomach. I also made sure to wash anything I had ate or drank from, and avoided any contact with my parents - no hugs when saying bye at the airport. My girlfriend picked me up from the airport with a few supplies for the next couple days as I recovered. I declared my house a no-entry zone until I saw my son on Monday, followed by my parents coming down on Tuesday.

When my parents arrived, my dad was complaining about his stomach being queasy, and he was asking about my symptoms from when I had been sick. Oh boy, here we go. The next morning I was sure I heard my dad being sick in the bathroom, and I felt so guilty I had passed it on.

It turns out he was fine and hadn't gotten sick, he had just eaten too many chocolates - but still, I felt awful knowing I could have passed it along to my parents. My girlfriend also pointed out I could have gotten my son sick, besides which my getting sick could have prevented me from being able to share parenting time with my son.

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Society has dealt with terrible diseases in the past, and historically the solution has been some form of quarantine. The Old Testament even makes reference to this, declaring that those infected with leprosy must wear certain clothing and announce to those around - "Unclean, unclean". Those who were infected were essentially cast out from society, losing their names; their property; their dignity.

Thankfully, the Church and Her saints have always been willing to step in and place themselves in harm's way in caring for the sick regardless of conditions. Leper colonies were formed by Catholic monastic communities to serve as a refuge and a place where the dignity of these people could be affirmed. Saint Francis is known for meeting a poor leper on the road at the time of his spiritual conversion; he walked up to the man and embraced him as his brother.

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These situations have been on my mind the past couple weeks, in light of the pandemic and universal calls for social distancing and isolation. Keeping spread of infection low is critical, and it's not just about whether I get sick; it's also about whether I then pass it along to others. Until we have better access to testing, we just don't know who is infected but asymptomatic, and whose cough is "the bad cough". We all have a responsibility for the sake of others to keep healthy.

At the same time ... I think we can focus too much on the need to isolate, and forget that we belong to each other in more ways than simply not spreading disease. We can get so wrapped up in the fear of being outside in a space we can't control that we neglect to care for those who can't care for themselves or otherwise can't isolate themselves. I do hate that I got the stomach flu and risked passing it along, but I was also so glad to show Beth and her family just how much love I have for them by being willing to take that on for them.

We need ministries that continue to reach out to offer assistance and support. We need volunteers to make and deliver meals. We need doctors and nurses. We need farmers, electricians, plumbers, grocers, truckers, manufacturers, cleaners, and even politicians. We need priests and deacons to visit hospitals, administer the sacraments and provide counseling, and continue to find creative ways of serving their flocks. We need those who are willing to sacrifice their own safety. We need the saints of our time - we need you.

None of this takes away from the fact that we need to be wise and support those in the medical field by being cautious. There are many paths to holiness; for most, it will look like remaining at home. For some, though, it will look like walking into danger while taking the necessary precautions. The most vulnerable in our society need both kinds.

What am I Working For - Lent Journal (19/40)

Tonight we're discussing the question: what am I working for? 

Confession: I watch the stats of this blog more closely than I should. My intent is to see how successful it is - whether I'm writing about what is going to help others or make a difference. Especially when I'm putting time into this and occasionally staying up late, it can get discouraging to not see any feedback (or not to see anyone read it at all).

Confession number two: I struggle with a need for affirmation and encouragement. I want to make sure I'm helping others in ways that they truly need, but I also struggle with self-doubt and so am constantly seeking feedback to be sure that I'm doing the right thing.

When I started writing on Facebook a few years ago, I was sharing thoughts and feelings that were on my heart - dealing with divorce and anxiety, parenthood and transitioning, and how God was touching my life and hopefully trying to encourage others to grow in their faith and trust in the Lord (as I am still growing in my own). That has especially been the case since conversion. I've found - as a baby-Catholic, the faith is still so new to me and seeing how the entire picture fits together in a beautiful mosaic is so exciting that I can't help but want to share.

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That was the idea of this blog as well - I was receiving compliments about my writing and so wanted to share more. This Lent was a somewhat spontaneous decision to pick it back up, and I felt the Lord asking me to take on this project of writing daily.

I have a list of posts I'd love to write, and I'm glad for the opportunity to share about the faith every day if possible. The beauty of the faith is that the more you share your love for it, the more you find that you love it.

That being said: There is a great risk in any project (especially one that God is calling you to take on) to make it about ourselves. Having made the initial yes, we assume we are doing God's will and are therefore ... almost immune? to being self-centered. After all, if we are doing God's will, we are on the right track.

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I feel the need to point out that in the above five paragraphs I have used the first-person more than twenty times, while referring to God only six times. Unintended though it may be, I don't think I am unique in finding my desires, my plans, my goals getting wrapped up and potentially even superseding God's will. I make God's plan about me.

I guess what I'm saying is: we need to be asking the right questions. Even within a project that is being pursued for the will of God, we need to check ourselves: where does God fit within this? Am I seeking His will? What inspiration is the Holy Spirit offering?

The risk is that we try so hard to be successful that we neglect faithfulness. We assume pursuing God's will is going to directly lead to some miraculous conversion that we forget He is the one in control and granting the grace of conversion. We lose sight of the purpose of faithfulness: sanctity.

Maybe what He is is asking is intended to work on my sense of self-worth: it should be based solely on God's love for me, rather than finding worth in praise and affirmation. Maybe it's about my need for control. Maybe it's about the importance of time management and not getting distracted. Maybe it's about patience - we don't always receive immediate gratification, and sometimes the seeds are planted years in advance of their bearing fruit.

If I am discouraged because of lack of views, it means I assumed God's plan was for lots of views - which may have never been the point.

Perhaps someone will find some benefit or will be changed for the better; perhaps not. In the end that isn't up to me, and I shouldn't concern myself with what God is trying to do. Instead, I should simply trust: God's will is always good even when I can't see the results, and that is enough.

In Time of Desolation - Lent Journal (18/40)

Alright y'all. It's day four (of many) of social distancing. For some that means we've been physically isolated for four days, or our kids have been off of school for a week and unable to see their friends, or we've been working from home in a different environment from what we are used to.

And now we don't have Mass or convenient access to the Sacraments.

I don't know about you but I'm starting to get the itch.

You know the one: the one that brings you to the fridge for the third time this afternoon. Or checking Facebook for the 10th time. Or getting upset with your spouse or kids over things that are unimportant. Or being tempted by some unexpected vice you thought you had moved past.

It's the feeling of being alone or abandoned, losing motivation for things that will give you life and joy. Especially right now when we just don't have a sense of when this will be over and it can be so easy to sit in the darkness.

There is a word for this in the spiritual life: Desolation.

From Saint Ignatius's rules for discernment of spirits [1]:

The fourth rule: I call desolation all the contrary of [Spiritual Consolation], such as darkness of soul, disturbance in it, movements to things low and earthly, the unquiet of different agitations and temptations, moving to want of confidence, without hope, without love, when one finds oneself all lazy, tepid, sad, and as if separated from his Creator and Lord.

I think it's important to know the signs, to recognize it as such, and to understand what to do when confronted with the arid desert of desolation.

I think the instinct is to shrink down, to try to look for an escape - a safe space to wait it out. That's certainly the case for me: feeling discouraged, I decide not to pray tonight after all; or I settle into comfort food to try and make myself feel better. Or I do worse and give into temptations. Which leads to further discouragement, self-accusation, self-condemnation, fear of God's judgment, anxiety, a desire to hide in shame, and darkness. (I speak from far too much past experience)

Because here's the thing: the pump is primed for the Devil to step in and attack us right now. He knows we are weary, we are in foreign territory, we don't have simple access to the Sacraments - especially Confession - and if we fall, the fall will be that much more painful. He's upping his game, and I think strategically it's the opportune time. Like a roaring lion your adversary the devil prowls around, looking for someone to devour.

So I suppose the question is, knowing this is coming, what do we do?

Again, from St. Ignatius [2]:

 The fifth rule: In time of desolation never to make a change; but to be firm and constant in the resolutions and determination ...

The sixth rule: ... it is very helpful intensely to change ourselves against the same desolation, as by insisting more on prayer, meditation, on much examination ...

The seventh rule: Let him who is in desolation ... resist the different agitations and temptations of the enemy; since he can with the Divine help, which always remains to him, though he does not clearly perceive it ...

The eighth rule: Let him who is in desolation labor to be in patience ... let him think that he will soon be consoled ...

So much more that could be said, but in summary: if the Devil is going to up his game, we will just need to step it up as well. Thankfully we are never alone in this battle. We've seen so many beautiful examples over the past week of members of the Church being saints, of priests truly caring for their flocks and the faithful laity being there for each other. Just speaking for the Atlanta young adult community, we're organizing times to video chat and pray together and keep God in the forefront of our minds throughout the day.

When the Eucharist is unavailable - and it's a huge, painful hole - we will just have to find other sources of the grace we need to be the saints He is calling us to be.  Thankfully our Church has a large tool chest filled with thousands of spiritual devotions. God will see us through.

Linking to the creator of this image

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[1] Discerning Hearts Podcast put out a series that covered each rule in a separate episode. Fr. Timothy Gallagher is brilliant and has such a calming voice. https://www.discerninghearts.com/catholic-podcasts/fr-timothy-gallagher-discernment-of-spirits/

[2] I really want to cite all Ignatius's rules, because they are so full of insight from a lifetime of trial and error. https://www.discerninghearts.com/catholic-podcasts/14-rules-of-st-ignatius-of-loyola/

Don't Lose the Hunger - Lent Journal (17/40)

I remember when I was coming into the Church, that hunger to receive the Eucharist. Going to Mass each Sunday (and multiple times during the week), kneeling in the front pew and watching others receive. I vividly remember praying for each of them as they received, that they would know what it was they were doing.

I remember going up to receive a blessing initially, but after awhile just remaining kneeling because it hurt too bad to be that close to my Lord and my Lover without being able to offer Him my body as I received His.

I remember counting the days until receiving Communion:

Three years ago to the day, of course

I remember underlining every line of scripture I could find that would help make that hunger grow:

I remember the sweetness of Adoration, which I must confess I haven't been as consistent about visiting in recent months:

And, of course, I remember the goodness and the tenderness of receiving Him for the first time. And the next. And the time after that. His generosity to me when I am dispense the Chalice, getting to drink down to the dregs. The awe of getting to hand Him to people, watching Him work as He touches the hearts of the faithful and transforms us from within.

If you are feeling pained about Masses being suspended ... I don't know. Part of me wants to just say "good", and leave it at that - because it is a good hunger, and one that should ever be extinguished.

Longing for what is missing leads to appreciation when it is again present.

Friends - If you have been sustained through trials by the graces given in the Eucharist - somehow God will get you through this. I promise you, if He is withdrawing this gift from you it is to give you some deeper love, some greater intimacy with Him. He is helping you walk more closely with those catechumenates and confirmandi who are preparing for their first taste this Easter. He is letting you foster some other devotion or re-evaluate the priorities of your life. He is humbling you to see the extent to which you are dependent on Him. I don't know what He is doing. I just know that we must wait for the Lord, take courage; be stouthearted, wait for the Lord! 

The Opening up of Love - Lent Journal (Sunday Lent III)

I'm at home watching Kate & Leopold (why yes - yes, I am a hopeless romantic. Why do you ask?). I won't go into the details of the movie - if you haven't seen it, you probably won't - but suffice it to say, Kate has been treated poorly and taken advantage of in past relationships, and it's made her cynical and jaded about love:

I'm not very good with men ... maybe that whole 'love thing' is just a grown-up version of Santa Claus; just a myth we've been fed since childhood. So we keep buying magazines, and joining clubs, and doing therapy and watching movies with hip-hop songs played over montages in this pathetic attempt to explain why our Love Santa keeps getting caught in the chimney.

In summary: she's been let down so many times that she doesn't think the real deal exists. Or maybe she thinks it does but that she doesn't deserve it.

The scene after the above quote, Kate wakes up to Leopold making her breakfast and serving her coffee, and she starts crying as she eats it. It's a pivot point in the movie, as Kate sees the wounds in how she had been treated and comes to understand that she deserved better, and Leopold is willing to offer that to her. Later that day as she sits with him, she curls up next to him and says: I want more of this. I want more of 1876.

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I think this is something like the experience of the Samaritan woman at the well in today's Gospel: she's been so mistreated that she had just gotten used to getting by. She was living in sin, but more significantly she was fine with that being the way things were. She didn't think she deserved better. Maybe she didn't think she could be better.

When Jesus approached her and offered her something greater, something opened up: she realized the extent of God's love. She realized she was longing for something more and she hadn't known it. Being loved well can bring you to life.

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There is a lot of talk in the Church and society of dignity and human worth, but I don't think we necessarily live that out in our day-to-day lives particularly well. I think without realizing it many of us think we are being loved to the fullest extent that we deserve, but the reality is drops in an ocean. We lower our eyes because we don't see what is above, or we're afraid of what will be taken from us if we open ourselves up to the possibility. We long for something greater but we think it impossible, so we limit our desires to something less.

Do we realize what we are being offered? Or have we become so used to being mistreated that we settle for half-baked love? Do we take the time to demonstrate that love to those around us? Do we make a point of telling those who have been wounded - You deserve better. You are worth more. You are capable of greater things.

A few years ago when I was coming into the Church, a dear friend of mine shared a simple prayer with me:

Let me let you love me.

It is never a question of whether God loves you. That love is infinite and unconditional. The true question is: will you give yourself over to Him? Will you offer your wounds to the healing hands of Christ, the Divine Physician? Will you let God show you just how good He is, and how beautifully glorious you are in His eyes, and just what you are worth?

Blood, Gardening, and Vodka - Lent Journal (16/40)

Tonight's post is going to be more of a proper blog, because as much as I would love to put on my theology hat and talk soteriology or eschatology, at the moment I need to stop thinking, just write what comes to me, and get some sleep.

Today I got out to LifeSouth to donate platelets - it took about two hours, but was totally worth it. They have such a low supply right now because of lack of donors; too many people afraid they are potentially infected (or maybe afraid of getting infected? fear is not always rational). Turns out the FDA has published a notice: "respiratory viruses, in general, are not known to be transmitted by blood transfusion, and there have been no reported cases of transfusion-transmitted coronavirus". We all have our own way to support the community, but I hope you will consider donating - whoever you are, dear reader.

I talked to my son for a few minutes yesterday. He's at mom's house, no school until March 27th (there will be remote teaching beginning next week - no idea what that looks like). I'll be continuing to see him on my regularly-scheduled parenting days. I'm anxious about him, mostly just because I'm not there and I want to be. I'm going to try to talk to him more while he's at home, if I can ever time the phone call right. It always feels so awkward, being a parent but not going through the same day-to-day things. But then again, we all have our unique challenges, and I shouldn't compare. Something to work on.

My spring garden is beginning to take shape. I planted radishes, carrots, and spinach two weeks ago; the radishes are coming up already. No signs yet of the carrots or spinach, I may have planted them too early. Strawberries are recovering from the winter, I'm really looking forward to them in a few months. I also transplanted onions today, which I had grown from sprouts in water. We'll see how well it works out, but it's an interesting experiment nonetheless. In the next week I'll be planting some more, I've got about 40 square feet to work with.

The Archdiocese of Atlanta hasn't totally shut down yet; most parishes seem to be holding Mass tomorrow still, though we have been dispensed from the Sunday Obligation. All events, activities, and religious education have been canceled, of course. Tomorrow we will have a last middle school / high school ministry class to talk through the virus, though we're anticipating very low turnout. In the meantime, my Dad made a suggestion that parishes could have a vodka font in the Narthex to kill the virus, so we wouldn't need to get rid of the holy water. Obviously that wouldn't happen because of any number of reasons (children? recovering alcoholics? the smell?), let alone the amount of vodka required across the Archdiocese - but the suggestion lightened the mood, which I think I need.

I haven't quite figured out the level of paranoia required for social distancing - what the limits are, and when I am being overly cautious. My girlfriend and I have partly talked through what social distancing will look like - she'll very likely be going to her parents' house this next week so she isn't alone, since she'll be working from home. My work office isn't closed yet, but it just seems like it's only a matter of time. I'll be at my house still, with a few days here and there with Shota, but I have to admit I'm really not looking forward to the isolation. Even as an introvert, I need people, and my love language is physical touch. I need to hold myself accountable to reach out and video chat with friends whenever possible. We'll make it through though.

That's all for tonight, I think. I feel like every conversation right now is about Coronavirus, and while that isn't all that surprising, I just need a break from it. I'd love to figure out how to play chess with a friend (without doing online - I want an actual physical board) - if anyone has ideas, I'm on board.

I See You - Lent Journal (15/40)

If you are already feeling the ache of canceled volunteer opportunities and being unable to serve ... I see you. Don't run from the ache. Even if there is nothing you can do - that is a good ache. Don't lose it.

If you feel the urge to retreat inward, worried about your family and your life ... I see you. Your burden is real, and it is heavy - but fight that urge and open up; we need each other. Let others lighten your burden. Be emotionally generous.

If you find yourself with nothing to do, feeling lost and alone ... I see you. Get out of the house (if it is safe for you to do so) and find people to care for. Go to the grocery store and buy flowers for the people who work there. Stop the cleaning crew at your office and tell them how valued they are. Check on your neighbors and friends; let them know they are not alone either.

If you are away from your family and are anxious to know they are okay ... I see you. If you aren't able to be there for them, give your pained heart to Jesus and let him console you. Rest in the sorrow if you need. When you are ready, let the Spirit enter into your brokenness and drive you to love those around you.

If you are already feeling burnt out from a week of paying too much attention to school announcements, parish announcements, diocesan announcements, governor's announcements, presidential announcements ... I see you. Be tender and kind to yourself. Rest in the peace and the knowledge that you are not in control, and you are not the savior.

Nothing to Say - Lent Journal (14/40)

Honestly I have nothing to say or contribute tonight. I think some of that is just because there has been so much changing in the past 48 hours, and my words don't seem like they will make much of an impact.

I was supposed to volunteer tonight with the homeless shelter, but overnight those in charge decided it was best to close, for the sake of the residents and the volunteers. I have to admit, I was partly relieved because it's been a long week; but mostly it's just disappointing.

I think when everything is going wrong, we want to feel like we can fix it all. Make it all go away, and save the day. Be everything for everyone, and solve all the problems. Barring that - we want to feel like we can do something to lighten the burden just a bit.

We don't want to feel helpless. Perhaps we don't want to feel unneeded. Maybe it's the fact that we are made in the imago Dei that makes us want to love so hard.

I think we also are becoming more aware of our true interdependence. Especially in our isolated American culture, maybe we will rediscover just how much we need each other. We need only open our eyes and see those who will go without, and offer from either the abundance or the limited supplies that we have. Though I haven't figured out how to do that if we all remain at home where it is safe, while those who are struggling live on the other side of town.

I don't know - I just know that it is in moments of uncertainty and anxiety that we see saints both great and small.

As I said, I don't know that I have anything to say that hasn't already been said by experts and those in authority. Pray. Fast. Give Alms. Keep your eyes open for those who are without. Judge for yourself whether you can serve best at home with your families, or out on the streets with those who have neither. If you are able, allow yourself to be stretched for the sake of others.

Maintaining Hope in Anxious Times - Lent Journal (13/40)

We interrupt our planned Lent journal plans to work through hope - what it looks like, and what it doesn't.

The last time the world felt quite this fragile was after the election. I remember reading posts about trust in God's plans. I remember confidence that all would be well because of Christ our King being in control of what is ultimately important. I also remember the fear and uncertainty. Not knowing what would happen next, and the seeming tension between these two opposites.

We are aware of every verified case of COVID-19 across the globe, a blessing in that awareness leads to better strategy; but also a confirmation that we should be afraid. Cities across the world are closing down to slow the spread of the virus, and we wonder when someone we know will be infected. My son's school is preparing for the likely event that they will begin remote learning at some point.

My son was on the playground with his friends this afternoon after school, and they were playing a variation on tag they called "infection".

We hear experts at every level telling us: Stay at home. Keep your distance. Wash your hands. Cover your mouth. Don't touch your face.

The homeless shelter I volunteer with is shutting down beginning March 15th, two weeks early. While I can appreciate the desire to contain infection to a smaller population, I can't help but wonder: where will those men sleep? When we all isolate to keep our families safe, what will happen to those who are alone? And no matter what we do, some populations will be more affected than others. As always, those most impacted by the reactions of public officials will be those who cannot afford to wait for paid leave bills to be passed; who can't put food on the table; who don't have jobs or homes.

There's talk of FEMA responding to emergency declarations in some capacity. I was wondering what that would look like, but I suppose if an entire city is shut down (including grocery stores and gas stations), we're going to need emergency rations.

And I have to confess that my immediate reaction is denial: it won't be that bad, it can't be that bad. These are overreactions. Which I don't think is hope, properly understood, as much as it is a simple desire that things will work out.

I'd like to be realistic: it is certainly possible that it will be that bad. In this life, bad things happen and there isn't always an immediately obvious silver lining. Regardless - for those who have been affected already and have lost loved ones, it already has been that bad.

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Various cultures have presented a saying (preserved in the Church): memento mori (remember death). I don't say all this to be morbid, but while hope does not disappoint, neither does it pretend. We live straddling a line that both divides and connects two worlds: the present world that is passing away, and the world to come, where every tear will be wiped away.

All the same, we straddle that line - we don't exclusively live in the world to come. We are living here - in this world - which means we can't simply distance ourselves from pain and suffering. We don't want those we love to suffer, and that is entirely valid. Hope doesn't require stoically pretending that everything is fine, as if this life no longer means anything in light of the resurrection.

In light of all this, what does hope look like?

• Hope, properly understood, knows that this world is transitory - but also remembers that God is acting in our lives, in our midst, in the sorrows and tragedies.

• Hope looks at suffering in the other and sees meaning - but also an opportunity for compassion.

• Hope, based in faith, believes in ultimate justice and mercy - but not necessarily within our lifetimes.

• Hope means believing in redemption - but does not deny the cross.

• Hope somehow maintains peace, confidently trusting in Providence - and therefore leads to a deeper love of the other, knowing that we are actually participating in bringing about God's plan.

• Hope draws near to God, the source of - and destination of - our hope.

• Hope continues to look up in prayer - sometimes because we are at a loss for anything else to do.

May we continue to maintain hope. May we continue to lean in and trust Our Lord. May we continue to do all we can to pour ourselves out in caring for others in anxious times.

My Son - Lent Journal (10/40)

This afternoon I was spending time with my son, and I found myself realizing that there are things he's just not good at.

I think it was somewhere between playing Frisbee and playing pool with his friends - really, it's most physical activities; I was watching him struggle with doing things his friend was talented at. What really surprised me was my emotional reaction. I wanted to step in and turn it into a teaching moment for him. I wanted to fix it, and help him get better.

I wanted him to be better.

As his father, I feel a deep responsibility to help my son discover himself, and with that comes expectations that I know I need to let go of, but it's so hard. I want him to be the very best of everything, and while I know that is more than a bit unreasonable, I can't help but look at him and see incredible potential.

I think I take it too hard, but I will confess to feeling responsible for my son's difficulty: with individual activities; skills; life in general. And I know that ultimately I'm not in control, and he will grow up one day and become someone altogether different from what I would ever anticipate.

There are going to be areas where he fails; where he shows no interest in something I think he should enjoy; he's going to make mistakes and some of them won't be easily redeemed.

As a divorce dad, it breaks me knowing I'm already not there every step of the way. I am immensely aware of the areas where I let him down, the memories that aren't being made. The bike he hasn't learned to ride, the ball he hasn't learned to throw, the vacations he hasn't been on, the fishing he's never done (although I've never been fishing either; I didn't say my internal guilt-trip was altogether rational).

I'm not there.

It breaks me, knowing that I won't be able to be there every step of the way. Not having the assurance that he will be okay. I guess we never do have that, and a certain painful death of parenting is coming to understand that you have been entrusted with guiding a human person along the way, but that God is in charge. God gives them to you so that you can become a saint, just as much as you can support them in their own pilgrim's journey.

My son can't throw a ball to save his life. That's okay.

Actually, let me do one better: that is an integral and meaningful part of the story God is writing in his life. In his biography it will say that his inability to throw a ball somehow made him a better person, or glorified God in some subtle way I can't anticipate or comprehend, but it will be incredible in retrospect.

I need to celebrate every moment of this dear child's life - the parts I see as good, and the parts I struggle with and want to change. The parts where he will be hurt ... I can't prevent them all, or even most of them, and that's okay too. Because while I can't be there physically in every moment, he has a Father who loves him deeply and desperately and will always be watching over him.

Gazing into the Palantir - Lent Journal (9/40)

An early post today (I'm taking a rest day from work; I'd like to get away from screens if I can) - I was reading The Two Towers this morning and came across this quote from Gandalf (emphasis mine):

"Easy it is now to guess how quickly the roving eye of Saruman was trapped and held; and how ever since he has been persuaded from afar, and daunted when persuasion would not serve. ... How long, I wonder, has he been constrained to come often to his glass for inspection and instruction, and the Orthanc-stone so bent towards Barad-dûr that, if any save a will of adamant now looks into it, it will bear his mind and sight swiftly thither? And how it draws one to itself! Have I not felt it? Even now my heart desires to test my will upon it, to see if I could not wrench it from him and turn it where I would ..."

Gandalf is referring here to the palantiri, seeing-stones, though insight into Middle Earth isn't necessary to understand the image Tokien is painting.


In the Judeo-Christian understanding of the universe, all of Creation - sun, moon, earth, stars, land, waters, vegetation, animals, humanity - is good, worthy of celebration and enjoyment. This is also the case with things humanity creates: we are capable of doing incredible good through our creativity. With all the emphasis on sin and corruption, we can easily forget that fundamental truth and jump straight to our need for redemption, but we always need to remember our original goodness.

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All that being said, we do also live in a fallen world. As good as creation is, all created things can be misused, distorted, and corrupted - this is an observable fact, setting aside the doctrinal assertions. Politics, sports, art, cuisine, religious institutions, schools, and families: even in just the past generation, we've seen ways that each of these can be twisted into something tragic and harmful.

But setting aside the wider societal questions ... what about in my own life? Do I really feel like I'm in control of my own actions? Or do I have my own moments where I gaze into the palantir - "constrained to come often to [the] glass for inspection and instruction".

We find ourselves almost serving created things - reflexively picking up our phones. Netflix. Sweets. Sports. News. Music. Alcohol. Pornography. The list is different for everyone, but we all know our list.

Most of these things aren't even inherently evil, and yet we can still end up addicted - making them the centers of our lives - and we might not even realize it has happened. On the other hand, we may notice it creeping in but feel powerless to fight against it.

To err is human, we say - because we accept that we aren't perfect. But I think part of it is that we know exactly what Paul is talking about when he says I do not do the good I want, but I do the evil I do not want (Rom 7:19). Setting aside the moral weight of the words good and evil, but we can still relate to the overall message - we push the snooze button for the third time; we watch that fourth episode on Netflix; we find ourselves consuming something, anything, to fill a void - a hunger that seems to be impossible to fill, and we end up feeling more empty than we started.

Eventually, we don't even find pleasure in these things - instead, we find that in a sense we have become trapped, unable to choose to choose what I really want, stuck in yet another rut, caught in chains we can't free ourselves from.

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I guess for today, I don't even want to present the hope for redemption (hint: it's Jesus), or Christian apologetics for why we have these insatiable desires (hint: we have been made to hunger for God) - I just wanted to lay out the problem.

Saruman was ensnared the moment he turned his whole attention to the palantir. The same is the case for us.

Getting into the "Good Place" - Lent Journal (8/40)

Last night I was starting to write about being at peace with imperfection. I'd like to continue that line of thinking tonight, because I think there is a tension here that needs unraveling.

On the one hand, we can become too self-satisfied - coming to a point where we simply accept ourselves, with no questioning as to whether we can (or should) grow. On the other, we can become overly scrupulous, focusing too much on our failures and beating ourselves up for not being better than we are.

Personally I struggle with the latter, because when I was younger I think I settled too much. But this isn't about me, it's about all of us. The tension goes much deeper than this, it comes to the heart of the Christian faith and the core question - does God love me, or doesn't He? And if He does, why do I need to do anything? How seriously do I need to take Christ's imperative - Be perfect, therefore, as your Heavenly Father is perfect (Mt 5:48)? Or his admonition - Go, and sin no more from now on (Jn 8:11)?

We need to remember what God's promises to us are - what is being offered through Christ and his Church.

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The past generation or so, the wider culture has reduced questions of Heaven and Hell to a sort of merit-based system, where "if you are a good person you go to Heaven when you die".

But going one step further than that, if Heaven is just a reward for good people - it would be entirely incomprehensible for an all-loving God to punish anyone for all eternity in Hell. What would be the criteria? And how could He be called all-loving while also condemning anyone to that? Do we really think anyone is that bad?

Perhaps more pressingly, what would make Heaven good and pleasant, especially for all eternity? If it was just the final reward of those who are "good", it wouldn't be all that different from this life - we wouldn't suddenly become better people, and none of us is perfect.

One of the fundamentals of Christianity seems like bad news at the outset - You can't earn Heaven, and you would never be good enough to make it there on your own. The reason for this is that Heaven isn't just "the good place people go when they die". Rather, Heaven is the realm where God IS, who is all perfect and is the source of all that is good in the entire universe (not just our origin, but also the one who sustains us all even here and now).

According to this understanding of Heaven and Hell, Heaven is being in the presence of the eternal Creator of all that is good, where Heaven is an existential reality that is absent God.

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That may have seemed like a tangent from the original question, but here's the link - we can't remain in the presence of sheer perfection without burning up. It's like flying into the sun, we just aren't made to handle the power and the heat on our own. As I said - we can't get to Heaven on our own. Instead, we first need to be made like God - receiving God's Divine life into our very being. To do this involves a process of purification, the way metal is refined in a fire.

To become like God is not something we can attain on our own; Divinity is a higher existential plane that we can't reach, and it's not just a matter of "climbing the mountain". Instead, we have to receive the Divine life from God by being brought up into that higher plane. All humanity was elevated to that privileged position when God became Man in the Incarnation, but - from a Catholic perspective - we now need to do our part, working with God in the capacity that we can.

The surest way to receive God's Divine life is in the Sacraments and a life of prayer, but there are no guarantees - we can throw it all away by turning away from God, the way a mirror loses its brilliance when it turns away from the light-source. Turning back towards God (metanoia - "repentance" / "thinking again") requires a painful effort of learning to seeing that our sins actually hurt ourselves, and keep us from being loved by an all-loving Creator who desires to elevate us much higher than we deserve.

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Which returns us to the original question: how do we reconcile loving ourselves exactly as we are with the need to be confronted with our failures?

Simply put - God loves us, and being outside time, knows all that we will ever do (rather, He knows all that we will ever have done across the span of our lives; we are the ones who choose to do what we do). That is the case now, that was the case when God became Man in the Incarnation, that was the case in the Crucifixion when Jesus freely chose to pay debt we owed that we could never pay, that was the case in the Resurrection and the Ascension when Jesus showed us our eternal destiny.

So there is no question of God's love, and we must see ourselves in that same light - for our own sake. Furthermore, we need to come to understand God's love and the extent to which we depend on Him. This takes humility, which for many of us means we need to be confronted with our failings and weaknesses when we aren't living in-step with Him. To seek the cure first requires realizing we are ill.

At the same time, we are being offered more than just forgiveness for our failings and weaknesses. We are being offered the capacity to actually become better, by God's grace!

But He's not going to force it on us. Which means we need to actually turn to Him and ask for the Gift that is already on offer. Once we accept the Gift, we then find an increased capacity to be like God - which is to say we are able to live in total self-emptying love.

That's the hope and the promise, anyways.

Late Nights - Lent Journal (7/40)

The past couple nights I've been up later than planned. Part of that has been because of this blog (or rather, because of trying to stick to my commitment). If I'm being totally honest, part of that has been distractions.

Wednesdays I pick my son up from school and we get the afternoon / evening together, before I drop him off at Mom's house at 7pm. We've been doing this every Wednesday the past 4 years, and I love the opportunity for some normalcy in our life. It's been nearly his whole life that he's been doing "Mom's house, Dad's house", so in some sense this is his normal; but I don't think I will ever get used to it.

Looking forward to the future, I don't know exactly what is coming up. My girlfriend and I have hopes as to what direction things are going, but God is still working on healing my self-doubts - both as a father and in whatever other vocation I'm called to. The annulment process was long (more about that another day), but it completed a couple months ago; I'm not married. It's a relief to know there is the possibility of a future as a husband ... I hesitate to even use that type of language, for one because my girlfriend and I aren't there yet and I don't want to put any words in either of our mouths - nor do I want to jinx it.

I worry about my consistency in sticking to plans, and about what life might look like. I've lived on my own most of my adult life, other than the 3 years my ex and I were together (again, this is not a pressing matter; but it seems I will find any opportunity to be anxious about the future). And, there is a certain freedom in being alone. I'd still much rather be with my son every day, of course ... but would I actually be good to live with?

When you're growing up, you have this image that your parents have it all figured out; they have everything put together. When the life you are born into is all you know, you look past the little messes and somehow you just don't see them. Now that I'm older, I see my life and I know there are things I don't take care of that I feel I should be. I'm not nearly as organized as I'd like, and every so often I mess up or fall or just generally fail to care for myself the way I should (e.g., not getting enough sleep from being up too late).

I know I'm hardly unique in these challenges, but I'd like to be better than I am.

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In any case - it's late, and I was just about to start typing about Fr. Jacques Philippe and his book, Finding and Maintaining Peace, and how it relates to my thinking. His basic premise is - if we truly believe God loves us, is in control, and is the source of all goodness (both in the universe and even within me), then the Father allows me to have any failings that I have, for some purpose. He could simply give me the grace to make me perfect in an instant, but He chooses not to do so ... it is up to me to come to peace with this fact, while also still acknowledging my own free choice in those decisions and mistakes I make, repenting, and if necessary confessing them.

As much as I'd love to wrestle with that more tonight, I badly need sleep. So that will have to wait.