Oh, the humanity!

I have a secret that I would love to share with you.  It may shock you and take you totally by surprise, but it is something you should probably come to terms with now.

We are human.

It is true.  With all of the beautiful messiness that is involved with being a part of this human race, we sometimes forget this truth.  While it doesn't mean that everyone is excused for anything wrong that they do simply on the grounds that they are a member of fallen humanity, it does change one's perspective of the matter.  Through reading another blog I've been introduced to the author Heather King and I must say she is altering the way I think. 

She gets to the heart of things and tends to present things in a way that is both naked (i.e. uncomfortable and unvarnished) and refreshing.  One of the things that was emphasized in a book of hers that I was reading was that we are a beautiful mess, we are broken, we are fallen but that it is because of all of these things that we should embrace life.  In all of the sufferings and troubles, we are alive and that is something that she wouldn't trade for anything.

The chance to suffer.  We don't typically approach suffering with a sense that we are glad to have this experience.  Very recently I experienced the death of my grandpa.  It was a time in which I was invited to enter into suffering.  Yet while I am grieving, I have also been witnessing the ways that my family is dealing with their grief.  My observations have lead to many more prayers for my family.  The raw grief I see in some of my family causes me to wonder if I am experiencing this so much differently because I have a strong relationship with the Lord or if it is because I loved him less or if it is because I am allowing myself to remain detached.  I'm not quite certain which it is, to be honest.  The brokenness of the human person has again been revealed to me.  I view this not with a sense of condemnation but rather with a sorrow at the human condition.  We are all reckless wanderers without the cross of Christ grounding us. 

Welcome to this broken, sinful, beautiful, wonderful world filled with humans who are the same.  There is this hole within each of us.  Hollywood tells us that our weight or clothes can fill this hole.  Romantic movies tell us that our hole will be filled by that perfect man/woman we are waiting to find.  Other facets of the modern world encourage money, material gain, people, or feelings to fill this void we have. 

You cannot complete me.  I cannot complete you.  Whenever I get married, I will never want to hear from that man (as wonderful, charming, and romantic though he may be) that he completes me.  He does not.  I am a mere human.  I need something greater than me to give sense and purpose to my life, to ground me when the world is hopelessly and desperately spinning out of control, to love me when I am acting in ways that are completely unlovable, to understand me when I do not even know what I understand, to fight for me when I am giving up, and to reveal Truth to me when I am believing lies.  It is unfair to expect any human to do all of these things.  We are flawed human beings, but we are beautiful.  We are beautiful not in our brokenness but in the ways God desires to use our brokenness to bring about wholeness, to cause greater healing.  These deep needs that I have can only be truly fulfilled by Our Lord.

As a human, I will fail and make mistakes.  I will judge others, I will sin, I will hurt others, and I will fail to be forgiving.  As a human, I will let you down and I will fail to live up to the standards of a Christian.  But humans also make big comebacks.  I've seen them within my family and I've seen them within myself. 

God has a soft spot for humanity.  He knows what we are through and through.  He became man to reveal to us this great love He has.  But He is the one person (or three persons?) that we can rely on entirely, who can fill the hole in our hearts, who has lived in this beautiful and messy world and managed to make sense of it all by an act of extreme foolish love.  The cross--an act of folly that is the only true sense in the world.

Embark on the adventure of life today striving to give others the benefit of the doubt.  Try to see the beautiful ridiculousness of this world and to rejoice in the glories of humanity.  And then draw near to the cross of Christ, pray to each person in the Blessed Trinity, and lay the strongest foundation that you possibly can.  We are human.  God understands that.  Nevertheless, strive to be the saint God calls you to be.  And let's learn to love like Him. 

Romans 5:8

Sometimes God speaks to me through....me

I love to write.  Another close favorite is reading.  My main writing over the past few years, apart from scholastic writing, has been in the form of prayer journals.  At different, random points in my life, I enjoy going back and reading what I have written.  It allows me to remember what that time period was like, whether it was beautiful or painful, and to see how far I have come.  Recently, different changes in life have caused me to go back and read and, surprisingly, learn from myself.  The moments of epiphany are too often neglected until I read them again and am, once again, enlightened and encouraged to persevere.

I have decided to share a lengthy portion of one journal entry that I wrote because I found myself edified simply by reading something I had penned.  While this could be due to a hardy dose of narcissism or pride, I believe that some of it may be beneficial for others.  Altogether, I believe it was inspired by Someone far wiser than I who, for a brief window of time, was able to use this unwieldy instrument for something good.
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March 31, 2013 --Easter Sunday

Jesus,

You overwhelm me with joy.  Last night I sat in a darkened Cathedral nave eagerly anticipating Your resurrection.  I was filled with a light-hearted joy.  The Scripture readings painted a picture of how God has loved humanity throughout time.  You have given me several moments in my life where I internally declare that this is Church.  Last night as I watch a woman be baptized and confirmed, as I glimpsed the joy on the face of Bishop..., as I inhaled the incense, as I helped fill the darkened Cathedral with light and persons, as I exchanged a greeting of peace--this is the embrace of the universal Church, this is my home.  I received You--Body, Blood, Soul and Divinity--in a manner that pre-dates the foundations of this country, in a way that countless saints have, from the hands of the Bishop ordained through an unbroken line of apostolic succession.  The beauty of the Church is striking and my heart finds itself being pressed to widen her chambers to make room for the Beauty that aches to overflow in her....

There are so many times when I think that I understand You and then I am reawakened to the fact that I comprehend so little.  What a beautiful mystery it is!  The rich depths of the Catholic faith cannot be plumbed.  You died for me and rose again.  The wounds You had were glorified.  You breath into my heart a joy beyond measure and You inscribe "Alleluia!" on my tongue.  From outside of time You pursue my heart, meeting me at the timeless table of the Eucharistic feast.  You know the workings of the universe--and my fierce and delicate heart.  You will for our wills to collide in an eruption of sanctification.  You are the perfect picture of patient love as You hang on the cross.  You recklessly call me to place my hand in Your side, calling me to believe more in Your triumph than my failings.

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The Lord desires something great for each one of us.  It may not be my personal idea of "greatness" or the type of greatness that I would like.  Yet each of us is called to be a saint.  We are called to be great in mercy, love, patience, kindness, generosity, and forgiveness.  We are called to place our will at the service of His will.  To accept that God has a better plan for ourselves than we do.  To realize that He desires to fulfill the deepest desires of our hearts...perhaps just in a different way than we are asking Him to do so. 

And Our Lord hasn't forgotten you.  He hasn't forgotten me. 

He hasn't forgotten you. 

"Let me hear in the morning of your merciful love, for in you I put my trust.  Teach me the way I should go, for to you I lift up my soul."  --Psalm 143:8

Deo Gratias

"We don't actually think you're crazy." 

I smiled at that as the student walked out the door.  While I wasn't extremely worried that they thought I was, there was a moment today when I wondered if I had pushed them over the edge. 

We were finishing up a PowerPoint from yesterday about Purgatory and someone asked a question that related to saints, although I'm not quite certain what it was at the time.  The saint they used as an example was St. Anthony.  Oftentimes I don't share personal stories with them for a few reasons but today one instantly came to mind.

"I got in a fight with St. Anthony once."

They looked up at me, puzzlement chiseled into their features.

"When I was younger my mom always told us to pray to St. Anthony if I lost something.  So I would pray that he would help me find my overdue library book.  And he would.  One month later after I already bought the book.  So I finally got mad at him and told him I wasn't going to pray to him anymore.  And so we didn't talk for a while."

"Wait...you and your mom?  Or you and St. Anthony?"

"St. Anthony."

I looked at their faces.  They wore a bemused expression but they were all paying attention and seemed interested.

"You guys think I'm crazy."  The entire class laughed.  I knew that telling them about a close relationship with a saint (i.e. a physically dead person) probably didn't strike them as the most normal thing.  But the positive thing is that theology teachers can get away with crazy things and the students just chalk it up to their faith.

"Anyway, I started talking to him again and now he helps me find things all of the time.  St. Anthony is great!"

The PowerPoint presentation continued and I put the incident out of my mind.  While they are one of my favorite classes they also are often the least productive.  The interesting story of St. Anthony was replaced with a frustration that they weren't working on their assignment but seemed to be talking about everything but theological matters.  Yet when that student told me that they didn't really think I was crazy, the frustration melted away and I had an "I'm glad I'm a teacher" gushing of emotions.  Of course, it isn't the easiest thing to do and sometimes I want to give up, but it does have moments of joy and gratitude.

Some of my sophomores even claim that they wish they were me.  I was rather shocked by that statement but then I realized it was induced by my close proximity to their conversation and their combined frustrations over school, tests, and homework.  "I wish I was you, Miss ------"  Instantly my weekly life flashed before my eyes and I was firmly convinced that if they knew my life, they would be immediately grateful for their own.  Late nights grading papers, frantic test-writing, suppers with the parents, euphoria over Friday nights that end in an early bedtime...yes, they would sprint back to their current lives if they knew much more.  Their claim that I didn't have any homework to do was the added cherry to the top.  Despite my vehement internal opposition to their claims, I had to laugh at the naivete of my lovely sophomores.

I like my life.  It may appear boring or mundane to others.  But it has a fair amount of joy and blessings mixed in with the suffering and trials.  Too often we are in a state of discontent.  I want to just thank the Lord right now for this moment of contentment.  For the sunshine outside, the weekend languidly spread before me, the empty classroom that was just occupied by so many beautiful, wandering, searching young souls, the jeans of a dress down day, the love of friends and family, the imminent Sacrifice of the Mass, and the knowledge that someday all of this will end and what will replace it will be infinitely better. 

Deo gratias. 

Ex-Puritanical Lover of Books

I used to be a puritan.  Don't tell my students, though, because I think they have finally stopped believing that I used to be Amish.  If you told them I used to be a puritan, they would think that they could now explain why I tend to wear skirts when the majority of the female population at my school wears slacks.  In truth, it is simply because they make me feel professional and I don't have a lot of pants to wear.  In their minds, it is because I was Amish but converted to Catholicism. 

Anyway, I used to desire pristine books.  Now I love the underlinings and stars that easily mark the places that I found enlightening or beautiful. 

I love books.  I'm perhaps mildly obsessed with them.  My number one expense this year besides gasoline has been on books, I believe.  Amazon.com is a dangerous thing.  Especially when it saves your credit card number and all I need to do it click "Buy" and the books are being shipped my way. 

I plan to do lots of theological reading this summer and underline and highlight books that I have been intending to read all year.  While I would like to borrow other people's books, I find myself wanting to embrace them fully and write in them. 

To the casual reader, this might not seem like a very significant thing.  But I need to tell you about this moment of conversion that happened in my life.  When I was younger, I rejoiced in the beauty of pristine books.  I loved when their pages were immaculate with nary a bend or crinkle.  No dog-eared pages for me or an underline to note an interesting passage.  Now typically these weren't deep and thought-provoking books but it is still interesting that I fiercely opposed anything that made the book look less than a brand new bookstore copy. 

Somewhere in my late high school and college years there was a transformation.  Initially it was just prayer books that I would faintly underline a particularly earth-shaking line, but these were few and far between.  College classes propelled me to full out highlighting and underlining passages while bracketing paragraphs of text at a time.  It was a leap into the next stage.  I looked behind me at untarnished pages and plunged into lengthy side notes and repeated asterisks.  Now I will lovingly flip through the pages of the book and see the carefully placed notes and lines.  It is the sign of knowledge while simultaneously a source of foolish pride, I suppose.

Yet one thing remains: dog-eared pages are out.  I will leave book marks, paper clips, a bit of string, a random lunch receipt, but I will not condescend to insult my book by folding over its page and degrading it in such a way.  Many will denounce this as behind the times or ridiculous but I will hold fast.  You may annotate your books but I will not abide by dog-eared pages. 

I used to be a puritanical book lover.  Now I embrace the life of books that show the wear of time and the branding of deep contemplation.  Read on, dear lovers of paper bound books (forget it if you are "modern" and use Kindles or electronic readers of some sort), and know that I will be joining your illustrious ranks come May 23rd.  Until then, know that my library is beginning to overflow with books ripe for the reading and knowledge free for the imbibing.