Be Not Idle

Sometimes Charity needs a baseball bat. - Father Jim Lopez

I think it’s the first time in my adult life I’ve laughed in the confessional.  I worry about being uncharitable when standing up for my faith, but Father attempted to set me aright. He also directed me to the Sunday evening Mass, which he says at 7 pm in order to catch the dayworkers and boat crews that are out until evening.

The Gospel was about the multiplication of loaves and fish.

Father changed his homily for the evening Mass, as he had talked to a parishioner and gotten permission to use her family’s story. He spoke about a large family whose young son was suffering from a long illness which was difficult to diagnose. 

When news went around that he was sick and going to specialists, people began to show up with food: cooked meals for the whole family, groceries, etc. It lifted a burden off the family and it also taught them something: humility.

Father said that the family took pride in being self-sufficient. (I had to nod, because that seems to be the way with big Catholic families.) It was overwhelming, but they learned to humbly accept what God was doing for them through other people.

It was one of the best homilies ever.

Everything seems to be crashing down around me lately.  I’ve written several drafts in the last few weeks, but writing about it seems to make it worse.

Suffice to say that my prayers tend to go something like this: “Lord, I did what I thought You were calling me to do, but did You change Your Mind and I didn’t get the memo?”

And sometimes I get angry and say things like, “I changed professions, now I’m stuck in a small town where it’s taken three years to make a couple of friends. Knowing how You feel about premarital sex, I stuck to my guns and watched my promiscuous pals marry well THEN change their ways.  What gives, Lord? It looks like the Devil has a better incentive plan… Grumble, grumble.”

God, of course, answers me in a way that I don’t like because I’m impatient, but I can’t help but admire His subtlety. While cleaning out the bookshelf, I found a book I’d forgotten I owned.  Inside was a long poem by John Masefield, “The Everlasting Mercy”. And the words jumped out at me:

…(I knew) Christ was standing there with me,
That Christ had taught me what to be,
That I should plough, and as I ploughed,
My Savior Christ would sing aloud,
And as I drove the clods apart
Christ would be ploughing in my heart,
Through rest-harrow and bitter roots,
Through all my bad life’s rotten fruits.
O Christ who holds the open gate,
O Christ who drives the furrow straight,
O Christ, the plough, O Christ, the laughter
Of holy white birds flying after,
Lo, all my heart’s field red and torn,
And Thou wilt bring the young green corn,
The young green corn divinely springing,
The young green corn forever singing…

These horrible dark days - a furrow. This sadness and loneliness - a heart ready for planting… 

I remember weeding the garden at my childhood home, the sweat dripping from my bangs and onto the ground like rain. I didn’t thiink about the jars of pickles, green beans, and stewed tomatoes filling the cupboard during the winter. I focused instead on getting done and swimming, or else creeping in the cool and faintly musty basement to read a book.

I was lonely there, too, because the nearest girls were more than a mile away. I’d pray that a nice girl my age would move nearby, or one of the city girls would vacation at a cottage on our street so I’d have a nearby friend. I never thought that later on I’d meet women who’d many playmates but few good friends - and not enough time to sit alone with their thoughts and “find themselves” until they were adults.

One time I went on a retreat. I got up early and, Mass and breakfast being an hour away, I decided to walk around the grounds. There was a tunnel of trees on the way to the chapel. In the feeble light, it looked like a cave opening into nothing. It was only after Mass that the light pierced the trees and made it a tunnel of trees full of beautiful green shadows, leading into a sunlit meadow.

So it is now: It’s dark and I don’t see very far ahead. I hurt myself by being impatient and rushing headstrong into the direction I think is best.  Or I want to take the well-lit boulevard that others seem to cruise along, even though I’ve been warned that it’s the wrong direction.  All the while, God is here, even if He’s silent. I have no idea what is going to happen, but I have to trust that He does, and that’s enough.

“In his interaction with people, I think that he won the hearts and the confidence and the trust of the people because they sensed that he understood that each one of them was special in the eyes of God. He just didn’t see individuals. He saw God reflected in every human being, no matter who they were - how brilliant, how simple, how elderly, how young. There was something that just came through. And what came through was his very, very deep spiritual connection with the Lord and then he reflected that in his dialogue, in his life, and in his relationships with others.” - Adam Cardinal Maida

My older brother Bruce and I were lucky enough to be able to see Pope John Paul II when he visited the Pontiac Silverdome. My parents had been drawn from our parish’s tickets, and they wanted us to be able to see him.  Coming from a rural town in which Catholicism was the minority, it was amazing to be a part of such a large congregation celebrating Mass - and a congregation so reverent. One thought struck me, “The Pope isn’t the big deal. We’re all here with Our Lord Jesus.” I paid rapt attention, never daydreamed, never thought of anything else.

I’m looking forward to seeing Pope Benedict, even if it’s just via TV and radio. I want to see the Mass he celebrates. I’m praying that others will feel that reverence and know that we’re all servants. (And I’m happy that the Clamster, aka The Clam Rampant, is going!)

For more of Cardinal Maida’s memories of John Paul the Great - including singing Polish songs together - and his funeral, the conclave, and his opinion of Pope Benedict, go to Anything Is Possible (see Media Sources under my bloglist).  It’s in the archived shows, dated 08/14/2005.

Between the antics of Barack Obama’s pastor Wright and the general negativity of politics, I was determined to keep away from TV and Web news during Holy Week. However, I made sure to listen to ”Anything Is Possible”, my favorite radio show.

I’m glad I did. Jack Krasula’s guest was Pastor Harvey Carey. He grew up on the south side of Chicago and, after pursuing a business degree, became a minister in the ’80s. In 2003, he believed God was calling him to move his family to Detroit and found a church:   The Citadel of Faith Covenant Church.

The interview was fascinating, but two moments especially touched me. First, when the Rev. Carey talked about how he was willing to pick up and move - even though he knew nothing about Detroit - because he knew God had given him a mission. That’s the Christian struggle right there: We embrace our share of suffering if a cross is handed us, but we balk if God asks us to go out and meet it.

The second moment came when he recommended reading different translations of the Bible, to read it in different versions in order to see it afresh. And he specifically mentioned reading the Book of Wisdom.  A Protestant aquaintance recently mentioned that some of my quotes “aren’t from MY Bible”, so it was amazing to hear a Baptist minister encourage it. 

The Rev. Carey also discussed the reaction of other African-American pastors when they saw that his church was multicultural. He asked them where the Bible forbids the mixing of races in a church, and was met with an acknowledgement that the Gospels teach no such thing - but they opposed it anyway.

That’s what sickens me about Christians who are bigots: They ignore that Our Lord went to the Samaritans and the other outsiders. They ignore the accounts of how Christianity became opened to the Gentiles. And when ministers are bigots, they ignore Acts 10, in which Peter’s vision  reveals that God has forbidden him to call any people profane or unclean.

If you’re interested in listening to the complete interview, check out the “Anything Is Possible” website (listed under Media Matters in my blogroll). It will show up in the archives in about a week. 

You may want to check out the archives, which include interviews with people ranging from doctors to politicians (including Sen. John McCain).

I went to confession on Saturday. It’s the first time I’ve gone that I haven’t felt uplifted when I left.

I headed out early because I’ve arrived a few minutes after 3 pm and the priest is already gone. (At such times, I have considered  pounding on the door of the rectory and offering to pay Father overtime. But I really don’t want one of those horrible penances that I used to hear about in grade school.**)

Today there was no danger of the priest going home early. The lines were long and there were two priests. Despite all the people, the church was very quiet. The gurgle of the radiators sounded loud and there was a woodpecker tapping somewhere outside. 

A beautiful child with almost-white hair and delicate fingers watched everything with huge eyes, but said practically nothing. He or she climbed out the pew once to stand in the aisle and slowly twirl around as only a young child does - twirling because it’s fun to be a little dizzy, but slowly because balance is such a hard thing to keep when you aren’t even two years old. The only sound the child made was a delighted “ah!” when its brother returned from confession; the boy received a huge back-patting hug from the younger child.  (Which, when I think about it, is probably the appropriate “welcome back” for a repentant sinner.)

I didn’t mind waiting. Holy Cross is a beautiful church. It’s even more impressive now that I know so much of what I see is an illusion. It used to be plain wooden interior save for the statues and windows. During the Depression, a painter was hired to paint the interior.  The “marble” pillars are wooden - and perhaps plaster, judging from the cracks near their crowns. The golden patterns around the altar are gilt. 

My favorite window is the one facing north. It depicts Jesus reaching out a hand as Peter begins sinking into the water as he attempted to walk to Our Lord. In the right panel is Noah’s ark with a dove flying above it. To the left is a tall-sailed ship. At the bottom is the exhortation “Pray for our sailors.”

I was looking at the stations of the cross - specifically Jesus Is Nailed to the Cross - when a lady came up behind me. She put her hands on my shoulders and leaned forward to talk to me. ”This isn’t the line for face-to-face, is it?”

“No,” I said. “That’s the other side.” She sat behind me. Anonymous confessions are preferred by us Hard Cases. If the priest recognizes us, he might think we’re sinners. ;) 

We were a motley crew, as sinners always are. A white-haired lady walked up the aisle with the deliberate care of the fragile. A brawny 20-something man still wore his red work apron as he sat next to his mother. A couple came with their three little children.

It got a little noisier when one of the gentleman went to the other side - the Mary side - to go face-to-face. He was 87 and, apparently, nearly deaf. Everyone smiled as he loudly began his confession. Several people nearby moved away discretely.    

As for my confession, I must admit I was disappointed. The visiting priest actually stopped and explained that I’m not lying if the person has no right to the information AND  silence would be seen as incriminating.  I’ve read about that, of course, but it was still a little startling to be told that in confession. What compounded it was that he later explained that one shouldn’t feel a duty to attend Mass, but to do it out of love. (As my favorite little guy would say, “Can’t I do BOTH?”)

 I think I know what he was trying to say, but it sounded rather as if he were a lawyer who was advising me not to plead guilty but cut a deal. Maybe he’s one of those priests who want to put people at their ease so they don’t leave the Church.

 The penance was nothing: think about what God wants of me and say an “Our Father” sometime during the day. And here I was worried about an Old School penance of novenas and sacrifices. Or maybe I was hoping for it, hence my discontent. 

**Example of one of those legendary horrible penances:

A habitual gossip kept confessing the same sin to the priest. Finally, he gave her a different penance.

“Take a feather pillow and climb into the bellfrey,” he said. “Scatter the feathers to the winds. Then climb down and gather those feathers wherever they’ve fallen.”

“But, Father,” she protested, “that’s impossible! I could spend my whole life and never find them all!”

“Just as you could spend your whole life trying to take back every bit of gossip you’ve scattered around this town,” said the priest.

“Perhaps the saddest figure of all is Judas. We forget that Judas was one of the apostles. (…) But Judas remained his own worst enemy even to the end, walking past the place of the crucifixion to hang himself. He had to walk near Calvary, since the whole area is not very large. Having destroyed his reputation, the whole engagement of his life, he could have turned around and gone to Calvary and knelt at the foot of the Cross and asked for forgiveness. (…) His conversion is the page that is not written, because Judas destroyed himself - out of self-hatred, out of resentment, out of hopelessness.” - Arise from Darkness by Fr. Benedict J. Groeschel, C.F.R.

In the past few weeks, I’ve been brooding over some of my students. I’m not sure if they’ve been particularly bad lately or I’ve been particularly impatient at their usual querulous and lazy ways. Sometimes I wonder how I can make their lives better and put some fire in them for learning; other times, I wonder if I could set them on fire for NOT learning. (”J-k,” as the kids say.)

Maybe it’s because it’s Lent, but sometimes I feel ashamed that I’m Catholic. Not in the “I’ll be embarrassed if my peers find out I’m one of THOSE people” way. More along the lines of, “I’m really poor example of Catholicism.” I am impatient and have a quick temper. I fall asleep when I pray. My mind frequently wanders away at Mass (nevermore to return). I’m not sure what my purpose in life is; I’ve got the “know” and “love” parts down, but not that pesky “serve God”. 

But then - perhaps because it’s Lent and Lent does this to me - I think about Judas. I also think about that young man mentioned in the gospel of Mark, the one who was a follower of Jesus when He was arrested. The crowd grabbed him by his clothes, but he tore free from them, running away naked as Adam.

How many times do I walk away from my Lord Jesus? How many times, when pressed by students do I shake free from the command to love because it’s just too difficult to be patient or too easy to be angry? I worry that I stand in my own way and, like the might-have-been-saints, don’t serve God as I should. 

This one’s real, so believe the hype.
“Don’t Believe the Hype” is the sequel.
- a song by SNAP! playing on a rap by Public Enemy

Since neither my candidate nor my runnerup made it through the primaries, I watch the remaining candidates with interest and sometimes apprehension.  I must say I don’t like the tone of the campaign, even if it has an overall “hopeful” tone. If anecdotal evidence is to believed, including the comments from young voters in my area, Barack Obama very likely will become the next President of the United States. If so, he will have done it by appealing to people’s yearning for hope and a better future. It’s a clever strategy in many ways, but it’s also a deeply flawed one.

First, he’s going to displease many people. It’s not merely that he can’t please everyone, which goes without saying. By using vague terms like “hope” and “change”, he’s convinced voters - especially first-time voters - that he represents hopes and the changes THEY want. Perhaps some have looked into his voting record and expect his future behavior to mimic the past. However, I’ve been watching campaign coverage and shaking my head over comments by many Obama supporters. They sound positively unhinged. (And I use “positively” in both its denotations.)

For what is too much for you, meddle not, when shown things beyond human understanding. Their own opinion has misled many and false reasoning unbalanced their judgment. - Sirach 4:22-23

Whenever I hear emotional supporters waxing eloquent (or incoherently babbling) about how Mr. Obama makes them feel, I don’t get it. I keep thinking of Charles Guiteau, the man who assassinated President Garfield. Guiteau was mentally unstable, possibly schizophrenic. He tried to improve himself in various ways, including joining the “Christian” Oneida Community which practiced wife-swapping.  He shot Garfield because he believed the president wasn’t giving him the government job he deserved.  That was in 1881, when by all accounts voters believed politicians were public servants and not the Second Coming.

Unfortunately, the Obama campaign is acting like a church revival. Although he’s done nothing to equate himself with the Messiah, Mr. Obama does nothing to moderate the tone of adulation. I don’t mean the bizarre episode of the crowd applauding when he blew his nose. (Mr. Obama himself looked thunderstruck at the weirdness.) 

His supporters have embraced a religious motif. Campaign posters show Mr. Obama with a halo of light, with divine rays shining from his countenance.  One popular ad is a music video in which supporters literally sing his praises with a chorus of “O-ba-ma” that mimics to a T the gospel refrain of “Je-sus” and “Praise Je-sus” that echoes in Christian churches. 

I doubt it’s unintentional.

I wait for Mr. Obama to step out from the hype and say he’s not a messianic figure. Maybe he could dust off the old term “catalyst of change” from a previous Democratic candidacy (although I can’t remember if it was as recent as John Kerry or as far back as Paul Simon). At any rate, his supporters could get back to calling for votes to support him instead of sending out a call to worship.

• This Lent, I’m giving away as many material possessions as I can.  I’ve learned that material possessions interfere in my spiritual growth. I’ve learned the more I have, the less time I have. I’ve learned that writing is harder when clutter takes over my desk. I’ve learned that it’s harder to pray the Rosary when I keep thinking about the dusting, vacuuming, etc. But despite what I’ve learned, it’s hard to let go.

• I will not surf the ‘net on weekdays. Instead, I will wake earlier and spend time in prayer. 

• At work, I will bite my tongue and be more patient with my chronically upset students.

It is possible to love God with your whole heart, mind, and soul, without forcing yourself to feel any emotion whatsoever. Simply will it. Will to love God, without making yourself feel anything. The will has only one function, to say yes or no. If you want to love God, just say yes. Forget the feelings. The Lord is pleased with your holy desire, and He blesses you for it.

- Fr. John Catoir, “Joyfully Living the Gospel Day By Day”