I do, in fact, have a guilty pleasure over which I’ve experienced some spiritual angst. Okay, not only one. But, for the purposes of this post, let us assume that I am perfect in every other way. *delusional* What I’m talking about is, of course, my Webkinz ® addiction.
For those of you not in the know, Webkinz are adorable stuffed animals that come with a secret-code tag. When you go to Webkinz World and ‘adopt’ a pet by entering its code, you get an online version of it that lives in that world. You can buy and decorate rooms (indoor, outdoor, treetop and underwater), buy clothes for and dress your pet, feed your pet, play games, etc. Your pet can sleep on beds, sit on chairs, swing and slide on swings and slides respectively, swim in pools, run on treadmills, drive vehicles and do things like wave at you. Your pet can get very unhappy, hungry and sick, but it can’t actually die (though it was terrifying to see my pet at zero that one time it got scared by a ghost on the pirate ship at vacation island). Some of the items are interactive: fridges, stoves, televisions, some lamps, fireplaces, dressers, fridges, bathtubs, bathroom sinks, etc. Your pet cannot actually pick anything up or make specific requests for what it wants. You buy things using kinzcash that you get by playing games, doing jobs, gem hunting and by telling your pet you love it every day. It’s a pretty cool world, actually. I wish I lived there.
It all started out so innocently: in December 2007 I got a reindeer as a gift. For a long time it lived alone, and I couldn’t see the point of having more than one. Then I got a puppy for my birthday in 2008 and I realized that each pet comes with a ‘pet specific item’ (PSI) you can’t get any other way. And from thence it went. Given that I do have a few remaining shreds of dignity, I won’t tell you how many I actually have. Suffice it to say, ‘addiction’ or ‘obsession’ are both acceptable terms.
I’m not alone in this: as with any other collectible item designed for children, the people most obsessed with Webkinz are adults. When I see people in the forums bragging about having 100+ pets, I heave a huge sigh of relief in knowing I come nowhere near that number. *SIGH* When you think about it, it’s a bit psychotic, really. Anyway, I suppose this puts me in the category of people our parents warned us were lurking around on the internet.
It should be noted at this point that the site actually puts a remarkable number of safeguards in place to ensure people cannot give out personal information. If your pet ‘chats’ with another pet, it has to select pre-fabricated slogans, and it also can’t send its own notes. If it uses the 'open' chat rooms, their chats will not allow them to share anything that looks like it might be a name, phone number, address or anything resembling a swear word. So props to Ganz ™ for protecting the younger generation from various brands of creepy people.
There is a new-ish feature called ‘MyPage’ which is similarly restricted, where your pets can display information about themselves: how many they are, high scores, the games and jobs they like, future pets they want in the family and suchlike. I just realized the other day (being, apparently, a bit slow on the uptake) that what this essentially means is that my pets have their own Facebook page, and can even have friends – though, curiously, they can’t unfriend their friends like you can on the real Facebook. I am struck by the fact that my Webkinz have more stable interpersonal relationships than I do, and that they might get viewed more and be more popular than me. Somehow, this wouldn’t be surprising: they’re a lot more cuddly than I am.
The whole of Webkinz World can be seen as saner and cuddlier than the Facebook-world, in which ‘friend’ is both a verb and a category that has expanded to include ‘that guy I met at a party once for five minutes.’ But that’s neither here nor there.
The only downside is that my pets can’t be Christians: how can they accept Jesus Christ as their personal Lord and Savior and be saved from the eternal fires of hell?? Well, at least I’ll see some friendly, if singed, faces when I get there too. Their menorah does light up though; I guess they can be Jewish.
The reason I’ve felt a bit spiritually troubled by all this is that, well, it sort of goes against the whole non-materialistic thing the Bible’s always talking about. My pets might actually be helping to destroy the environment and to perpetuate the cycle of exploitative poverty enacted by free trade in the global south. Now we really are going to hell.
But I also worry about it for other reasons. Online, I can sometimes obsess over tending their garden and making sure they do all their daily activities, planning and decorating rooms in their massive house (they’re wealthier than me, too, superior in almost every way), seeing what the weather is like and whether or not they can help Dr. Quack in the clinic. It’s a world over which I have almost perfect control, unlike my own life which seems to be continuously spiraling off. It gives me a sense of security and mastery I lack in reality, I think. But maybe I should be spending more time attempting to grapple with my own adversity and less time escaping into a world where those struggles do not exist.
Anyway, there’s been a new development in Webkinz World: they’ve invented these things called Zumbuddies: little winged creatures that hover around your pet. The Zumbuddy lives in Zumwhere, which is itself lodged in the Magical Forest (it gets complicated, oy!). Your pet takes care of the Zumbuddy in its little ‘box,’ which looks like any other room in Webkinz World except that you can see your pet standing behind it. You have to feed your Zumbuddy and give it toys to make it happy: unlike a regular Webkinz, it has really specific needs and a really sensitive happy-meter. (My happy-meter is currently wavering, in case you’re interested.) They can actually pick stuff up and do things with it. Sometimes when they’re happy they reward you with Zummies, 'money' that can be spent in the Z-shoppe to buy them stuff for their rooms. They can sit on chairs and sleep in beds. You can’t control their movements, so unlike your pet they have an independent personality-ish.
This development heralds the dawning of a new era in Webkinz World, one in which your pets have pets. Personally, I’m not sure I’m ready for the meta-level narrative Webkinz World has reached. Boxes inside of boxes inside of boxes…I feel a little like I fell down a rabbit hole.
My Zumbuddy is pink. I usually find it pretty annoying and so ignore it. It would seem that my pets do not have the same attachment to fictional creatures as I do. As I said, superior to me in almost every way.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
#weather #fail
There's nothing quite like a snowstorm at the end of April to remind you that life is an uncertain mistress. One day she's smiling on you like a warm sunshiny friend, and the next she's trying to dampen your mood like a sullen ex-girlfriend.
And I had such great plans for today, too. I was going to go for a nice long walk this morning; I had my water bottle ready and everything! Oh well, I guess it could be worse. I feel pretty bad for my neighbor who spent the weekend building a huge cabana and hasn't got the roof on yet. Ick. (He's been pretty industrious lately. He built a really nice fence two weekends ago. Props to him.)
I think tomorrow I'll curl up with a nice cup of hot chocolate and pretend the ground isn't covered with goopy slush. And pray that my beloved crab apple tree will still bloom this year. It's like a crazy pink explosion! I love it.
There's so much about this earth - this world - that I don't understand. It can be so overwhelming in its beauty. A yellow flower. A bird making its secret hiding place inside a hand-painted birdhouse. A tree coated in a thin layer of scintillating ice. The shadowy darkness of a gathering storm.
The Romantic poets talked about what they called the Sublime: an experience of overwhelming terror and smallness coupled with the overflowing joy of great beauty. It was found in the experience of nature. Some might call it 'awe.' It's what you feel when standing before a majestic waterfall and simply beholding it. The Romantics believed that you could encounter the Divine in nature. It's like being outside on the yard in a tent while lightning strikes - the sheer power of that force, its wildness and uncontainability.
While I'm not sure I believe in Pantheism or Panentheism (in fact, I'm pretty sure I don't), something deeply true is expressed in that great hymn, "How Great Thou Art." This world and its sometimes appalling beauty speaks to us about the depths to which God loves His creation. The sheer joy of it and fear of it can bring you to your knees. Who can look upon burning fire issuing forth from the earth and not feel awe?
The wonder felt in the experience of nature can be a stepping stone toward a relationship with God because it contains the realization that there is so much more to this life than you. Each seed is a life made by God and a world unto itself.
The world does not belong to us and we do not control it. It is not about us. Today's #weather #fail reminds us of that. We are lives held carefully within something so much greater that we cannot comprehend it. We are held, with the world and all fragile things, by the hand of Him to Whom we belong.
"Or who shut in the sea with doors, when it burst forth from the womb; when I made clouds its garment, and thick darkness its swaddling band, and prescribed bounds for it, and set bars and doors, and said, 'Thus far shall you come, and no further, and here shall your proud waves be stayed?' [...] Have you comprehended the expanse of the earth? [...] Have you entered the storehouses of snow, or have you seen the storehouses of the hail [...] What is the way to the place where the light is distributed, or where the east wind is scattered upon the earth? [...] Who has put wisdom in the clouds, or given understanding to the mists? Who can number the clouds by wisdom? [...] Is it by your wisdom that the hawk soars, and spreads his wings toward the south? Is it at your command that the eagle mounts up and makes his nest on high? On the rock he dwells and makes his home in the fastness of the rocky crag." (Job 38:8-39:28)
Monday, April 26, 2010
Our Lady Of Good Counsel
Blessed Mother,
In you the fullness of God was pleased to dwell, and in your acceptance of Jesus you were granted, through grace, perfect union with him.
In your Immaculate heart you treasured all that he said and did, and through the years of his life you carried this knowledge of him carefully within you.
Prepare me to be a vessel of the grace which lit you from within, with light as of the golden fire of dawn. Lady of Good Counsel, guide and protect me as I struggle to discern the path laid before me. You never abandon us, just as you did not abandon your Son, the child of your flesh, in the hour of his darkest night.
Intercede on my behalf, that I may be healed. Be with me always, sharing your wisdom as she who held Wisdom Herself.
Pray for me, oh holy Mother of God, that I may be made worthy of the promises of Christ. For you are gentle and kind, and will counsel all who turn to you in Jesus’ name.
In you the fullness of God was pleased to dwell, and in your acceptance of Jesus you were granted, through grace, perfect union with him.
In your Immaculate heart you treasured all that he said and did, and through the years of his life you carried this knowledge of him carefully within you.
Prepare me to be a vessel of the grace which lit you from within, with light as of the golden fire of dawn. Lady of Good Counsel, guide and protect me as I struggle to discern the path laid before me. You never abandon us, just as you did not abandon your Son, the child of your flesh, in the hour of his darkest night.
Intercede on my behalf, that I may be healed. Be with me always, sharing your wisdom as she who held Wisdom Herself.
Pray for me, oh holy Mother of God, that I may be made worthy of the promises of Christ. For you are gentle and kind, and will counsel all who turn to you in Jesus’ name.
Friday, April 23, 2010
Put Some Pants On, You Monster!
You may be familiar with Islamic rules of modesty for women: we’ve been hearing a lot about them in the news recently. While many people argue about what exactly this is supposed to mean, the Qur'an is pretty clear about things like covering up, although what exactly you must cover is, beyond the obvious, somewhat vague.
“Good women are obedient. They guard their unseen parts because God has guarded them” (Q 4:34).
An Islamic cleric, Hojatoleslam Kazem Sedighi, has expressed alarm and dismay over lapses in female modesty. He says (according to National Post), “Many women who do not dress modestly…lead young men astray, corrupt their chastity and spread adultery in society, which [consequently] increases earthquakes.”
Well…the Qur'an does mention that both women and men are supposed to turn their eyes away from immodesty (Q 24:30-31), so maybe the real problem is that they’re looking? That is a bit facetious: after all, the scriptures also tell women to dress modestly so as not to incite…um…anything. But earthquakes? This is the first I’ve heard of that. I’m sure that has scriptural grounding somewhere, but frankly I can’t find it. The only mention of earthquakes that I know of pertains to the last days (Q 99). I think maybe rampant fear of Western culture and its various licentious ways are getting the best of some people and pushing them to rather absurd conclusions.
“Their dread of you is more intense in their hearts than their fear of God: so devoid are they of understanding” (Q 59:13).
I think this concern with female modesty is rather overblown. It just directs people away from the real, serious and threatening problem which is much more important. Clearly, clearly, I’m talking about the lack of male modesty which is obviously responsible for volcanic eruptions.
“Say to the believing man that they should lower their gaze and guard their modesty; that will make for greater purity for them” (Q 24:30).
I mean, what is it with these men walking around in shorts above the knee? Or without shirts on? Their scandalous attire is causing the earth's core to heat up! And those tight pants? I mean, leave something to the imagination! Tempting the weaker sex like that with your immodesty: for shame.
Some of you may know that I have a great respect for the Muslim faith – heck, I thought seriously about converting – so I mean no disrespect to the Prophet or the Qur'an. However, I mean great disrespect to the morons who twist its message around and use it to disenfranchise people or treat them with less dignity than they deserve as human beings.
“But great is the guilt of those who oppress their fellow men and conduct themselves with wickedness and injustice in the land” (Q 42:41). Since the Qur'an is concerned with everyone’s rights, I’m interpreting ‘men’ as rather broader than just the male gender.
Forcing people to dress or worship a certain way, or making outlandish claims as to the results when they do not, undermines the beauty of Muslim beliefs, as it would undermine the power and poetry of all and any faith. The truth is that, in the end, each person comes before God and has a relationship with Him as an individual, and by taking away that aspect of volition you rob the believer of the chance to have real faith, determined only by that person’s own love of God.
“Thus did they earn God’s grace and bounty, and no harm befell them. For they had striven to please God, and God’s bounty is infinite” (Q 3:173).
“Good women are obedient. They guard their unseen parts because God has guarded them” (Q 4:34).
An Islamic cleric, Hojatoleslam Kazem Sedighi, has expressed alarm and dismay over lapses in female modesty. He says (according to National Post), “Many women who do not dress modestly…lead young men astray, corrupt their chastity and spread adultery in society, which [consequently] increases earthquakes.”
Well…the Qur'an does mention that both women and men are supposed to turn their eyes away from immodesty (Q 24:30-31), so maybe the real problem is that they’re looking? That is a bit facetious: after all, the scriptures also tell women to dress modestly so as not to incite…um…anything. But earthquakes? This is the first I’ve heard of that. I’m sure that has scriptural grounding somewhere, but frankly I can’t find it. The only mention of earthquakes that I know of pertains to the last days (Q 99). I think maybe rampant fear of Western culture and its various licentious ways are getting the best of some people and pushing them to rather absurd conclusions.
“Their dread of you is more intense in their hearts than their fear of God: so devoid are they of understanding” (Q 59:13).
I think this concern with female modesty is rather overblown. It just directs people away from the real, serious and threatening problem which is much more important. Clearly, clearly, I’m talking about the lack of male modesty which is obviously responsible for volcanic eruptions.
“Say to the believing man that they should lower their gaze and guard their modesty; that will make for greater purity for them” (Q 24:30).
I mean, what is it with these men walking around in shorts above the knee? Or without shirts on? Their scandalous attire is causing the earth's core to heat up! And those tight pants? I mean, leave something to the imagination! Tempting the weaker sex like that with your immodesty: for shame.
Some of you may know that I have a great respect for the Muslim faith – heck, I thought seriously about converting – so I mean no disrespect to the Prophet or the Qur'an. However, I mean great disrespect to the morons who twist its message around and use it to disenfranchise people or treat them with less dignity than they deserve as human beings.
“But great is the guilt of those who oppress their fellow men and conduct themselves with wickedness and injustice in the land” (Q 42:41). Since the Qur'an is concerned with everyone’s rights, I’m interpreting ‘men’ as rather broader than just the male gender.
Forcing people to dress or worship a certain way, or making outlandish claims as to the results when they do not, undermines the beauty of Muslim beliefs, as it would undermine the power and poetry of all and any faith. The truth is that, in the end, each person comes before God and has a relationship with Him as an individual, and by taking away that aspect of volition you rob the believer of the chance to have real faith, determined only by that person’s own love of God.
“Thus did they earn God’s grace and bounty, and no harm befell them. For they had striven to please God, and God’s bounty is infinite” (Q 3:173).
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Earth Day Prorogued
I was planning to talk about Earth Day, and maybe my patron Saint, but instead I’m going to do something completely different. Ha!
I ran into someone I went to high school with today, whom I think I’ve seen once before in the last decade. Wow! I have to say that this was really unexpected. You never know what surprises await you should you take a stroll along the sidewalk!
Like me, this woman went back to school after completing a degree (today was actually her last exam ever). I felt somehow comforted to know I’m not the only person in my graduating class who’s still somewhat rootless, who stayed in school for what some have called a ridiculous amount of time.
Lately I’ve been feeling pretty…I don’t know if ‘lost’ is the word, but I’m gonna use it. My best friends are getting married and having babies, have jobs and mortgages and pets. I sometimes feel that I somehow managed to sacrifice my life (as in, ‘get a life’) in order to get a university degree(s). Is it really that important to me, that I was willing to miss out on so much in order to get it?
Meeting this woman today, just shy of campus, helped me remember that it’s okay for this to be important to me, because we all have to follow our own path, even if it’s a winding dirt road through death valley, leading to what may or may not be the last rest stop for two hundred miles.
More important than this feeling of self-validation, my chance encounter reminded me of how lucky I am to have my best friends. It really is special and miraculous that we’ve stayed together all these years after high school ended, some of us having met even well before then. I love my friends, and I can honestly say they saved my life. For example, Melissa – the first friend I made in high school – had come to my house one day and I mentioned where I was going that night. When I went missing, she actually woke up her boyfriend, remembered the name, looked up the person’s number and called his house at Lord only knows what unholy time in the morning. She was the first person I spoke to after getting away.
My friends visited me in the hospital, and were there afterward. They’ve always supported me in going to school, they’ve believed in my dreams and supported my faith. They’ve encouraged and trusted me. Even when I’ve pushed them away because I was afraid of hurting them, they’ve never turned their backs on me. I wish everyone were as lucky as I am. I hope we get to share in each other’s lives forever.
Accept, O Lord, our thanks and praise for all you have done for us. We thank you for the splendour of the whole creation, for the beauty of this world, for the wonder of life, and for the mystery of love. We thank you for the blessing of family and friends, and for the loving care which surrounds us on every side. We thank you for setting us tasks which demand our best efforts, and for leading us to accomplishments which satisfy and delight us. We thank you also for those disappointments and failures that lead us to acknowledge our dependence on you alone. Above all, we thank you for your Son Jesus Christ; for the truth of his word and the example of his life; for his steadfast obedience, by which he overcame temptation; for his dying, by which he overcame death; for his rising to life again, in which we are raised to the life of your kingdom. Grant us the gift of your Spirit, that we may know Christ and make him known; and through him, at all times and in all places, may give thanks to you in all things. Amen (BAS).
Almighty God, we entrust all who are dear to us to thy never-failing care and love, for this life and the life to come, knowing that thou art doing for them better things than we can desire or pray for; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen (BCP).
I ran into someone I went to high school with today, whom I think I’ve seen once before in the last decade. Wow! I have to say that this was really unexpected. You never know what surprises await you should you take a stroll along the sidewalk!
Like me, this woman went back to school after completing a degree (today was actually her last exam ever). I felt somehow comforted to know I’m not the only person in my graduating class who’s still somewhat rootless, who stayed in school for what some have called a ridiculous amount of time.
Lately I’ve been feeling pretty…I don’t know if ‘lost’ is the word, but I’m gonna use it. My best friends are getting married and having babies, have jobs and mortgages and pets. I sometimes feel that I somehow managed to sacrifice my life (as in, ‘get a life’) in order to get a university degree(s). Is it really that important to me, that I was willing to miss out on so much in order to get it?
Meeting this woman today, just shy of campus, helped me remember that it’s okay for this to be important to me, because we all have to follow our own path, even if it’s a winding dirt road through death valley, leading to what may or may not be the last rest stop for two hundred miles.
More important than this feeling of self-validation, my chance encounter reminded me of how lucky I am to have my best friends. It really is special and miraculous that we’ve stayed together all these years after high school ended, some of us having met even well before then. I love my friends, and I can honestly say they saved my life. For example, Melissa – the first friend I made in high school – had come to my house one day and I mentioned where I was going that night. When I went missing, she actually woke up her boyfriend, remembered the name, looked up the person’s number and called his house at Lord only knows what unholy time in the morning. She was the first person I spoke to after getting away.
My friends visited me in the hospital, and were there afterward. They’ve always supported me in going to school, they’ve believed in my dreams and supported my faith. They’ve encouraged and trusted me. Even when I’ve pushed them away because I was afraid of hurting them, they’ve never turned their backs on me. I wish everyone were as lucky as I am. I hope we get to share in each other’s lives forever.
Accept, O Lord, our thanks and praise for all you have done for us. We thank you for the splendour of the whole creation, for the beauty of this world, for the wonder of life, and for the mystery of love. We thank you for the blessing of family and friends, and for the loving care which surrounds us on every side. We thank you for setting us tasks which demand our best efforts, and for leading us to accomplishments which satisfy and delight us. We thank you also for those disappointments and failures that lead us to acknowledge our dependence on you alone. Above all, we thank you for your Son Jesus Christ; for the truth of his word and the example of his life; for his steadfast obedience, by which he overcame temptation; for his dying, by which he overcame death; for his rising to life again, in which we are raised to the life of your kingdom. Grant us the gift of your Spirit, that we may know Christ and make him known; and through him, at all times and in all places, may give thanks to you in all things. Amen (BAS).
Almighty God, we entrust all who are dear to us to thy never-failing care and love, for this life and the life to come, knowing that thou art doing for them better things than we can desire or pray for; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen (BCP).
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Desiring Goodness
To begin (with something completely different), another prayer by my younger self:
You have held me
like a broken vessel,
gently;
all my pieces
You have lovingly collected.
I have been shattered
so in Your Love You might
repair me, remake me;
You make marvelous
what was despised.
You line up
the history of my cracks;
You mark the weakest places
among the most glorious.
Your faith in me
is like a potter’s,
reforming me in love
that I may hold pure water.
In chapter three of Eldredge’s book, he talks about how we’ve lost the point of our faith by turning Christianity into a religion about morality – a how-to of righteous living comprised mostly of rules, if you will. While right action and duty are obviously important, he believes the movement of faith should be from duty to delight, and not the other way around. “The goal of morality,” he says, “is not morality – it is ecstasy. You are intended for pleasure!”
He doesn’t think this means anything as simplistic as ‘feeling good.’ Rather, he means we are made for eternal life, the pleasure of the Garden of Eden. This life we have in Christ isn’t just about foreverness, either: eternal life isn’t really about floating around in the sky with God through all of timeless eternity (thank goodness!). Instead, “eternal life is not primarily about duration but quality of life, ‘life to the limit.’ It cannot be stolen from us, and so it does go on. But the focus is on the life itself.”
The problem is that we’ve killed the desires of our hearts with wanting to follow exact rules in the hope that, somehow, those rules will themselves satisfy us. The story of the Fall from paradise embodies this stupid choice. We didn’t have a normal desire for the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil: the desire was put in our minds by the serpent. It isn’t really ours, but we chose it and allowed it to guide our decisions. This obsession with right and wrong, isn’t that a kind of death? It can take us out of God’s presence.
Jesus came to forgive sins, yes, but it was so that we might have life! Desire for God and following our hearts means first stepping out of the assumptions that would have us believe Christianity is about morality in the first place. It’s about living in God’s presence in joyful trust.
I’m not entirely sure where this leaves me. I mean, I’m pretty political at times (gay-rights anyone?). I don’t think that a religion of life would have me ignore what’s right. But I do think, maybe, it would have me do what’s right not because it is the-right-thing but because, in so being, it is the path of life.
And anyway, if I had to give up self-righteousness entirely, whatever would I put in this blog of mine?
(p.s. Please, please do write comments on the blog. It’s much appreciated because it makes me feel like possibly someone other than me is reading it.)
You have held me
like a broken vessel,
gently;
all my pieces
You have lovingly collected.
I have been shattered
so in Your Love You might
repair me, remake me;
You make marvelous
what was despised.
You line up
the history of my cracks;
You mark the weakest places
among the most glorious.
Your faith in me
is like a potter’s,
reforming me in love
that I may hold pure water.
In chapter three of Eldredge’s book, he talks about how we’ve lost the point of our faith by turning Christianity into a religion about morality – a how-to of righteous living comprised mostly of rules, if you will. While right action and duty are obviously important, he believes the movement of faith should be from duty to delight, and not the other way around. “The goal of morality,” he says, “is not morality – it is ecstasy. You are intended for pleasure!”
He doesn’t think this means anything as simplistic as ‘feeling good.’ Rather, he means we are made for eternal life, the pleasure of the Garden of Eden. This life we have in Christ isn’t just about foreverness, either: eternal life isn’t really about floating around in the sky with God through all of timeless eternity (thank goodness!). Instead, “eternal life is not primarily about duration but quality of life, ‘life to the limit.’ It cannot be stolen from us, and so it does go on. But the focus is on the life itself.”
The problem is that we’ve killed the desires of our hearts with wanting to follow exact rules in the hope that, somehow, those rules will themselves satisfy us. The story of the Fall from paradise embodies this stupid choice. We didn’t have a normal desire for the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil: the desire was put in our minds by the serpent. It isn’t really ours, but we chose it and allowed it to guide our decisions. This obsession with right and wrong, isn’t that a kind of death? It can take us out of God’s presence.
Jesus came to forgive sins, yes, but it was so that we might have life! Desire for God and following our hearts means first stepping out of the assumptions that would have us believe Christianity is about morality in the first place. It’s about living in God’s presence in joyful trust.
I’m not entirely sure where this leaves me. I mean, I’m pretty political at times (gay-rights anyone?). I don’t think that a religion of life would have me ignore what’s right. But I do think, maybe, it would have me do what’s right not because it is the-right-thing but because, in so being, it is the path of life.
And anyway, if I had to give up self-righteousness entirely, whatever would I put in this blog of mine?
(p.s. Please, please do write comments on the blog. It’s much appreciated because it makes me feel like possibly someone other than me is reading it.)
Good Desire
My parish priest said something interesting on Good Friday. He said that if you come to worship requiring of yourself a perfect offering, you aren’t leaving room for grace to work in you. And if you require other people to make a perfect offering, you aren’t allowing grace to work through them. I realized something important then, which is a good realization since I spend so much time whining about liturgy and whatnot. As much as I think liturgy is important, and that it has rules, what’s most important is that it enables people to pray. So maybe I should stop being so judgmental about it, eh?
Being sick has forced – or allowed – me to make certain discoveries somewhat along the same lines as this. Because I get so absolutely exhausted, sometimes I actually don’t do daily prayer. *shock and horror!* I know, I know, for someone who liked praying five times a day that’s a totally messed-up state of affairs. But I’ve come to realize that prayer can’t be something I do just because I’ve told myself I have to. It has to be something I do because I desire to do it. Right now, I simply don’t have the drive to pray that much, and I think I’m deciding that that’s okay. Do you think writing this blog or the one for the church counts as some kooky form of meditation?
Along the lines of desire, I’ve been reading chapter three of Eldredge’s book “Desire.” He talks about how our understanding and practice of religion has become about killing desire; he thinks this is bad because it makes it impossible to follow God, since we can’t know our hearts. He says that “[we] are told to kill desire and call it sanctification.” For Eldredge, this is obviously a bad idea.
I admit that I have trouble with this idea because, in its simplistic formulation, it seems to exclude practices like asceticism. I think asceticism can be a good thing, and the people we’re studying in my course on mysticism tend to agree. Self-denial in various forms has permeated Christian tradition from the very beginning. At various times, I’ve practiced different forms of ascetic discipline myself, and I’ve found it very helpful.
Obviously, I’m no expert on this: I don’t come out of a religious formation, and asceticism, while a current in my life, has by no means dominated the practice of my faith. But I think that ‘killing desire’ can be crucial to discovering the true desire of the heart. Simplifying your life by taking things out of it both literally and figuratively opens up a space for God. Denying oneself certain things you want can help expose the fact that you don’t really need much of the stuff you want. Pain and exhaustion can show you how far you can really push yourself for something you believe in.
For me, all desire or want born of denial is a reflection of the deeper, truer desire of the soul for God. The feeling of wanting something because you don’t have it is a window to a fuller longing that comes to eclipse all else. When you feel hungry, it is a metaphor for your hunger for God. When you’re thirsty, it reflects in miniature a thirst for God. Being tired is a longing for the rest of God. Being in pain is a desire for God’s soothing embrace. Hours of prayer are a foretaste of loving God in totality, to the exclusion of all else. Chastity is an overwhelming need to be consumed by God in His Divine fire.
While I agree that a focus on these acts of ‘killing desire’ is dangerous because it can lead to a dead faith based on works, I think it’s invaluable insofar as it does not remove desire but reveals what lies beneath it – God, the source and end of desire itself.
Asceticism can also help derail unhealthy desires that have an unwholesome grip on a person’s life (which is why obsessing over something you’ve told yourself you can’t have defeats the purpose). It wasn’t an accident that Jesus said ‘he who looks at another man’s wife in lust has already committed adultery in his heart.’ Lust implies an all-consuming want, something that isn’t a true desire because it perverts the heart away from God. Adultery is the Biblical symbol of idolatry – putting something else in the place of God, worshipping it, giving it your heart. Asceticism can help curb these idolatrous tendencies, insofar as it reveals the heart’s longing for God and opens up a space for Him, and does not itself become a god in the place of God.
I guess what I’m trying to say is that “desire” isn’t as simple as wanting, that sometimes wanting does need to be killed, and that maybe the real desire we’re searching for deep within ourselves can set us free from judgment and form and open us up to the working of grace.
Because being focused on what’s right, being over-focused on that to the point you can’t see anything else, makes you like the older brother in the parable of the prodigal son: refusing to enter into the joyous embrace of the father, refusing to allow grace to uncover that desire, for the simple reason that you were right.
And now (for something completely different), a prayer by my younger self:
My Lord, I saw two doves today,
they were like You and I:
perched upon this lonely world,
longing for the sky.
I look to You, my Life, my All,
my perfect Dove is One;
and I, your soft companion there
with You in the golden sun.
One day, my Dove, I’ll fly with You,
in heaven’s full, perfect light;
that day we’ll dance, but now we rest
at dusk, and wait for night.
Tonight, we’ll steal away, my Love,
in cover of the dark;
we’ll hide on secret, verdant shores
among the rush and lark.
Soft, silent kisses we’ll exchange,
draw near as lovebirds do;
we’ll cast but one shadow on the waves,
as I enfold myself in You.
My perfect Dove, we’ll hide away
‘till dawn within the gloom,
and never You’ll depart, nor I,
though light be dawning soon.
The dark of night, my loving Lord,
while terrifying, too,
allows my fragile wings to bear
my softness close to You.
Being sick has forced – or allowed – me to make certain discoveries somewhat along the same lines as this. Because I get so absolutely exhausted, sometimes I actually don’t do daily prayer. *shock and horror!* I know, I know, for someone who liked praying five times a day that’s a totally messed-up state of affairs. But I’ve come to realize that prayer can’t be something I do just because I’ve told myself I have to. It has to be something I do because I desire to do it. Right now, I simply don’t have the drive to pray that much, and I think I’m deciding that that’s okay. Do you think writing this blog or the one for the church counts as some kooky form of meditation?
Along the lines of desire, I’ve been reading chapter three of Eldredge’s book “Desire.” He talks about how our understanding and practice of religion has become about killing desire; he thinks this is bad because it makes it impossible to follow God, since we can’t know our hearts. He says that “[we] are told to kill desire and call it sanctification.” For Eldredge, this is obviously a bad idea.
I admit that I have trouble with this idea because, in its simplistic formulation, it seems to exclude practices like asceticism. I think asceticism can be a good thing, and the people we’re studying in my course on mysticism tend to agree. Self-denial in various forms has permeated Christian tradition from the very beginning. At various times, I’ve practiced different forms of ascetic discipline myself, and I’ve found it very helpful.
Obviously, I’m no expert on this: I don’t come out of a religious formation, and asceticism, while a current in my life, has by no means dominated the practice of my faith. But I think that ‘killing desire’ can be crucial to discovering the true desire of the heart. Simplifying your life by taking things out of it both literally and figuratively opens up a space for God. Denying oneself certain things you want can help expose the fact that you don’t really need much of the stuff you want. Pain and exhaustion can show you how far you can really push yourself for something you believe in.
For me, all desire or want born of denial is a reflection of the deeper, truer desire of the soul for God. The feeling of wanting something because you don’t have it is a window to a fuller longing that comes to eclipse all else. When you feel hungry, it is a metaphor for your hunger for God. When you’re thirsty, it reflects in miniature a thirst for God. Being tired is a longing for the rest of God. Being in pain is a desire for God’s soothing embrace. Hours of prayer are a foretaste of loving God in totality, to the exclusion of all else. Chastity is an overwhelming need to be consumed by God in His Divine fire.
While I agree that a focus on these acts of ‘killing desire’ is dangerous because it can lead to a dead faith based on works, I think it’s invaluable insofar as it does not remove desire but reveals what lies beneath it – God, the source and end of desire itself.
Asceticism can also help derail unhealthy desires that have an unwholesome grip on a person’s life (which is why obsessing over something you’ve told yourself you can’t have defeats the purpose). It wasn’t an accident that Jesus said ‘he who looks at another man’s wife in lust has already committed adultery in his heart.’ Lust implies an all-consuming want, something that isn’t a true desire because it perverts the heart away from God. Adultery is the Biblical symbol of idolatry – putting something else in the place of God, worshipping it, giving it your heart. Asceticism can help curb these idolatrous tendencies, insofar as it reveals the heart’s longing for God and opens up a space for Him, and does not itself become a god in the place of God.
I guess what I’m trying to say is that “desire” isn’t as simple as wanting, that sometimes wanting does need to be killed, and that maybe the real desire we’re searching for deep within ourselves can set us free from judgment and form and open us up to the working of grace.
Because being focused on what’s right, being over-focused on that to the point you can’t see anything else, makes you like the older brother in the parable of the prodigal son: refusing to enter into the joyous embrace of the father, refusing to allow grace to uncover that desire, for the simple reason that you were right.
And now (for something completely different), a prayer by my younger self:
My Lord, I saw two doves today,
they were like You and I:
perched upon this lonely world,
longing for the sky.
I look to You, my Life, my All,
my perfect Dove is One;
and I, your soft companion there
with You in the golden sun.
One day, my Dove, I’ll fly with You,
in heaven’s full, perfect light;
that day we’ll dance, but now we rest
at dusk, and wait for night.
Tonight, we’ll steal away, my Love,
in cover of the dark;
we’ll hide on secret, verdant shores
among the rush and lark.
Soft, silent kisses we’ll exchange,
draw near as lovebirds do;
we’ll cast but one shadow on the waves,
as I enfold myself in You.
My perfect Dove, we’ll hide away
‘till dawn within the gloom,
and never You’ll depart, nor I,
though light be dawning soon.
The dark of night, my loving Lord,
while terrifying, too,
allows my fragile wings to bear
my softness close to You.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Lost At Sea
[the product of me shooting my mouth off during a conversation, that a friend said I should post; so you can blame her!]
If you read the papers and follow the religious news, and if you've done either of these things lately, you know the news isn't good. The stories that keep popping out are the breaking sexual abuse scandals in the Roman Catholic church, and the completely inadequate responses of the Vatican. Now they're saying the whole thing is a calculated attack on the church. Talk about a stupid answer to a really serious problem!
It's not just the Holy See that's fucked up: we all have. We've all failed. It's just that the Romans are the most vivid and spectacular embodiment of the failure we all share. As churches, we are broken. We live in a broken world and have become broken in it. The fact that the Church is 'made up of sinners' is neither an explanation nor an excuse. We fucked it up because of stubbornness and secrecy and an unwillingness to be responsible for our errors. An unwillingness to see ourselves as we really are.
Sunday's gospel reading had Peter and some others fishing naked on a boat all night, not having caught anything. Jesus calls from the shore and they catch a netfull of fish, and the net was not torn (hmm...didn't this same sign happen at the beginning of Jesus' ministry, at the part where he called them in the first place?). They come in to the beach - after Peter puts his clothes on and swims for it, no one knows why - and eat breakfast with Jesus.
We are Peter out on the water, and we have a broken net. We neglected the net, we used it in ways it wasn't supposed to be used, we ran it over the rocks and we used pieces of it to tie up our hair in fashionable styles. The net is broken, so of course it's empty.
We need to fix the net. We need to listen to Jesus telling us to keep fishing, and to do that we need a net that can function. How are we supposed to mend the net?
More than anything, we need to be willing to stand out on a boat, naked, and admit we screwed it up. 'Hey Jesus: we screwed it up! A little help here?' We need to stand out there with nothing hidden, admitting everything to everyone. We need there to be nothing between us and God, nothing covering over our shame. That's how we start fixing our net.
How do we catch fish with the net? How do we listen to Jesus' command from the shore? Well, he told us to be fishers of men, right? But that's a little vague. What he made Peter promise, once he made it to shore dripping wet, is to take care of the flock, because that's what loving God is. That's what being a fisher of men is. Love the flock, don't throw them to the wolves. Take care of the flock, don't wander off to write idyllic pastoral poetry and leave the sheep to their own devices. Feed the flock, don't lead them to some sort of dried up pasture where all the grass is dead.
The real problem is power. Grasping after power. It enslaves people and churches, it clothes them in iron garments that can cause a ship to sink. They think they're clothed, but they're naked; they think they're free, but they're drowning. Grasping after power is a problem, because it means you're looking after the shepherd instead of the sheep.
Feed the sheep, fix the net, and stand naked on a boat until Jesus calls you. Then we can answer his call. Then we can fill our nets, and the boats beside us will help us to carry them. Then we will not be alone. Then Jesus will feed us. Only when we, as churches, actually realize that the net doesn't belong to us will we be able to fill it, side by side, and come in to shore.
If you read the papers and follow the religious news, and if you've done either of these things lately, you know the news isn't good. The stories that keep popping out are the breaking sexual abuse scandals in the Roman Catholic church, and the completely inadequate responses of the Vatican. Now they're saying the whole thing is a calculated attack on the church. Talk about a stupid answer to a really serious problem!
It's not just the Holy See that's fucked up: we all have. We've all failed. It's just that the Romans are the most vivid and spectacular embodiment of the failure we all share. As churches, we are broken. We live in a broken world and have become broken in it. The fact that the Church is 'made up of sinners' is neither an explanation nor an excuse. We fucked it up because of stubbornness and secrecy and an unwillingness to be responsible for our errors. An unwillingness to see ourselves as we really are.
Sunday's gospel reading had Peter and some others fishing naked on a boat all night, not having caught anything. Jesus calls from the shore and they catch a netfull of fish, and the net was not torn (hmm...didn't this same sign happen at the beginning of Jesus' ministry, at the part where he called them in the first place?). They come in to the beach - after Peter puts his clothes on and swims for it, no one knows why - and eat breakfast with Jesus.
We are Peter out on the water, and we have a broken net. We neglected the net, we used it in ways it wasn't supposed to be used, we ran it over the rocks and we used pieces of it to tie up our hair in fashionable styles. The net is broken, so of course it's empty.
We need to fix the net. We need to listen to Jesus telling us to keep fishing, and to do that we need a net that can function. How are we supposed to mend the net?
More than anything, we need to be willing to stand out on a boat, naked, and admit we screwed it up. 'Hey Jesus: we screwed it up! A little help here?' We need to stand out there with nothing hidden, admitting everything to everyone. We need there to be nothing between us and God, nothing covering over our shame. That's how we start fixing our net.
How do we catch fish with the net? How do we listen to Jesus' command from the shore? Well, he told us to be fishers of men, right? But that's a little vague. What he made Peter promise, once he made it to shore dripping wet, is to take care of the flock, because that's what loving God is. That's what being a fisher of men is. Love the flock, don't throw them to the wolves. Take care of the flock, don't wander off to write idyllic pastoral poetry and leave the sheep to their own devices. Feed the flock, don't lead them to some sort of dried up pasture where all the grass is dead.
The real problem is power. Grasping after power. It enslaves people and churches, it clothes them in iron garments that can cause a ship to sink. They think they're clothed, but they're naked; they think they're free, but they're drowning. Grasping after power is a problem, because it means you're looking after the shepherd instead of the sheep.
Feed the sheep, fix the net, and stand naked on a boat until Jesus calls you. Then we can answer his call. Then we can fill our nets, and the boats beside us will help us to carry them. Then we will not be alone. Then Jesus will feed us. Only when we, as churches, actually realize that the net doesn't belong to us will we be able to fill it, side by side, and come in to shore.
Friday, April 16, 2010
Amazing Grace
Welcome to the world Grace! You're beautiful! Everyone loves you so much, you are a miracle and a gift from God.
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Congratulations to Amanda and Garcia, you must be so proud and excited.
Truly a miracle.
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Congratulations to Amanda and Garcia, you must be so proud and excited.
Truly a miracle.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Here There Be Dragons
Today I saw the film "How to Train Your Dragon." It's a GREAT movie, and I recommend it to everyone.
I guess you could say that it's about things not being the way they seem. Maybe something you think is bad really isn't. Maybe something you think is bad really protects you from something else, something you don't want to see and shouldn't ever see.
Maybe the opposite is true as well, that behind something that seems too beautiful hides a deep darkness, something broken.
Behind the beautiful dragon lurks something else: not everything is as it seems. At the same time, the dragon-as-scary, as terrible, is not quite what you expected. Difficulties and trials and sufferings...the places we find God. I try to tell myself that every time my medical stuff plunges me down into terrible places. In the darkness is the One Who is not afraid of the dark, with Whom dwell both the darkness and the light.
I guess you could say that it's about things not being the way they seem. Maybe something you think is bad really isn't. Maybe something you think is bad really protects you from something else, something you don't want to see and shouldn't ever see.
Maybe the opposite is true as well, that behind something that seems too beautiful hides a deep darkness, something broken.
Behind the beautiful dragon lurks something else: not everything is as it seems. At the same time, the dragon-as-scary, as terrible, is not quite what you expected. Difficulties and trials and sufferings...the places we find God. I try to tell myself that every time my medical stuff plunges me down into terrible places. In the darkness is the One Who is not afraid of the dark, with Whom dwell both the darkness and the light.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Between The First And The Last (by which I mean, lunch)
“I am the Alpha and the Omega,” says the Lord God, “who is and who was and who is to come, the Almighty.” (Rev 1:8)
Today was the last service of the year at the college I hang out at. The last Eucharist and the last evening prayer until September. For some of us, the last time we’ll pray here as students.
Because it’s an ending, God is in it. God is in it as beginning and as what is yet to be, reminding us that the end of something is also a beginning of something else. Because the two are knit together into a whole, being held by God in a reality greater than themselves, they are neither a beginning nor an end – they are both, and everything between and beyond.
Every Eucharist at the college is followed by lunch, which I never go to; somehow my life tends to schedule itself in the way, though I can’t say I’m always displeased. But today I had planned to stay (yay?). Unfortunately, my doctor’s appointment got moved into that spot yesterday, so the best laid plans of Kats (and mice) came to naught. *sadness* and *hungry*
Coming out of a church tradition where food is less than prominent, I’ve wondered a lot lately: what is it with Protestants and food? At my Anglican church, we have parish breakfasts, dinners before worship-and-share, movies with popcorn, coffee hour before and after Sunday services, and a variety of food-based events to mark special celebrations. That reminds me: we have a congregational life lunch coming up – what should I bring?
Today is also my birthday. I’m 27, which a friend of mine pointed out is 3-cubed, a good Trinitarian symbol. As we observe them, birthdays mainly mark the remembrance of a beginning. But they also mark endings and continuation. Again, in this mundane life event, time blurs and blends together, and extends to include more than itself. As in all the ordinary things of the world, the Alpha-and-Omega movement of God can be discerned.
Like church events, my birthday will be celebrated with food. Tonight I’m having pizza (yay!) and cake (yay!!) and some kind of sparkling wine. Tomorrow, I’m having lunch with my boyfriend. And on Friday my friends are having a party for me.
Food is there at the very beginning of our lives: feeding babies is one of the first things we do, even when they show up ten weeks early weighing 2 ½ lbs. Food is there at the end: last meals for the condemned, and buffets at funerals. In the stories of Creation, God is very concerned about what we’ll eat, and at the end, we’re all invited to the wedding feast of the Lamb. Food is everywhere in between: it’s all over the Bible and runs through Jesus’ ministry. It fills each day of our own lives.
Eating is theological. It recognizes the sacrifice made of one living thing that another may have life. By it, we acknowledge and enter into relationship with creation and one another. Sharing it with others is a mitzvah. Offering it to others brings us into communion with God ('I was hungry and you fed me'). Accepting it unites us to God ('Jesus came, took the bread and gave it to them, and did the same with the fish'). And in the Eucharist, it becomes the ultimate sacrifice of Love for us.
I first noticed the power of food in the psychiatric hospital with my second roommate. She was totally isolated from everyone when I met her, and I didn’t think it was right: no one deserves to be shunned, even if they are a bit different or struggling. So I started bringing her food to her (catatonic depression makes a person less than mobile) and ate with her. Our interactions made it possible for us to form a relationship that ultimately helped us both.
[Unfortunately, my relationship with food isn’t always entirely healthy. Years ago, a teacher of mine and I had dinner together and then he raped me. It’s never been the same since. It’s something I need to work on. But I digress.]
God’s gift of food to us is a kind of sustenance that goes beyond mere survival. It is a way for people to come together in thanksgiving for all that we have been given and for each other. It forms relationships and bonds, strengthens communities and, taken holistically, gives rise to something truly unique: an embodiment of the beginning, middle and end in a single moment, a glimpse of God in the experience and in each other and, most importantly, a sense that in no time or place are we ever really alone. Because God is there in all of it, and with Him all the love and fellowship we have given and received.
When I saw him, I fell at his feet as though dead. But he laid his right hand upon me, saying, “Fear not, I am the first and the last, and the living one; I died, and behold I am alive forevermore.” (Rev 1:1:17-18)
Today was the last service of the year at the college I hang out at. The last Eucharist and the last evening prayer until September. For some of us, the last time we’ll pray here as students.
Because it’s an ending, God is in it. God is in it as beginning and as what is yet to be, reminding us that the end of something is also a beginning of something else. Because the two are knit together into a whole, being held by God in a reality greater than themselves, they are neither a beginning nor an end – they are both, and everything between and beyond.
Every Eucharist at the college is followed by lunch, which I never go to; somehow my life tends to schedule itself in the way, though I can’t say I’m always displeased. But today I had planned to stay (yay?). Unfortunately, my doctor’s appointment got moved into that spot yesterday, so the best laid plans of Kats (and mice) came to naught. *sadness* and *hungry*
Coming out of a church tradition where food is less than prominent, I’ve wondered a lot lately: what is it with Protestants and food? At my Anglican church, we have parish breakfasts, dinners before worship-and-share, movies with popcorn, coffee hour before and after Sunday services, and a variety of food-based events to mark special celebrations. That reminds me: we have a congregational life lunch coming up – what should I bring?
Today is also my birthday. I’m 27, which a friend of mine pointed out is 3-cubed, a good Trinitarian symbol. As we observe them, birthdays mainly mark the remembrance of a beginning. But they also mark endings and continuation. Again, in this mundane life event, time blurs and blends together, and extends to include more than itself. As in all the ordinary things of the world, the Alpha-and-Omega movement of God can be discerned.
Like church events, my birthday will be celebrated with food. Tonight I’m having pizza (yay!) and cake (yay!!) and some kind of sparkling wine. Tomorrow, I’m having lunch with my boyfriend. And on Friday my friends are having a party for me.
Food is there at the very beginning of our lives: feeding babies is one of the first things we do, even when they show up ten weeks early weighing 2 ½ lbs. Food is there at the end: last meals for the condemned, and buffets at funerals. In the stories of Creation, God is very concerned about what we’ll eat, and at the end, we’re all invited to the wedding feast of the Lamb. Food is everywhere in between: it’s all over the Bible and runs through Jesus’ ministry. It fills each day of our own lives.
Eating is theological. It recognizes the sacrifice made of one living thing that another may have life. By it, we acknowledge and enter into relationship with creation and one another. Sharing it with others is a mitzvah. Offering it to others brings us into communion with God ('I was hungry and you fed me'). Accepting it unites us to God ('Jesus came, took the bread and gave it to them, and did the same with the fish'). And in the Eucharist, it becomes the ultimate sacrifice of Love for us.
I first noticed the power of food in the psychiatric hospital with my second roommate. She was totally isolated from everyone when I met her, and I didn’t think it was right: no one deserves to be shunned, even if they are a bit different or struggling. So I started bringing her food to her (catatonic depression makes a person less than mobile) and ate with her. Our interactions made it possible for us to form a relationship that ultimately helped us both.
[Unfortunately, my relationship with food isn’t always entirely healthy. Years ago, a teacher of mine and I had dinner together and then he raped me. It’s never been the same since. It’s something I need to work on. But I digress.]
God’s gift of food to us is a kind of sustenance that goes beyond mere survival. It is a way for people to come together in thanksgiving for all that we have been given and for each other. It forms relationships and bonds, strengthens communities and, taken holistically, gives rise to something truly unique: an embodiment of the beginning, middle and end in a single moment, a glimpse of God in the experience and in each other and, most importantly, a sense that in no time or place are we ever really alone. Because God is there in all of it, and with Him all the love and fellowship we have given and received.
When I saw him, I fell at his feet as though dead. But he laid his right hand upon me, saying, “Fear not, I am the first and the last, and the living one; I died, and behold I am alive forevermore.” (Rev 1:1:17-18)
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Behold The Mercy Of God
[in lieu of a real post, the homily I gave on Sunday]
Well, here we are, at the first Sunday after Easter and, in a way, it’s kind of a let-down, isn’t it? I mean, we’ve just finished celebrating Jesus’ Resurrection! We’ve come through a difficult Passiontide and arrived at a place of pure joy and miracle. Finally, Lent is over! Finally, Easter has arrived! We’ve had all the family dinners, the chocolate Easter eggs, the sugar high and the inevitable cranky period after it. We’ve been exhausted and reborn, horrified and overjoyed. Finally, it’s Easter! The Lord is risen! Alleluia!
So, what do we do now? What’s left? It’s like coming home from a really great party: now that the excitement is over, we feel a bit empty, kind of disappointed. “Oh, it’s over.” Don’t get me wrong: it’s great to be home. But there’s still that feeling, you know? That feeling of emptiness. Even though it only lasts a little while, because life goes on, it’s still a pretty powerful experience. Maybe part of that feeling comes from being suspended between times. Jesus is risen! But we’re waiting for him to ascend into heaven, and we’re waiting for Pentecost. What are we supposed to do with this time in between?
On the second Sunday of the Easter season – which is today – a little-known celebration is observed: the feast of the Divine Mercy. A Polish nun named Sister Faustina (who is now considered a Saint) received visions from our Lord Jesus Christ throughout most of her life. These visions – these messages from Jesus – infused her life, leading her to join a convent and shaping her mission as an Apostle of Mercy. Jesus instructed her to record everything he told her in her diary, and ordered her to proclaim his message of mercy to all people.
One of the things Jesus told her to do was to paint an image of him. In the painting, Jesus stands with one hand over his Sacred Heart and the other reaching out in a blessing. He looks pretty welcoming, like he wants you to come to him. Two rays of light emerge from his Heart. The red ray represents the blood he shed on the Cross, as well as the life of the soul; the whitish-blue ray symbolizes the water flowing from his side, and the soul being made righteous. Jesus’ death both gives life to our souls and purifies them, making them whole again. Most Divine Mercy Icons have these words written on them: “Lord Jesus, I trust in you.” Jesus promised Saint Faustina that the souls genuinely devoted to his Divine Mercy would never die.
Celebrating the Divine Mercy actually takes nine days: it consists of a series of prayers extending from Good Friday until today. Each day, prayers are offered for a different group of people. We begin by praying that all sinners will be immersed in the ocean of God’s mercy. And on the last day, we end by praying for all the souls that have become lukewarm – the people who once cared about God and don’t anymore, the people who have lost the fire of faith. We pray that they will be enfolded in Jesus’ mercy and regain that fire and passion. In Jesus’ revelation to Saint Faustina, the lukewarm are described as the people who caused him the most pain during his Passion: the people standing by who didn’t care, one way or the other, about what was happening to him.
All of these prayers are offered in the name of Jesus’ body and blood, soul and divinity. They are offered for our own sins and for the sins of all people. We pray using these words: for the sake of his sorrowful Passion, have mercy on us and on the whole world.
I personally love this feast of the Divine Mercy. I know, I know, it seems really weird to be talking about this now. You’re thinking, ‘man, this is depressing! Why in the name of all things are we talking about Jesus’ Passion and death right after Easter? You remember Easter, right? It was just last week! Stop ruining my cheerful mood with all this crucifixion talk and get back to the Resurrection where you’re supposed to be.’
That’s a perfectly normal reaction: we are an Easter people and we want to live there. But we tend to forget the difficult reality of the Cross a little too quickly after the Resurrection – I know I do. But there’s no such thing as Easter without the Cross! If we allow ourselves to forget that the two are part of the same act we might as well toss Easter onto the pile of things that have become totally secular. Totally meaningless. We might as well spend Good Friday saying: ‘Now, you just be patient a few more days, honey, and Jesus is going to bring you a nice basket full of candy, just as soon as the Easter Bunny rolls that giant egg away from the tomb!’
The fact that we’re here today testifies that we believe in something more real. To really believe, to really be Christian, means that Easter has a real effect on our lives. It is transformative, and not just some ritual involving chocolates and draping the church in white. This means we can’t just receive the promise of Easter and squirrel it away like a precious secret. Like the light flowing from Jesus’ Heart, it has to shine out of us, because if we don’t let it flow through us and out into the world we haven’t really received it, either.
What does it mean to receive this promise? How do we allow it to live in us? The answer is in the blue and red rays: we receive it by allowing God to breathe life into our souls and to transform us in His image. First, we must ask for the mercy offered to us on the Cross. Then we must be merciful. Today’s readings are full of the truth that Jesus’ resurrected life is an offering of, and call to, mercy. Acts of Apostles tells us that “The God of our fathers raised Jesus whom you killed by hanging him on a tree. God exalted him at his right hand as Leader and Savior, to give repentance to Israel and forgiveness of sins” (5:30-31). Revelation says “Jesus Christ [is] the faithful witness, the first-born of the dead […] who loves us and has freed us from our sins by his blood” (1:5).
In the Gospel reading, the Holy Spirit is given to the disciples along with the power to forgive sins. The idea that the Resurrection is about mercy is one of the oldest truths of our faith.
The final element in receiving the Easter promise comes with the command that we place all our trust in God. Blessed is he who does not see, and yet believes! The marks remaining in Jesus’ hands remind us that his sacrifice and mercy will never disappear. We can confidently rely on him as we strive to live the risen life. Accepting this truth is the source of our great joy, as in the light of Easter we see life.
And what life that is! The celebration of the Divine Mercy is meant to help us realize that Jesus’ forgiveness and compassion are total, that he forgives even the worst sin, and that it’s never too late to embrace his mercy. Our Resurrected Lord stands reaching out to us, calling us to him as beloved children. He bathes us in the light of his Crucified Heart. By taking his outstretched hand and standing in his life-giving mercy, we participate in the Passion that broke his Heart and make the heavy pain of it easier for him to bear. We must give ourselves over to Jesus in complete trust, believing firmly and absolutely that his mercy will indeed save us, covering over our sins and clothing us in righteousness.
I asked before what we should do with this time in between Easter and Pentecost. What we need to do is prepare to receive the Holy Spirit. We know there’s more to that than just running around proclaiming, “Jesus is risen! Jesus is risen! Alleluia!” To share in the risen life – to be faithful witnesses – we need to devote ourselves to God’s mercy. The crucial part of this devotion is committing ourselves to actually being merciful, to living the mercy for others that has been freely given to us.
To proclaim the Resurrection, we need to forgive other people. To anticipate Jesus’ ascension to his Kingdom, we need to evangelize the world by giving to those in need, whatever that need may be. To receive the Holy Spirit, we must be set on fire by love for others. And to await God’s coming in glory, we need to pray for the salvation of all the world.
We must always stand faithfully at the foot of the Cross, even now, especially now, as we celebrate Easter. It is by doing so that we, through believing, come to have life in Jesus’ name.
Readings: Acts 5:27-32; Ps 118:14-29 or 150; Rev 1:4-8; Jn 20:19-31
(11 April 2010, Second Sunday of Easter)
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Will I Follow Him?
My parish priest lent me a book, "Desire: The Journey We Must Take to Find the Life God Offers," written by John Eldredge. In the first chapter, he quotes someone who says, "When the desire is too much to bear, we often bury it beneath frenzied thoughts and activities or escape it by dulling our immediate consciousness of living. It is possible to run away from the desire for years, even decades, at a time, but we cannot eradicate it entirely. It keeps touching us in little glimpses and hints in our dreams, our hopes, our unguarded moments."
He also quotes C.S. Lewis: "I knew only too well how easily the longing accepts false objects and through what dark ways the pursuit of them leads us."
False objects, false desires...sometimes I feel like I know what he's talking about only too well. I tell myself every day that what I really want to do with my life is teach. I get enthusiastic about things, which helps other people get enthusiastic, too. I love sharing things with people, which is part of the reason I never shut up. I like helping people. When I talk about teaching, people tell me I'll be good at it.
I went to graduate school on the premise that I could be a CEGEP teacher if I get this degree. When I think about teaching, I believe that it could make me reasonably happy because it's a meaningful job and I should be reasonably proficient at it.
The problem is, I don't want to be a teacher in any all-consuming way. I know that even if I settle into it, it won't make me happy in the sense of being contented. That's part of the reason I hate graduate school - because I don't feel right about it, I don't feel that this is really where I'm supposed to be in my life. I was uncomfortable last year, and now the feeling is one that at times I can't stand. Of course, being assaulted in second year and becoming dependant on powerful psychiatric medications probably didn't help matters, but still.
The point is that even though I feel this way I'm still trapped, because there really isn't any other option available to me. Why drag yourself out of the rut you've settled for if there's nowhere else to go, right?
At another place in this same chapter, Eldredge talks about how important those moments in life are where things seem to fall into place. The most powerful of those moments for me was when I was a girl in the parking lot at church. I felt like, for one perfect moment, everything was as it should be, was perfectly clear and made perfect sense. The whole space was filled with bright, warm yellow light, and I felt so completely happy. It's a feeling that nothing else can compare to. (shall I compare thee to a summer's day?)
That was the day I believed I was going to be a priest. It was many, many years ago and the light often seems very far away. But I also understand Eldredge's point about the recurrence of a deep desire, because it has continued to torment me throughout my life. I say 'tormenting' because, like any impossible dream, it is a thing which cannot be grasped. Like any impossible dream, I both must learn to put it aside and don't want to let go of it.
My parish priest lent me the book because I was saying I felt arrogant I mean, what the hell, who do I think I am volunteering to preach and stuff? Why did I think I can do that? After the moment of inspiration is over, it feels like a pretty arrogant thing.
He told me that it wasn't, and that this kind of inexplicable desire needs to be trusted as coming from God, and I should just go for it.
On Sunday, he told the congregation that I'd be speaking this coming week, that I was 'sitting quietly over there,' and I started feeling really nervous and insecure, and I realized that, maybe, desire can sometimes feel like anything but.
He also quotes C.S. Lewis: "I knew only too well how easily the longing accepts false objects and through what dark ways the pursuit of them leads us."
False objects, false desires...sometimes I feel like I know what he's talking about only too well. I tell myself every day that what I really want to do with my life is teach. I get enthusiastic about things, which helps other people get enthusiastic, too. I love sharing things with people, which is part of the reason I never shut up. I like helping people. When I talk about teaching, people tell me I'll be good at it.
I went to graduate school on the premise that I could be a CEGEP teacher if I get this degree. When I think about teaching, I believe that it could make me reasonably happy because it's a meaningful job and I should be reasonably proficient at it.
The problem is, I don't want to be a teacher in any all-consuming way. I know that even if I settle into it, it won't make me happy in the sense of being contented. That's part of the reason I hate graduate school - because I don't feel right about it, I don't feel that this is really where I'm supposed to be in my life. I was uncomfortable last year, and now the feeling is one that at times I can't stand. Of course, being assaulted in second year and becoming dependant on powerful psychiatric medications probably didn't help matters, but still.
The point is that even though I feel this way I'm still trapped, because there really isn't any other option available to me. Why drag yourself out of the rut you've settled for if there's nowhere else to go, right?
At another place in this same chapter, Eldredge talks about how important those moments in life are where things seem to fall into place. The most powerful of those moments for me was when I was a girl in the parking lot at church. I felt like, for one perfect moment, everything was as it should be, was perfectly clear and made perfect sense. The whole space was filled with bright, warm yellow light, and I felt so completely happy. It's a feeling that nothing else can compare to. (shall I compare thee to a summer's day?)
That was the day I believed I was going to be a priest. It was many, many years ago and the light often seems very far away. But I also understand Eldredge's point about the recurrence of a deep desire, because it has continued to torment me throughout my life. I say 'tormenting' because, like any impossible dream, it is a thing which cannot be grasped. Like any impossible dream, I both must learn to put it aside and don't want to let go of it.
My parish priest lent me the book because I was saying I felt arrogant I mean, what the hell, who do I think I am volunteering to preach and stuff? Why did I think I can do that? After the moment of inspiration is over, it feels like a pretty arrogant thing.
He told me that it wasn't, and that this kind of inexplicable desire needs to be trusted as coming from God, and I should just go for it.
On Sunday, he told the congregation that I'd be speaking this coming week, that I was 'sitting quietly over there,' and I started feeling really nervous and insecure, and I realized that, maybe, desire can sometimes feel like anything but.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
An Upper Room
Tonight we’ll celebrate the washing of the feet and the institution of the Eucharist as we observe the Last Supper. It’s a pretty well-known and well-rehearsed event. The Twelve are hanging out with Jesus for dinner, and then Judas betrays him while he’s in the garden praying.
“Behold, this child is set for the fall and rising of many in Israel.”
I’ve celebrated this moment over and over again, pledging to keep vigil with Jesus by adoring the Blessed Sacrament. Not to mention the traditional hot-crossed buns served in the hall after the service.
Knowing what’s coming, Jesus gives us a Sacrament that can save us and bring us closer to him. About to become a curse himself, being hung on a tree, he gives us a memorial that will become one of the most contested foci of God’s power in all of Christian history.
“and for a sign that is spoken against.”
But today I find myself wondering about all the other disciples who aren’t recorded in the story. There were many more followers than just these twelve; the women who stood at the foot of the Cross come to mind. But only these twelve are in the story when we remember it. Maybe they were the only ones in the room, or maybe there were others there who were simply not part of the inner circle. Either way, what would it have felt like to be on the outside?
I imagine it would have felt pretty painful, this belonging-yet-not-belonging. There’s the jealousy: why them and not me? It’s not like I didn’t want to…why did Jesus choose to leave me out of the loop? There’s the hurt: why doesn’t he love me the way I love him? Why doesn’t he accept me the way I long to be accepted? Will I never really be a part of this group, this family?
“And a sword shall pierce through your own soul also.”
I know exactly what it feels like to be on the outside wanting to be on the inside. I know that sometimes it makes me cry: I cried over it last night, and it woke me up early this morning, actually. I know how longing for something that simply isn’t can be painful. And I wonder if any of Jesus’ followers felt the same way that night, when he was with his friends in an upper room.
Would that have made them weak? Does it make me weak? Or is it just part of what it means to be human?
Obviously, these few people, whether they existed or not, are not the point of the story. They’re not the point by any stretch of the imagination. Jesus chose only a few to be with him in that inner circle, and it had to do with the will of God. God chooses, and in the places we find ourselves we must be content to serve, even if those places leave us on the fringes, on the outside. It simply isn’t possible for everyone to fully belong.
I don’t think being content to serve from the edges where we find ourselves means purging our emotions and disappointment about it and pretending to be a happy-rainbow-butterfly all the time. I think what it means is that we must be willing to risk the hurt of wanting or loving something that isn’t right for us. It means feeling those difficult feelings for what they are, and crying our tears, and wishing that things were different…but still, while holding within us all those things, going to stand at the foot of the Cross anyway.
“that thoughts out of many hearts may be revealed.”
“Behold, this child is set for the fall and rising of many in Israel.”
I’ve celebrated this moment over and over again, pledging to keep vigil with Jesus by adoring the Blessed Sacrament. Not to mention the traditional hot-crossed buns served in the hall after the service.
Knowing what’s coming, Jesus gives us a Sacrament that can save us and bring us closer to him. About to become a curse himself, being hung on a tree, he gives us a memorial that will become one of the most contested foci of God’s power in all of Christian history.
“and for a sign that is spoken against.”
But today I find myself wondering about all the other disciples who aren’t recorded in the story. There were many more followers than just these twelve; the women who stood at the foot of the Cross come to mind. But only these twelve are in the story when we remember it. Maybe they were the only ones in the room, or maybe there were others there who were simply not part of the inner circle. Either way, what would it have felt like to be on the outside?
I imagine it would have felt pretty painful, this belonging-yet-not-belonging. There’s the jealousy: why them and not me? It’s not like I didn’t want to…why did Jesus choose to leave me out of the loop? There’s the hurt: why doesn’t he love me the way I love him? Why doesn’t he accept me the way I long to be accepted? Will I never really be a part of this group, this family?
“And a sword shall pierce through your own soul also.”
I know exactly what it feels like to be on the outside wanting to be on the inside. I know that sometimes it makes me cry: I cried over it last night, and it woke me up early this morning, actually. I know how longing for something that simply isn’t can be painful. And I wonder if any of Jesus’ followers felt the same way that night, when he was with his friends in an upper room.
Would that have made them weak? Does it make me weak? Or is it just part of what it means to be human?
Obviously, these few people, whether they existed or not, are not the point of the story. They’re not the point by any stretch of the imagination. Jesus chose only a few to be with him in that inner circle, and it had to do with the will of God. God chooses, and in the places we find ourselves we must be content to serve, even if those places leave us on the fringes, on the outside. It simply isn’t possible for everyone to fully belong.
I don’t think being content to serve from the edges where we find ourselves means purging our emotions and disappointment about it and pretending to be a happy-rainbow-butterfly all the time. I think what it means is that we must be willing to risk the hurt of wanting or loving something that isn’t right for us. It means feeling those difficult feelings for what they are, and crying our tears, and wishing that things were different…but still, while holding within us all those things, going to stand at the foot of the Cross anyway.
“that thoughts out of many hearts may be revealed.”
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