From Conviction to Joy

These words from St. Francis de Sales caught my attention:

Be sure always to entertain a hearty sorrow for the sins you confess, however small they are, as also a steadfast resolution to correct them in future.  Some people go on confessing venial sins out of mere habit and conventionally, without making any effort to correct them, thereby losing a great deal of spiritual good.  Supposing that you confess having said something untrue, although without evil consequences, or some careless words, or excessive amusement, -- repent and make a firm resolution of amendment.  It is a mere abuse to confess any sin whatever, be it moral or venial, without intending to put it altogether away, that being the express object of confession.

 Introduction to the Devout Life

I know I am guilty of this. I know that I have made a lackluster confession at times, without truly taking into account my own words as I say, "I firmly resolve to do penance, to sin no more and to avoid whatever leads me to sin."  I am mortified by my ability to say the words without really comprehending them.  It is troubling that in saying "I firmly resolve," I fail at times to, in fact, put behind that phrase my actual resolve, my sacred word.

Of course I have a propensity to sin.  What strikes me, however, is the amazing and huge range of this propensity.  I wonder how much less lazy I would have to be to live a truly devout life?  How often, for instance, would I have to stop my tongue in mid-stroke?  While I know that what I take to the confessional, generally, are not "serious" sins, they must reach the level of seriousness when I make no lasting and committed effort to reform.

It's so easy to live a "good life" badly.  It's the default position, actually, isn't it?  It's easy to speak harshly to my family, to loosen my will power on my diet, to be poor steward, to look away from someone in need.  It's laziness of a sort and an easy garment to put on.

We are called to "put on Christ" and it is a tall order!  As St. Francis says,

The ordinary purification, whether of body or soul, is only accomplished by slow degrees, step by step, gradually and painfully. The angels on Jacob’s ladder had wings, yet nevertheless they did not fly, but went in due order up and down the steps of the ladder. The soul which rises from out of sin to a devout life has been compared to the dawn, which does not banish darkness suddenly, but by degrees.  

I find these words strangely hopeful.  Every step toward holiness is, after all, a step, and one in the right direction.  Conversion is a lifelong process, not a moment in time.  I am tasked with starting anew this and every day, making each moment one of choice, and each choice a conscious one.

Thus, what started for me as a humbling conviction is now a source of hope and joy.

Happy Sunday.

Conversion Part 5 - Signs and Wonders

Did I mention my husband was a born and bred Catholic?  He wasn't a practicing Catholic though and hadn't been since he left home.  We actually got married in Las Vegas by a minister in a Christian ceremony.  Around the time of our wedding, we'd agreed that we would "raise our children in church."  Dear Hubby wasn't too picky about the type of church since he'd not attended any church  since he was a teen.

We started attending  the United Methodist church in downtown Austin.  We loved it, until the second baby came along.  Then it was just too darn hard to get there.  We had moved, too, just before her birth, which added 10 miles to the commute downtown.  Also, it was so big; I'd grown up in small churches and after my work at First Church, I longed for the intimacy of a smaller congregation.

Monday's gospel reading was the story of the crowd following Jesus to Capernaum after the feeding of the five thousand.  Jesus said to them, . . ." you are looking for me not because you saw signs but because you ate the loaves and were filled. Do not work for food that perishes but for the food that endures for eternal life. . . "

Signs and wonders still abound, though sometimes more subtle than those to which Jesus was referring, and yet we still focus on our basic human needs most of the time.  Occasionally, though, my eyes are open.

One such sign and wonder came early in our marriage.  When we first moved to Round Rock with our baby girls, we started looking for churches.  Most were uninspiring; a few were downright odd. After a few unsatisfactory visits to unfriendly, non-diverse local protestant churches I decided to hedge my bets by making phone calls before visiting.

I began calling churches and asking whomever answered about the ethnic mix of the congregation - as we are a inter-racial family -- and what the church's mission was.  Few knew these answers.  I was truthfully just trying to save time but these responses were very telling!  Most were all white churches but they tried to make it sound better by saying, "we welcome everyone."  To a person, no one I spoke to at any of these congregations knew what their mission statement was!  On a whim, I decided to phone the local Catholic church, St. John Vianney.

Fr. Sam answered.  He told me the parish's mission statement  (Our mission is to grow in, give witness to and spread the Gospel of Jesus Christ)  and that while most members were white, they were intentionally reaching out to families of varying ethnic backgrounds.  This was the first sign.  He asked what we were looking for in a church.  He engaged me.  He never once asked if we were Catholic.  His openness and honesty caught me off guard and we visited the following Sunday.  I was a little lost for most of the mass because they didn't use missals, but Dear Hubby seemed right at home.  The second sign and wonder was the homily; it could have been written from my "play book."  It was a lot of what I deeply believe all in one sermon.  It was wonderful.  I was entranced. My husband looked at me and whispered, "So I think you found our church.

Third sign:  the congregation was tiny, but warm.  It was a brand new parish, 3 months old, that met in an elementary school.  Everyone spoke to us.  One of my hubby's public high-school classmates was there with her sister.  Though only 40 or so families were there, several were Hispanic and two were black. This was the best mix we'd found so far.

Over the weeks that followed, I became familiar with the mass, probably due in large part to Father Sam's refusal to use missals; the lack thereof forced me to pay attention and learn to keep up.  While I did not know all I was doing, I was becoming comfortable.  We began to get involved and before I knew it, we were registering as members. Our family was number 68.  

This was the beginning of the end of my life as a protestant.  More later!

Part One of my story
Part Two  - Midnight Mass
Part Three - Crucifix Ephiphany
Part Four - Seeker
Part Six - Annulment
Part Seven - Taking it on Faith

Grace in the Moment

At the hour of the annual blessing of the sacred oils in our diocese, mere moments before our priests would lie prostrate before the altar, I was given a gift.  I was given a gift of grace, of eyes once again opened wide.

It started out simply enough.  I went for a walk.  It was a little mommy-multitasking mission; I decided to walk while my son was in OT.  It was a tiny act of obedience to my Lenten discipline of diet and exercise, on of my last acts before the end of Lent.  And in this little act, though reluctantly and grudgingly offered, was a treasure.

This morning I read some words by Simsha Fisher, one of my heroes, and when I read her post, I couldn't get past the first few paragraphs.  I was astounded.  I wrote about seeing the beauty in the present moment but even in penning the piece, I knew something was missing.

I realize that in all of this, in all of this living, striving, looking back and looking forward, in all of this stuff of which my life is made, I have only now. I have this moment, this now.  I have these children, this husband, this home, this mess, this body, these thoughts.  I have right here, right now.  And yet even in seeing that, I was  missing the recognition of grace. 

I'm living in a beautiful, crazy, chaotic world of clashing bells and clanging cymbals.  It's busy here.  Children are calling, birds are singing in the yard and my oldest is clattering around in the kitchen.  And I live my life as if I had forever to savor these sounds.

In truth, not only do I want to celebrate the beauty of the present moment, I must recognize that all I truly have is the present moment.  I have this time to hear a single "caw" of the grackle on the grass; this second to hear the clock tick one more time (and I never realized it was so loud). It is so quiet in this slowed down experience of the present that you could hear pin drop. Really I have not even a second, but a nano-second in which to reach out and grab it and say, "This, this now is my life.  This is my moment."

I have this tiny particle of time in which to fall to my knees and be grateful. 

And this I do.

And therein is my joy.

Forgiveness and Sacrifice

Sometimes the best thing you can do is point to someone who does that thing you do -- but better!  Here is one of the most amazing posts I've ever read - and I read a lot!!  Enjoy!

Motherly Love

 Who is a God like you, who removes guilt

and pardons sin for the remnant of his inheritance;

Who does not persist in anger forever,

but instead delights in mercy . . .

Micah 7:18

St. Alpnonsus Liguiori likens God to a mother, pulling us onto our lap, stroking our hair, and showing mercy: 

Far from despising our confidence in Him, He rejoices that we have it - confidence and familiarity and affection like that which little children show toward their mothers.

(How to Converse with God)

Micah seems to be saying the same thing -- God "delights in mercy"  He delights in forgiving us.  The face of God is not only the face of the patriarch, the king, the ruler;  it is also the face of the mother.  

Why, then, should I hesitate?

The Singing Bowl

I will be frank with you: I am not happy with my practice of Lent so far.   It's so easy to just blithely trip along through my days, driven by habitual responses in both thought and word.  I have a concise, tidy list of abnegations, but I am not quite hitting all the notes.

I am not speaking solely of "slipping" up on my Lenten commitments, though I am doing some of that, as well.  I am thinking more about the undertone.  There is a lack of quality, of clarity, and of  brightness.

I have a "singing bowl" that belonged to my sister-in-law, Sharon.  When you strike it, the note resounds long and clear; it has remarkable duration.  On the other hand, I was in a forum recently in which the presenter used a singing bowl to make a point.  The bowl was either cracked or she did not know how to properly strike it because it made a dull thunk.  It lacked the brilliance and purity I was expecting.   The presenter realized the flaw, simply put the bowl away and used another method to call the group's attention.

This analogy works with my experience of Lent so far.  I've got the right equipment but I am not striking that bright, transparent and enduring tone.  However, I'm not yet prepared to just set the bowl aside entirely.

Yesterday in Mass, these words from the second reading struck me:

31 What then shall we say to this? If God is for us, who can be against us? 32He who did not spare his own Son but handed him over for us all, how will he not also give us everything else along with him?

Romans 8:31-32

It reminded me of Father Jonathan's homily just before Ash Wednesday; he told us to ask for a miracle.  I realized that my practice of Lent so far has been more about attending to my sacrifices; I have not been praying for total transformation.  The gospel yesterday was about the transfiguration.  As the words were read, "and his clothes became dazzling white," and "this is my beloved Son, listen to him," I could almost hear that singing bowl ring out.  

This Jesus, God's son,  my savior, is more than capable of creating conversion in me; my part is to invite it and allow the transformation to ring true and clear. 

I say, "Yes." 

A Useful and Educationational Sacrifice

Today these words from the first reading struck me: 

You shall not go about spreading slander among your kin;
nor shall you stand by idly when your neighbor's life is at stake.
I am the LORD.

"You shall not bear hatred for your brother in your heart.
Though you may have to reprove him,
do not incur sin because of him.
Take no revenge and cherish no grudge against your fellow countrymen.
You shall love your neighbor as yourself.
I am the LORD."

Leviticus 19: 16-18

Have you ever noticed how just when you need it most, God sends you a little reminder, a little peck on the shoulder, a whisper in the ear? 

As a family, we gave up criticism for Lent.  It was a last minute, off-the-cuff addition to my own Lenten plans and it took a bit of enrolling to bring the big people aboard.

It is harder than you would think!  The four oldest of our clan have a tendency to be a bit mocking. Not of each other, necessarily, but of strangers, people in news stories, or  even ideas.  Oh, that makes us sound terrible, doesn't it?

It is terrible, in a way.  It sneaks in, that judgment, as a little bit of wit meant to amuse another, and it slowly corrodes, like a sprinkle of salt in the silver box, unnoticed and unchecked. It's like some of the critters who make their way into my garage in the night; they slip in under the door, make their mischief, then depart undetected but leave behind an abiding, unmistakable and intolerable stench. 

I suggested the sacrifice because I know my "inner judge" is all too ready and willing to render an unbidden verdict.  I am appalled by how many times I have to check my tongue and how often my mind flies to critique as if my own faults are negligible or non-existent. How untrue that last is and how alluring, the terrible temptation to use criticism as a foil for my own flaws.

I am not suggesting (as my girls originally feared) that we never poke fun at one another or that we become overly protective of ourselves, quite the opposite.  Instead we have committed to take responsibility for noticing that critical bent in ourselves, examining our motives and then seeing if clear feedback -- absent the judgement -- might be offered instead.  It's quite different, isn't it, from Thumper's mother's terse but pointed advice, "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all?"  Our goal is to be alongside each other on the way, shoulder to shoulder, without taking on the role of judge and jury.

I am so grateful for my daughters and my dear hubby who have agreed to travel this road with me for Lent.  It may prove to be my most educational and useful sacrifice yet!