And Jesus Wept

I’ve mentioned before that I love to consider and be reminded of the human side of Jesus. Through prayer and scripture reading, I am always aware of His divine side. But if you pay attention as you read the Bible, the words frequently tell of Jesus’ humanity.

For example, He was angry at those running the marketplace at the temple. So angry, in fact, that He raised His voice and ran through the market, knocking over tables. He was afraid in the Garden of Gethsemene, and wanted His friends to keep Him company as He prayed. He was happy when the children came to see Him, and spent joyful time with them.

And in John’s gospel today, Jesus felt absolute sorrow at seeing his good friend Lazarus lying in the tomb, dead for four days. John lets us know how sad Jesus was using three simple words: And Jesus wept.

It always makes me happy to think about this strong bond between Jesus and the three who I think must have been His best friends, Mary, Martha, and Lazarus. Mary and Martha are mentioned twice in the gospels – once in this story about Jesus raising their brother from the dead and once in Luke’s gospel in one of my favorite Bible stories – Martha, the harried housewife, and Mary, the quiet listener. Since they are mentioned in both gospels, I have concluded they are very dear friends.

All of these human emotions experienced by Jesus help me to know that He really can understand my feelings. He can empathize when I’m sad or angry, and share my joy when I’m happy, because He experienced these human feelings.

But Father reminded us in his homily that while Jesus experienced a very human emotion, He went on to show us His divine side by raising Lazarus from the dead as a sign to those watching that He was, indeed, the Messiah. Jesus told Martha, “I am the resurrection and the life; whoever believes in me, even if he dies, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die.” Those are pretty comforting words.

By the way, I always think that Jesus told Lazarus, “You get one pass. The next time your gone from this earth for good!”

Catholic Teachings

I have really been careful to keep politics out of this Lenten blog. I want the energy coming from it to be positive and full of joy. Still, I have to comment on the recent invitation by the president of Notre Dame University to President Obama to speak at the commencement ceremonies and to bestow upon him an honorary degree.

The institution of the Catholic Church, like a parent, sets high standards for its “children” – the Catholics around the world. As such, for example, they prohibit birth control, encouraging people instead to embrace the act of intercourse as part of the love within a marriage and to accept children as an outcome of the love. I don’t know the percentage, but my guess is that a huge majority of young Catholics ignore this teaching and use birth control. I don’t particularly have a problem with this, and I used artificial birth control. I also don’t have a problem with people being troubled by the fact that priests can’t marry or that women can’t become priests. I am comfortable with the way things are, but I think there is a possibility that sometime, many of these teachings will change.

Still, the one deal breaker, the one thing that will never, ever change in the teachings of the church (and remember, this is all my own opinion) is that of the sanctity of life, from conception to natural death. I believe that the church will never change in its teachings about life.

It’s one teaching that I think troubles many Catholics more than anything else, and probably has caused many Catholics to leave the church. I don’t begrudge them their concern. They believe what they believe. But I think they are right to leave the church and choose to worship as a protestant or something else.

However, to have what is probably the most recognized Catholic university in the world completely disregard the church’s teachings and invite President Obama, an outspoken advocate of abortion (both in words and actions) to speak is, in my opinion, shameful. It flies in the seat of the one of the most basic Catholic Church teachings. President Obama can obviously have his own opinions on life. But to be asked to speak at the commencement ceremonies at a Catholic university? Just wrong.

There, I’ve said it.

Spring Weather

Just when you thought it was safe to go out and smell the hyacinth blooming in the springtime flower garden……

We were all surprised yesterday by blowing snow and temperatures in the teens most of the day. We shouldn’t have been surprised, of course. The weather folks told us it was coming. Furthermore, it’s not at all unusual to have a good, solid spring snowstorm. Still, I noticed that no one seemed to really believe it was coming despite the warnings, including me. People didn’t visit the grocery stores the night before to stock up. No one seemed to leave early for work. People took off their snow tires.

It seems God often reminds us that we can’t take things for granted. The weather’s as good a way to get that message across as anything. Nature is really in His hands, and try as we might, it will remain so. Nature is sort of a metaphor for our lives. Sometimes things are calm; sometimes things are crazy. But everything is in God’s hands.

I had the baby, and despite the fact that both her mommy’s and daddy’s offices closed at noon, the traffic was such that it took literally several hours to come and get her. In the meantime, our other grandchildren were stuck at their babysitter’s as their mom tried to retrieve them while fighting slippery roads and multiple accidents. I’m happy to say that everyone made it safely, and they were all tucked into their homes by 3:30.

Caring for Clowns

I have been babysitting our youngest grandchild, 7-month-old Miss K, all week. Normally I have just been watching her on Wednesdays, and another grandmother has been watching her the other days. Because Nana C took a much-needed vacation, I have assumed the duties all week.

As I have mentioned before, each day I conclude my morning prayers by asking God to help me be a blessing to someone today. I have also mentioned that I don’t think I often am.

I must say that this week I am feeling like I am a blessing to my son and daughter-in-law, as well as to Nana C. I have dutifully set my alarm for 5:45 each morning so that I can have a cup of coffee before my son shows up at 6:30. This morning, the alarm seemed like it went off very early. My legs are more tired than normal from carrying the baby up and down stairs and my house is a mess, taken over by bottles, bottle warmers, baby food, and toys. My arthritic thumbs ache.

But I keep reminding myself that I can’t ask God to help me be a blessing, and then complain about it when I am. That negates the whole blessing thing!

And, despite my creeping weariness, Miss K is such a delight! After an extremely difficult four months of colic, she has become a wonderful little imp, with a quick smile and the personality of a clown. I laugh all day long.

When my son was a little boy, he would always choose to give up something he really never liked for Lent. I used to explain to him that it really isn’t a sacrifice to give up something you wouldn’t choose to eat anyway.

I guess that’s what I should concentrate on – being a blessing by caring for this little amazing child of God isn’t really too great a sacrifice when you really think about it.

God's Will

All your circumstances are in the hand of God so never think it strange concerning the circumstances you’re in.-Oswald Chambers

Today the Catholic Church celebrates the annunciation of the Lord to the teenaged Mary. Count the months. It is exactly nine months until we celebrate Christmas – the birth of Christ.

Nobody really knows the actual date that Jesus was born, so no one really knows when the Angel Gabriel came to tell Mary her big news. A nice spring day is probably as good a time as any. I’m sure that the Church had some bigger reason to choose December 25 as the day Christ was born.

What a surprise it must have been for that young girl to receive the news she did on that day. Talk about strange circumstances. Luke’s gospel tells us that Mary didn’t hesitate, but accepted God’s challenge. I hope that a bolt of lightening doesn’t strike me down as I write, but I think that Mary likely gave the whole idea some second and third and maybe fourth thoughts.

First of all, she must have thought that there was some mistake. The Jews believed that when the Messiah came, He would be a king, or maybe a strong warrior. Who else could save the Jews after so many years of persecution? She was, after all, just a poor Jewish girl living in Nazareth. This couldn’t be right.

And then, even if God was choosing her, did she really want to take on this tremendous task? The Son of God! The thought had to be terrifying.

And what about her betrothal to Joseph? I’m sure she thought that he would divorce her and leave her to accept this fate alone. And her family? They would never believe her.

But though Oswald Chambers was born nearly two thousand years later, he had it exactly right. Mary knew that all of her circumstances were in the hand of God. She trusted Him and accepted the invitation.

I mentioned before that I am taking a class on Islam. The Islam religion has many peculiarities, but there is one thing about it that I think is very beautiful. Muslims believe that everything that happens on this earth is in the hands of God. As such, they don’t have such a thing as intercessionary prayer. There is no reason, in their minds, to ask God for anything, because they believe that everything that happens is God’s will. All of their prayers are prayers of thanksgiving.

Now I would lose my mind if I couldn’t pray for God’s intercession in my life, and I believe that God listens to my prayer. Still, I think the notion that “all circumstances are in the hand of God” is beautiful.

Responsorial Prayer

In my Bible class last night, we discussed the Book of Psalms. My first reaction to looking at these Psalms was that I really had never read them. Then, of course, I remembered that we read a Psalm at every Mass. Reading these responsorial Psalms is one of those things I do during the Mass to which I don’t really pay much attention. After last night’s discussion, that will change.

Our instructor, who is as fervent about her Catholic faith as anyone I know, said that when she hears the cantor begin the Psalm, and then hears the congregation answer, it always moves her greatly. She says she is reminded that cantoring and responding to the Psalm is an ancient prayer practice.

Very often I can’t quite make the connection between the Old Testament reading and the Gospel, though I know that much thought was put into the lectionary. Our instructor said to understand the connection, look at the Psalm. She called the Psalm the “anchor” of the readings. For example, if one or both of the readings talk about food – bread in particular – the Psalm will almost always be “Taste and see the goodness of the Lord.”

One thing in particular moved me in last night’s discussion. Our instructor said she had always been disturbed by the Gospel’s declaration that Jesus’ last words as He died on the cross were, “My God, my God, why have you abandoned me.” She said she could never understand why Jesus felt that His Father had forsaken Him during this terrifying time. Then she remembered Psalm 22, which begins with these words: My God, my God, why have you abandoned me? The Psalm, though written ages before Jesus’ birth, goes on to say:

All who see me mock me;
they curl their lips and jeer;
they shake their heads at me.

And also:

They stare at me and gloat;
They divide my garments among them;
For my clothing they cast lots.

How can you not believe that these words, written hundreds of years before Jesus was born, prophesy Him?

But the Psalm ends on a positive note:

All the ends of the earth
Will worship and turn to the LORD;
All the families of nations
Will bow low before you.
For kingship belongs to the LORD,
The ruler over the nations.
All who sleep in the earth
Will bow low before God;
All who have gone down into the dust will kneel in homage.
And I will live for the LORD;
My descendants will serve you.
The generation to come will be told of the Lord,
That they may proclaim to a people yet unborn
The deliverance you have brought.

Our instructor says she is convinced that when Jesus spoke those final words, He was not asking God why He had forsaken Him; instead, Jesus, a faithful Jew, was cantoring the first words of Psalm 22, knowing that those Jews at His feet would respond in the ways Jews had responded for hundreds of years – by singing the rest of the Psalm. No doubt Mary His mother; Mary Magdelene, the beloved disciple ,and everyone else standing below the cross prayed the Psalm together.

I plan to finish Lent by reading a Psalm every night.

Traditions

Anyone who was born and baptized in the Catholic Church remembers the second Vatican Council – known to everyone as Vatican 2. I was probably 11 or 12 when the Church began making the changes that were suggested from that Council. So I well remember Latin Masses, not being able to enter the church without something on our head (often Kleenex), three-hour fasts before communion, and no meat on Fridays.

For me, the changes were mostly good. I love being able to participate fully in the Mass. Bill and I distribute Communion, and this ministry is very special to me, and we wouldn’t have had this opportunity prior to Vatican 2. I must admit, however, I miss the pretty hats!

There was an article in the Denver Post this morning with the headline A new hunger for Catholic tradition. The article talked about how some of the old traditions that went out following Vatican 2 are coming back to parishes – traditions such as Eucharistic adoration (where the blessed sacrament is on display and there are worshipers 24 hours a day), group rosaries, Stations of the Cross, and old-fashioned fish fries on Fridays during Lent.

What came as sort of a surprise to me, however, is that the article said many Catholics (and not just the traditionalists) are finding comfort in some of these old practices. Apparently more people are praying the rosary, retreats are finding new attendees, and more Catholics are petitioning saints to pray for them. As for me, my rosary is well-worn and I don’t know what I would do without St. Anthony of Padoa (patron saint of lost items-Dear St. Anthony, please come round. Something's lost and must be found.). Retreats? Well, not so much.

In this crazy world, I think many people – at least those drawn to God – relish traditions. And you really can’t beat a quiet church for praying. Our parish added an adoration chapel a couple of years ago, and there has never been a time when I’ve dropped in to pray that there haven’t been at least three or four people in there. And it hasn’t been just old people. Many younger people are apparently finding the little chapel to be a place of peace.

I suspect that in some number of years (20?) the Catholic Church will have fewer members but the remaining members will be devout and traditional, and the Church will respond accordingly (or vice versa). I don’t think we will go back to a Latin Mass, though that option is available now and will likely remain available. Since I’m not on Pope Benedict’s speed dial, I could be completely wrong.

I remember when I was a small girl (I went to Catholic school from kindergarten through 12th grade, and all of my friends were Catholic), I used to say prayers of thanksgiving to God for letting me be born Catholic. I’m still grateful that I am Catholic. It makes me happy to see that there are people who are drawn to the Catholic traditions that I love so much.

Book Covers

The Old Testament reading at Mass today was from 1 Samuel and told of God selecting David to lead His people.

Saul failed to be a good king, so God told Samuel to go to Bethlehem to retrieve the new king from among Jesse’s sons. Samuel goes to Bethlehem as he is asked to do, but as Jesse parades out his sons, none of them is the one chosen by God. Finally Jesse admits to Samuel that his youngest son is not among those he saw since he was the runt of the litter and was out tending sheep. God told Samuel, “Not as man sees does God see, because man sees the appearance but the LORD looks into the heart.” Lo, and behold, the youngest son David – the puny little brother – is brought before Samuel, and the rest, as they say, is history.

Isn’t it the truth that we tend to judge a book by its cover? I have a habit of writing the story of people’s lives in my mind even as they just stand ahead of me in a grocery store line. I figure out their socioeconomic class, determine what kind of parent they are, and form an opinion about their taste in clothes. And of course, I simply can’t believe that they are buying potato chips and frozen pizzas when they clearly should lose some weight.

My tendency to form opinions about people without knowing any of the facts about them is one of my characteristics that I work hardest at changing. I have no idea about strangers’ personal lives, and I certainly can’t look into their hearts. Why do I think I have the right to judge?

Thankfully for ALL of us, I’m not the one that makes the final judgement. In the meantime, I will work hard to remember that God made us all in his image and sent His Son to save everyone, no matter how many frozen pizzas they are buying.

Our Faith

I had breakfast yesterday with a very good friend, and we began discussing our spiritual lives. Much to my surprise, she told me that she questions the existence of God.

I don’t know why I should have been surprised. She is an extremely intelligent and analytical person. She has a masters degree in political science and can analyze anything from a strictly objective view, which I envy. Me, I always go with my gut and my heart, making me often wrong and frequently silly. I guess if you look at God in a strictly objective, analytical way, it’s easier to question His existence.

Still, I have always noticed that she is drawn to the symbolic traditions of organized religion. She was brought up mostly Episcopalian (though her parents had a relatively short-lived stint in the Catholic Church). And to this day, she will occasionally attend the morning prayer service at the Episcopalian cathedral.

During our breakfast, she gave me feedback on her reaction to my blog entry about angels. In that entry, I mention that I believe many young people no longer believe in God because they are lazy or don’t like to be held accountable. She suggested that perhaps I needed to consider that maybe the problem is in what we believe about God and what is taught by organized religions.

Okay. There. I’ve considered it.

Undoubtedly, organized religions have flaws because they consist of flawed humans. Separate from those organized churches, however, I think what we believe about God is what Jesus told us: Love Him, and love your neighbor.

I need my Catholic Church with all of its traditions and prayers and community, and yes, all of its flaws. I need occasionally to kneel in a quiet church to pray. I need the Eucharist. I need it to feed my soul.

And I need God to exist, and know that He does. I can’t live my life without having someone greater than me to whom I hand my problems. Life is too difficult and crazy to live alone, without knowing that God is taking care of me.

And believing in God does require some accountability. He has expectations. The Ten Commandments are a good starting point. But in the end, I think that one’s spiritual life is not organized religion. It is a relationship between God and me.

God's Creatures

Yesterday I babysat our youngest granddaughter, 7-month-old Miss K. It was a beautiful day, so she and I were out and about quite a bit throughout the day. Here’s what I noticed: People pay attention to babies.

At morning Mass, several people came up to me in the line as we were going to Communion to coo at her and tell me how pretty and happy she is. Following Mass, the priest made a point of coming over to see her and hold her, as did several other Massgoers.

Later in the morning, as she and I strolled over to the grocery market, a man actually pulled over in his car, rolled down his passenger window and asked me how old the baby is. I told him, and he proudly told me he is the father of a 7-month-old baby. He commented on how pretty Miss K is (and I knew he couldn’t even see her because I had the shade up on her stroller to keep the sun out of her eyes). While at the market, and in other stores later in the day, people engaged with me in a way that they normally don’t when I’m by myself.

So I began thinking about God’s creatures, and how we should love them all.

It’s not always easy. I love my family, but I don’t love the man standing on the corner holding the “Will work for food” sign. I love my friends, but I don’t love the woman who was talking on her cell phone while driving her car yesterday and absentmindedly stopped at the green light, where she sat and yakked until I tooted my horn.

Furthermore, I don’t love the centipede that I saw crawling in my kitchen day before yesterday, stirred from his peaceful existence outside by my husband tearing up our deck in preparation for laying a beautiful new patio. 100 legs! God, what were you thinking?

Yet, we are all made by God’s hand, and we are all united together on this earth. Bonded together by this love, we should respect and love one another. Loving my friends and family comes to me without even thinking. What I need to work on is loving those who annoy me or get in my away or do something to make me angry. God loves us all, even when we don’t serve Him the way we should.

I’m not going to work too hard on loving that centipede, however. Those hundred legs made him as quick as an Olympic sprinter, and he ducked into my heating vent, where I promptly sprayed about a half container of bug spray.
Forgive me, Lord.

Saying Yes

Today is the feast day of St. Joseph. I imagine poor St. Joseph is somewhat forgotten, his feast day coming so soon after that of St. Patrick’s that many are still nursing their hangover.

I, for my part, have always had kind of a special devotion for St. Joseph. Here he was, going along with his life, building up his carpentry business, betrothed to this nice young Jewish girl, and he gets the bombshell of a lifetime. Mary is pregnant. He knows HE'S not the father. “The Holy Spirit,” Mary tells him. “Right,” he replies, and begins making plans for a quiet divorce.

Then, here comes the Angel Gabriel, to tell Joseph Mary really is telling the truth, and he is going to be the foster father of the long-awaited Messiah. Instead of running like the dickens the other way, Joseph, like Mary, says, “Yes.” He says it without hesitation. He says it without whining about what the neighbors will say. He says it knowing full well that it’s hard enough to bring up any child, but try rearing the Son of God.

I’ve always had a special fascination with the human side of Jesus. One of my favorite scenes in the movie the Passion of Christ was the early scene with an adult Jesus interacting playfully with his mother. While I know that Jesus is God, I also love thinking about Him as a child, learning to shape wood into furniture, running with His friends, having a stomach ache and crawling into His mother’s lap. St. Joseph was an integral part of bringing up this child that he knew he and Mary would someday have to sacrifice.

I love God and I hope that I say yes to Him every day. Still, I’m afraid I wouldn’t have the strength of character to take on something like Joseph and Mary did with such grace.

By the way, six years ago today, Denver was blasted with several feet of snow in a few hours. We could scarcely get dug out of our homes. But our oldest son came and picked us up in the Land Rover to take us to the hospital to witness the birth of our dear little Miss A – the blizzard baby. Happy birthday.

Also, as we ran to the delivery room after the nurse told us she had just popped out, I saw on the television screens that the United States had just dropped the first bombs on Iraq. God bless all of the soldiers fighting and taking care of the people in Iraq and Afghanistan.

A Many Splendored Thing

This morning before I got out of bed, for some reason I started thinking about an acquaintance of mine who believes that the human heart has a finite ability to love. As such, she is very careful as to whom she loves, though she gives it wholeheartedly to those lucky ones.

This never made any sense to me. I believe that we are modeled after Christ, who loved us so much that he died to save us. God created us with literally endless amount of love to give and receive.

Having grown up watching Father Knows Best, Leave it to Beaver, and other 50s shows that created a perfect (if improbable) picture of the American family, I always assumed that’s what my adult future held. God had other plans, however. I had one child followed a few years later by a divorce. My life was a good one, but my family dinners consisted of my son and me. Instead of filling up a pew at church, my son and I just took up a corner. But the good news was there were aunts and uncles and grandparents and cousins to fill in all the gaps. I must also report that my son’s father, though no longer married to me, remained involved in his life as well.

Ten years later, I remarried a man with three children. Now I have four children, three in-laws, six grandchildren (with one more on the way), as well as all those aunts, uncles, cousins and grandparents (including a stepmother). I jokingly say that when I look at my Thanksgiving table, I am looking at a mini United Nations.

And I love them all. And all of them love me. And all of them have many others who love them and whom they love back.

Someone asked if I love my own son’s daughter more than my step-grandchildren and I can say no! without hesitation. The difference to me is, as I look at her, I think, “Some of my very own DNA is in her.” I ask myself things like, “Does she look at all like me?”

But I love all of my children and grandchildren. Thank goodness, God made us with the ability to love infinitely.

As St. Paul told the Corinthians, “So faith, hope, love remain, these three; but the greatest of these is love.”

Job

My life is pretty good.

Oh, I have little hitches on occasion. My wrist splint, for example. Or perhaps how I’d like to update all the carpeting in my house and put wood floors in the living room and office, but I can’t afford it right now.

But overall, I have a lovely life. Bill and I are healthy, we have four wonderful children, three fabulous children-in-law, and those AWESOME grandkids about whom I am constantly bragging. We have a pretty house that is paid for. I was able to retire at an early age, and we can live comfortably off of our retirement income and Bill’s part-time legal practice. We have many good friends.

I guess like a lot of people, I take my good life for granted. But I was reminded about it last night in my Bible class as we read the Book of Job. Poor Job. Poster child for Why Bad Things Happen to Good People.

A few years ago, one of my good friends was going through a very bad time. She had a series of really bad things happen to her over a period of about a year – from very serious health issues to discovering her new husband was secretly using cocaine. She had two miscarriages. She lost two jobs. A cradle Catholic like me, she continually asked me, “Why is God doing this to me? I’m a good person. Why is he punishing me?”

I didn’t have very good answers for her, I’m afraid. I told her that God wasn’t doing anything to her. She was a victim of our own human-ness, I said. Her marriage was a bad choice. Her health issues were related to her smoking. The miscarriages – well, what could I say? I just told her that I was absolutely certain that God wasn’t sitting up in heaven and plotting out an unpleasant life for her.

My sister, much more of a biblical scholar than me, having graduated from the Catholic Biblical School, suggested I refer her to the Book of Job. Job’s faith in God was remarkable, to say the least. He loved God while his life was good, and continued to love him when his life went south. God ultimately rewarded Job for his faithfulness, just as He will reward us with eternal life if we are faithful.

Our Bible instructor, like my friend, has had a very difficult life. In addition to being diagnosed over the past several years with leukemia and uterine cancer, she also developed a life-threatening staph infection while in the hospital a year ago that has left her permanently disabled. Last night she spoke about how suffering brings you to a level of intimacy with God that almost nothing else can match.

Her life, a year ago, was on a second-to-second basis. She was so ill, she told us, that she would take a breath, and then she and her husband would thank God for that breath. After being blessed with recovery, she said she is closer to God than ever before.

I want to think that I don’t have to suffer that much to develop an intimate relationship with God. It is not easy. I get caught up in my day-to-day life, which is extraordinarily good, and forget to include God in every second.

I guess developing that closeness is another part of my Lenten journey.

Angel of God

Yesterday I finished my last library book, so between ending that book and starting the book that my book club will select tomorrow night, I picked up another one of my beloved Mitford books. I selected a bookmark from my bookshelf and began to read. A little later, I stopped and set the bookmark to hold my place in the book. As I did so, I glanced down on the bookmark itself, and saw this prayer:

Make yourself familiar with the angels, and behold them frequently in spirit; for without being seen, they are present with you.

St. Francis de Sales

I began to think about angels, something I hadn’t really given a lot of thought to since our three-month European trip last summer. More about that later.

It seems to me that among many young people, the idea of God has gotten harder and harder for them to grasp. I don’t know why. Maybe it makes them too accountable. Maybe they have just become lazy. Maybe they just don’t like all the “rules” that seem to come with being a believer in God.

Still, it seems like more and more young people have taken to the idea of angels. Again, I’m not sure why. Maybe they are drawn to the idea of having someone take care of them, but don’t want that someone to be God. Plus, angels (at least the human drawings of angels) are really pretty.

As a very small child, I was taught the prayer familiar to all cradle Catholics: Angel of God, my guardian dear to whom God’s love entrusts me here. Ever this day (night) be at my side to light, to guard, to rule and guide. Amen.

I LOVE that prayer. But I must admit, I don’t often think about my guardian angel.

The Bible, of course, talks plenty about angels. For example, you’ve got the Angel Gabriel, Michael the Archangel, and Raphael, the angel from one of my favorite Bible stories, the Book of Tobit (part of the deuterocanonicals in the Catholic Bible). In that book, God sends Raphael to lead and take care of Tobit’s son Tobiah in his adventures. At the end of the adventures, as Raphael reveals himself to Tobiah, he tells him “….it was I who presented and read the record of your prayer before the Glory of the Lord….” I love the idea of angels being assigned to each of us. Raphael goes on to say, “As for me, when I came to you it was not out of any favor on my part, but because it was God’s will. So continue to thank him every day; praise him with song,”

So in the end, we know who’s boss.

Back to our European trip. Over and over as we traveled, Bill and I would give thanks to what we called our “travel angel.” I can’t even begin to tell you how many times we were saved from getting lost, or we would glance down to see that we had dropped our credit card, or we would find a place to stay overnight when it appeared there was none available. It became clear to us that there was someone (thing) watching over us. Our travel angel, we decided.

So, as I go through Lent, I’m going to give more thought to my guardian angel, who takes care of me here on earth and will pray for me when I need special help.

My guardian dear.

Change

Last night as we read our chapter of Acts, we were told that Peter, Paul, and Barnabus (Not to be confused with Peter, Paul, and Mary; I’m not sure these three could even sing.) were getting rumblings of complaints from their Jewish followers who believed that the Gentiles, if they were going to be baptized along with them, needed to be circumcised and follow their dietary restrictions.

I don’t find that particularly unusual. After all, these Jews had been taught from the cradle that God required certain things, the most important of which was that men be circumcised. Jews had followed these restrictions for hundreds of years, believing it was what was required of them as God’s chosen people. Now suddenly, after being taught that they, alone, were God’s people, not only were many Gentiles believing that they too could be baptized (i.e. “chosen”) but that they didn’t have to follow Jewish traditions.

I find that God often challenges us to accept change. For example, for a thousand years or so, Catholics happily heard our Mass spoken by the priest in Latin, his back to us as he did and said mysterious things. It was beautiful. Suddenly, following Vatican II, there is the priest looking right at us, and not only is the Mass said in our own language, but we have to participate!

That is just an example. Every day we are challenged to look at things in a new way. Particularly now, as the world becomes more secular, we are being asked to figure out a way to accept the change, but at the same time, keep our eyes ahead to God. It isn’t always easy.

Peter told these riled-up Jews that the Holy Spirit had revealed to him that it wasn’t necessary to be circumcised to follow Jesus. Acts tells us that the Jews following Jesus accepted Peter’s word because they had seen God work through he and Barnabus and Paul. I suspect that there were many Jews who grumbled under their breath and didn’t accept it as readily as the author of Acts lets on.

Change isn’t always easy to accept.

Glitter

So, I went to the doctor yesterday because I have been suffering from a repetitive motion injury in my wrist since Christmas. I wish I could say the repetitive motion that caused the injury was cross country skiing or rowing or something else really exciting. Alas, the injury was the result of crocheting an afghan for our 14-year-old grandson. I was running out of time, so I spent large chunks of time working on it, yada, yada, yada. My nephew tells me that I should at least tell people it is an injury resulting from doing Ultimate Crocheting. Hmmmm.

Anyhoo, as a result of this injury, which is quite painful and limits my strength, the doctor has put me in a removable cast, really more of a splint. I need to wear it for 24 hours a day, only taking it off to shower. I need to wear it for three weeks and then she’ll reevaluate.

So, I was feeling pretty sorry for myself. I don’t know why, really. It doesn’t restrict me that much, and it is, after all, removable, allowing me to take it off if necessary. Still, there it is, a visible reminder that I’m growing older. It looks so, well, medical.

In the afternoon, my husband and I went to our 5-year-old granddaughter’s school where they were having a birthday party for her. The teacher has a party each month for all of that month’s birthday celebrants. Doncha know, Miss A is the only March birthday, so she was the prima donna. Her mom brought some treats and some crafts for the kindergartners to work on, and assigned me to a table. My job was to supervise the seven or eight kids at the table as they decorated a paper shamrock using glitter glue, buttons, beads, ribbons, pasta, and so on. They ended up with absolutely glorious shamrocks, and I feel sorry for the person who has to clean up the classroom afterwards. There was glitter and beads and glue everywhere.

As we were leaving the school, I looked down at my splint and saw that it was covered in glitter. At first I was distressed, because anyone that has tried to get glitter off of anything knows it’s nearly impossible. But then I began thinking that maybe it was kind of pretty, in a 5-year-old sort of way.

Yesterday I talked about spreading joy, so now I’m going to try to practice what I preached. I guess I can look at my temporary handicap as a limitation. Or maybe I should forget how disabled the splint makes me look and just think of it as a big, glittery bracelet. Really big. Really glittery.

Sharing Joy

Someone sent me this remarkable youtube video yesterday. The video is an advertisement sponsored by T-Mobile.

For those of you who can’t access YouTube: T-Mobile planted dancers posing as commuters in the train station in Liverpool, England. Suddenly, sometime during either morning or evening rush hour, music begins to blare from the loudspeakers in the train station and the dancers begin dancing to the music. Before the video is over, their joyous motion has become contagious, and other real commuters begin dancing as well – from senior citizens to young urbanites.

It’s fun to watch.

The video reminds me of a commercial that my husband particularly likes. I frankly don’t even remember what is being advertised, but it shows a person doing a good deed. The person to whom the good deed was done, being so grateful, performs a good deed to another, and so on.

Both of these advertisements illustrate just how contagious joy can be.

I used to work with someone who would come to my office every morning to greet me with a dour face. I would reluctantly ask her, “How are you?” knowing full well what the answer would be. Though I liked this woman, I found that she could negatively impact my mood almost immediately.

I also worked with a woman who was always in a good mood. No matter what happened, she always saw the good side. She was funny and laughed a lot. As a result, she made others laugh too.

The second woman, who remains a good friend of mine (she’s the one who says jeepers), is also a devout Christian-Catholic.

Really, when you think about it, how can you not be filled with joy if you believe in God, who takes care of us? While it’s often easier said than done, we should allow God to shoulder all of our burdens and be delighted to have such a friend as He.

Lift up our hearts to God.

Family Ties

Yesterday, my day started out with Baby K and I going to Mass. For me, this is a nearly perfect way to start a day. The baby got a kiss and a blessing from the priest, and the congregation got a smile as Little K began making reeeeally noisy sucking sounds with her mouth during a particularly quiet part of the Mass. She’s a corker, that one.

The gospel was from St. Matthew, and it too made me smile. The gospel says that Jesus told his friends that once they got to Jerusalem, He would be arrested and condemned to death, but then would be raised three days later. The apostles didn’t have a clue what he meant, more than likely. In this part of the gospel, at least, Matthew doesn’t tell us what they said about this astounding and sad news.

What it does say, however, is that the mother of James and John immediately stepped up to Jesus and asked Him to allow her sons to sit at His right and left hands when He is back in the kingdom.

Isn’t that such a mother thing to do?

Jesus responded to her by saying, “You don’t know what you’re asking. Can you drink the cup that I’m going to drink?” In other words, her sons’ eternal future is not up to her but is up to God, so butt out Mom.

Still, it reminded me of all of the times when I was bringing up my own son when I did whatever I could do to make sure he had the best of everything. It’s what mothers do. Fathers too, of course. Generally speaking, parents instinctively take care of their kids, and it doesn’t stop when the kids become adults.

Following Mass, the baby and I drove to Loveland to spend several hours with my father. Little Miss K is not one to necessarily warm up to people with whom she is not extremely familiar. Because of this, I wasn’t sure how she would respond to my dad, as she has only seen him a couple of times in her little short life. Much to my surprise, she took to him immediately. Watching her sit on his lap while he softly spoke to her made my heart soar! She just looked at him and studied his face and smiled like she saw him every day of her life.

It brought me back to my thoughts of that morning. Family ties are very strong. My father loves his kids, his grandkids, and his great-grandkids, without even trying, and we all love him back. The family tie is very strong.

It certainly was for the mother of James and John.

Faith

As part of my effort to prevent my brain from turning to mush now that I’m retired, I take classes at the Academy for Lifelong Learning. The Academy offers a variety of classes during the day, geared primarily for retired people trying to prevent their brains from turning to mush!

I chose this spring to take a class on the history of Islam. Starting at a base of zero knowledge, I hope that I can be enlightened about their beliefs and begin to understand what the Quran teaches. I have a lot to learn.

In yesterday’s class, we learned the history of Mohammad. As I indicated, I am starting with zero knowledge, so beyond knowing that Mohammad was a prophet with whom the Muslim religion originated, I was clueless.

One of the things that I learned yesterday was that at age 40, Mohammad purported to be visited by the Angel Gabriel, who began a series of revelations that went on for many years (I think until Mohammad’s death, although I’m not sure about that). I had no idea that it was the Angel Gabriel who Mohammad claimed revealed the word to him (I told you I was starting with zero knowledge). When I first heard this, I thought to myself, “Well, yeah, right. Like THAT would happen.”

Suddenly it occurred to me that Christians believe that the Angel Gabriel (who must be God’s chosen messenger and a busy fellow) came down to Mary and broke the news to her that she was the lucky one to be selected to give birth to our Savior, and oh, by the way, it will be a virgin birth. That should sell well to your parents.

What I came away with yesterday was the importance of faith.

Neither story can easily be believed on its surface. Angels? Virgin births? And yet, apparently Christians, Muslims, and Jews (parting of the Red Sea?) all are willing to accept that which seems impossible because they have faith in God.

I think our children today (beware of an oncoming generalization) are unwilling to suspend reality and accept things on faith. That’s too bad, because I think faith is an absolutely beautiful thing. In Catholic school, we learned that three critical elements of our beliefs are faith, hope, and love. To me, they can’t be separated. They are entirely intertwined.

No one can really prove to me that God exists. Yet, my faith tells me that this is absolutely true. I believe that He has my life in His hands and loves me. I’m not sure how one survives without faith.

A Love Story

If you are a man and are reading this blog, you may want to take a break today. Maybe you can look at ESPN’s website or check out Real Clear Politics. Today I’m going to talk about a part of the Bible that is really a chick story.

Last night in my bible class, we discussed the Book of Ruth. I’m sure I have read it before, but last night the beauty of the story really hit home. Maybe it’s because writing this blog has made me more aware of the love that God shows us each day. Or maybe it’s because we recently spent so much time with my mother-in-law following her fall and her heart attack, and I was reminded what my family means to me.

I think the Book of Ruth starkly contrasts with every other book in the Old Testament because it is a story of love, period. No other agenda.

Last night, after Bill finished reading our daily chapter of Acts, I looked at what that particular translation of the Bible said about the Book of Ruth in its introduction. Quite appropriately, it refers to Ruth as a love story. The introduction goes on, however, to talk about the love between Ruth and Boaz, who eventually becomes her husband, and the great-great-grandfather of David. What struck me while reading Ruth, however, was the love between Ruth and her mother-in-law Naomi.

After Naomi’s husband and sons die, she decides to go back to live with her family in Bethlehem. She suggests to her two widowed daughters-in-law that they return to their families where a new marriage can be arranged. One daughter-in-law takes the sensible route and agrees to return to her family. Ruth, however, in what I think is one of the most beautiful passages in the Bible, tells Naomi that she will never leave her and will remain faithful to her, even so far as to go with her to Bethlehem, a completely foreign land to her.

Ruth’s loyalty to and love for Naomi, of course, reminds me very much of God’s love for me. He will remain faithful to me through all time, no matter where I go or what I do. Naomi’s love for Ruth, however, reminds me of the importance of the women in my life.

There is nothing about which I can’t talk to my husband. Our almost 17 years of marriage have brought us so close that we know each other’s thoughts even before we say them out loud. He is a caring and loving husband.

But we women know that if we need complete understanding and nurturing, we go to our women friends and family. Women listen in a different way and generally respond in a way that is totally satisfying. Maybe not even with a suggestion, but perhaps just with a hug or a tissue. In fact, I have a particular devotion to the Blessed Mary because she is a woman and I trust that she will pray for me.

Naomi and Ruth both took risks, knowing that they were there for each other and that God would watch over them. This trust in ourselves, our friends, and God inspires me to love harder.

Dog Gone It!

“Taking the Lord’s name in vain is not a good way to start the day.”

These words, following a curse, came out of my husband’s mouth this morning as he stumbled while carrying the last Christmas tree upstairs. Yes, you read me correctly. It is March 9, and he is putting away a Christmas tree.

We put up three trees each year. The trees in our family room and living room were dutifully taken down after Christmas. The tree in the kitchen, which bears ornaments that are kitcheny in nature, was just too cute to take down. Then January turned into February, which turned into March. I got my orders a week ago when 2-year-old Miss D pointed her little finger to my tree and sternly said, “Nana, take that tree down!” Okey dokey.

Back to taking the Lord’s name in vain.

Contrary to popular thought, the commandment that states, “Thou shall not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain” really has very little to do with cussing. That commandment had more to do with God asking his people to bear his name with honor as we speak about him. I hope I do that.

Still, in St. Paul’s letter to the Ephesians, he says “No foul language should come out of your mouths, but only such as is good for needed edification, that it may impart grace to those who hear.”

To me, a dedicated cusser (despite my efforts otherwise), this advice from St. Paul is very meaningful. While cussing, especially using God’s name in anger, is so instinctive and seems as though it makes us feel better at the time, just think of the good that would come out of each of us if we only used words that bring us and others grace. Almost like a smile makes us and others feel good.

One of my New Year’s resolutions was: No cussing! I continue to work on that resolution and believe I am doing better in that regard. It’s hard to come up with substitutes. I have a good friend who never cusses. I always smile to myself when I hear her say things like “jeepers” or “golly.” Maybe I need to say words like that more forcibly to really make me feel better!

Can you hear?

Since I started writing this blog about my Lenten journey, friends and family who are reading it have been sending me their thoughts and things they have read about relationship with God. I am finding that, like me, many people run into the same sorts of barriers to a relationship with the Lord, but the same sort of joy when you feel the presence of God.

St. Mark’s gospel today was about the Transfiguration. In his homily, Father talked about how being on that mountain top and witnessing the Transfiguration must have been a real high point for Peter, James, and John in their relationship with Jesus. Just a few weeks later, Father reminded us that those were the same three that Jesus took with him into Gethsemane just before he was arrested. They couldn’t keep their eyes open while Jesus, fearful of what was to come, prayed for the cup to pass. Not being able to help Jesus when he needed them most must have been a low point in that relationship.

What struck me most about the gospel, however, was when God the Father’s voice came from heaven and said, “This is my beloved Son. Listen to Him.”

Listen to Him.

Day after day I pray for myself, for my friends, for my family. I pray for peace. I pray that the economy strengthens. I pray in thanksgiving. But I don’t think that I listen very well.

My stepmother told me in an email this morning that when she sits down each day to do her Bible Study lesson, she has a very strong sense that God is waiting there for her to sit down and spend time with him. A Catholic Bible scholar told me recently that reading the Bible is one of the best ways to listen to God – through his Word. Undoubtedly God is waiting for her to spend that glorious time to share his inspired words.

My sister sent me this link to something her pastor had written about prayer. In this letter to his parishioners, the priest talks about prayer as being an intimate conversation with God. He says, “It is just sitting quietly and enjoying His company, much like two good friends who can be in one another’s company and not have to talk.”

We all have high points in our relationship with God, just like Peter, James, John. But if we continue to strengthen that relationship through prayer and listening, I think the low points won't defeat us so much.

“This is my beloved Son. Listen to Him.” I’ll keep trying to shut up and listen!

Blessings

Every morning as part of my prayers, I ask God to help me be a blessing to someone that day. I learned that prayer in one of the Mitford books that I so love. Each morning when I say those words, I think to myself, “Was I a blessing to someone yesterday?” To be honest, I rarely say yes.

It’s not that I am a mean or thoughtless person. I just go through my day and don’t generally spend a lot of time thinking about other people. Oh, I might open up the door for a person with a handful of groceries, or wave someone to go before me in a line of cars. But a blessing? Not very often.

This morning I turned the question around and asked if anyone had been a blessing to me yesterday? Since I spent the entire day with various grandchildren, I can say absolutely YES. I watched the 6-month-old yesterday, and she is learning to crawl. She gets up on her hands and knees and looks earnestly at the toy that I have placed just out of her reach. She then looks at me with pleading eyes. I must admit I, without fail, move the toy within her grasp. I can’t help it. It makes her smile, which in turn makes me laugh.

Then we went out to dinner with our son and daughter who have four children, age 5 through 10 months. It was total joyous chaos. The 3-year-old boy simply can’t sit still. The 2-year-old had a string of St. Patrick’s Day beads that were her personal weapon of choice that night. The 5-year-old (almost 6) discovered the previous night that she has a loose tooth, and spent the night demonstrating it to anyone who would look. The baby chewed on her pizza crust, only requiring one strong pat on the back to spit out a piece. Absolute happiness!

The 2-year-old showed us that she could now say the blessing before meal (God is great, etc), only leaving out a few of the words. She can, however, say AMEN with a vengeance!

Halfway through dinner, Miss A wrote me a note on her tablemat. “I love you,” it said. I wrote back, “Me too.” She threw her arms around me.

Blessings.

Following Jesus

Last night I listened to Bill as he read a chapter in Acts, as part of our joint Lenten journey. We are at the beginning, when the apostles are amassing followers of Christ’s word. At this point in Acts, there are some 5,000 followers.

I started thinking about what becoming a follower of Christ’s word back in 33 AD meant. At my last bible class, the lecturer compared it to those of us who had scrimped and saved and sent our children to Catholic school, only to have them be fallen away from the Church as adults. Ah hem. That’s certainly me. She pointed out that these faithful Jews must have thought, “After all these years and all the pain and sorrow and persecution that we have gone through, how can our children choose to follow this crazy prophet rather than our God of Israel?” In fact, that’s at least part of the reason that the Jews decided they needed to translate their scriptures back into Hebrew from Greek.

But what these new, faithful followers of Christ heard was not a departure from God, but instead a departure from the strict, monolithic, heavily-ruled teachings of their God of youth. Jesus preached love of God and love of neighbor. How refreshing this must have seemed to these Jews.

Still, change is always scary and those that didn’t follow Christ must have been confused and even angry at their children and friends who did. Happily, Jesus’ message of love continues today to provide comfort and peace – something we certainly need during this tough time.

Relationship with God

Yesterday my granddaughter and I took a walk over to one of our son and daughter-in-law’s house to drop off something. My daughter-in-law was home by herself, the kids being at their other grandmother’s house.

We had a nice visit, and at the end, we began talking about prayer. My daughter-in-law was brought up a Christian, and she and our son still are very active in their church. I’ve always been so impressed with her ability to pray out loud freely and without reservation. As such, she was always the one to say our prayer before meals, that is, prior to the grandkids learning their before-meal prayer. Now the prayer falls to them.

I mentioned to her that my husband and I were reading Acts for Lent as a way to take baby steps towards praying together. She told me that among their church friends, she is the only one who is entirely comfortable praying out loud.

As a Catholic, I was taught my prayers at an early age, many of which I still say today. I pray the rosary often. We pray before our evening meal. Anytime I’m afraid, I say the Act of Contrition. I am being careful not to dismiss these prayers as unimportant and not meaningful. I read recently that when you say the rosary, you can either concentrate on the words of the prayers you say or meditate on each mystery of the rosary. I know that anytime you pray, no matter what words you say, you are building a relationship with God.

Still, I continue to work on praying with words from my heart. I mentioned before that when I do this, I have to remind myself that the words I choose aren’t what’s important. Just like in a conversation with a friend, it’s more important to just speak from the heart. But, just as in a conversation with a friend, I need to listen to God talking back to me.

Looking for signs

On Wednesdays, I babysit my youngest granddaughter, who is six months old. It is very easy to see the hand of God in my life when she looks at me with those beautiful dark eyes and smiles.

She and I went to morning Mass. Today St. Luke’s gospel told us that Jesus told the crowd of people gathered to hear him speak that “this generation is an evil generation. It seeks a sign…. .”

Wow, I thought to myself. Two thousand years ago, and Jesus thought the generation in which he lived was evil. It’s hard to imagine what he would say if he was speaking out loud to a crowd today. I think of the difficulty of staying true to God’s word in this world every time I look at my grandchildren. Every one of them is being reared to be kind and thoughtful, honest and dependable, loving and generous. Still, as they go out the door each day, they face an increasingly secular, greedy, dishonest, and immoral world, an “evil generation.”

Just as in today’s gospel, I think this generation also is seeking a sign. Unfortunately, many are not looking to God for the sign, but instead are looking to worldly things to find happiness. I can’t impact anyone beyond my own family. I hope that I can be a model to my grandkids that the only true happiness comes from letting God lead you. I pray for all of them every day.

Prayer

This morning I went to Mass, something I want to do more often during Lent. I love daily Mass. It’s quiet and intimate. Being able to attend Mass during the week is one of the nicer things about being retired.

In today’s gospel from St. Matthew, Jesus tells us when we pray, we shouldn’t babble like the pagans. He said God knows what we need even before we ask. As a Catholic, I learned many prayers from memory, and to this day, those are the prayers I am most comfortable saying. Lately, however, I have been challenging myself to pray from my heart instead of my brain. It’s not easy for me. I find myself praying in sort of stilted language, apparently thinking that if I don’t talk real pretty, God won’t listen.

Today I was reminded that the words I choose don’t make an iota of difference to God. He knows my needs even before I ask. The hardest part to remember is that Jesus said that God knows my needs as opposed to my wants. Undoubtedly, God also knows what I want, but He may also know that what I want isn’t what I need. One of the hardest things to understand about prayer, for me at least, is understanding that God always answers our prayers; however, He may not give us what we ask for. He gives us what we need.

Yesterday as I drove downtown to meet a friend for lunch, I saw a blind man walking down the street, using his white cane for assistance. Unfailingly, when I see a blind person walking confidently down the street, I wonder to myself if I would have the courage to walk blindly and with confidence. I have no idea if the blind man I saw believes in God, but he must be willing to trust in something beyond himself. It seems to me that to have this kind of confidence, it is essential that we turn our lives over to God. Worry about nothing; pray about everything.

Honor Thy Father....

After Mass yesterday, we drove up to Loveland to visit with my dad and stepmother. Driving up there, I began to think about how many times in my life I have driven north to either Loveland or Fort Collins.

My sister lives in Fort Collins, and has for 30-some years. Her two children are in the same age group as our youngest son – late 20s, early 30s. Our son and his cousin are one month (almost to the day) apart in age. They have been very close friends since they began hanging out with each other in the crib. In addition, my father and mother moved to Fort Collins over 15 years ago. After my mother died, my dad eventually remarried and now they live in Loveland.

Because of this proximity, we have spent a great deal of time with them, which has resulted in literally thousands of trips north. Some day I should actually try and figure out the approximate number of trips. That way I could free up some brain cells that I now waste wondering about such trivial matters.

It’s unfortunate that it takes something like my mother-in-law’s heart attack to remind me how important it is to spend time with our parents. I always enjoy myself when I visit with my dad and stepmom. They are both very smart people with lots of life experience. It’s so much fun to talk about kids, grandkids, politics, food, and memories. We sit around the table and solve the problems of the world. (If only that were true!)

Yesterday God poked me in the ribs and reminded me that our parents aren’t here forever.

Prayer

Today I was nudged to think about Lent in a little different way.

To me, Lent has always been this somber, sad time where we are supposed to meditate on God’s sacrifice for us. I have always chosen to give up something I like during this time as a way to remember God’s sacrifice.

During Father’s homily today, he spoke about Lent being a time of repentance and new spiritual growth. He said Lent is a time of rejuvenation, and I like the idea of thinking about Lent this way. I know there are areas of my life that need to have some life put back in them. I get in ruts. I cook the same things. I watch the same television programs. I go to the grocery store on the same day every week. I race through my prayers the same way each morning.

I’m going to use this time to try to spark up my spiritual life, and I’m going to start with my prayer life. Baby steps. I suggested to my husband while we were driving home after Mass that perhaps we should read St. Paul’s letters (at least some of them) together each night. He and I both pray, but never together. It’s a start.

Yesterday we flew a kite with three of our grandchildren. Miss A is 5. Mr. T is 3. Miss D is 2. My husband is 66 going on 10. We had so much fun. The kite, which they put together before going out to fly it, is shaped like an airplane. The kids are blessed with creative imaginations. The 3-year-old boy pretended that he was the pilot of the plane. During the course of the kite-flying escapade, he flew the plane to Chicago to see his great-grandmother, to New York City to see two aunts, and to Jackson Hole to see another aunt. The girls, unfortunately, were relegated to being flight attendants. We’ll work on that.