Of Arbitrary, Otters, & Advent

I know people who would say that was an excellent choice of words for some of my not-infrequent behavior. Most of them live in the same house…the one where I live.

For example, my mother and sisters just roll their eyes at me when I ask which of two outfits I should wear. “Whatever,” they huff, “You’ll just wear the one I DON’T pick.”

Despite my protestations, it usually turns out to be true.

Or, for instance, between the ages of about 9 and 13, it was some sort of trend with girls my age to “love” dolphins.

I honestly never really understood the appeal there. I don’t hate dolphins, but I definitely don’t “love” them either. Whenever dolphins came up my response was usually, “Actually, I prefer otters.”

What? Otters are WAY cuter. See?

*ahem*

Moving on…

I would argue this isn’t technically arbitrary, there IS a system…I apparently like whatever everybody else doesn’t.

And no, I am not a hipster.

There was also the time in First Communion class when our sweet teacher asked us all what our favorite season on the Liturgical Calendar was.

(Do not even tell me you were never asked that as a 6-year-old. I don’t want to hear it.)

So, as a 6-year-old, I said Advent. And I remember quite clearly that there were three reasons:

1.     All the other kids were saying “Christmas” or “Easter,” so CLEARLY those were not MY favorites.

2.     My teacher also happened to be one of my mother’s best friends, and I was pretty sure my excellent behavior and obvious genius were frequently reported on, and “Advent” sounded WAY more sophisticated than Christmas or Easter. Duh.

3.     I actually (believe it or not after #1 and #2) DID love Advent the best.

In fact, as far as I can remember I have always loved Advent best.

This is easily explained. It is hereditary. From my mother’s side.

Mostly just from my mother, actually.

I grew up with a Jesse Tree, a little cradle that was put out at the beginning of Advent and remained empty until Christmas (except for the cotton balls we got to put in for our “good deeds,” and make a soft place for Baby Jesus to sleep when He arrived), and a faithfully lit Advent wreath. We have had, ever since I was little, an Advent Calendar where we counted down to Christmas by adding Nativity figures.

Advent…it’s a Big Stinkin’ Deal ‘round these here parts.

As my momma likes to say, “Anticipation is half the fun!”

Normally I agree with her, but not on that. If Advent is the “anticipation” of Christmas, I have WAY more than just half the fun with it.

My theory about why is this: we’re always waiting for something. Always. My single gal friends and I, waiting on husbands and families. Married couples I know, waiting on babies. Parents with babies, waiting on them to grow up so the parents can reclaim something which apparently becomes more elusive with every kid, (I think they call it “sleep”). People waiting on better jobs, bigger houses, more stable health, kinder friends…you name it. Waiting, all of us, on something.

And during Advent, the Church swells up around us in solidarity, all of us waiting for the same thing.

But we’re reminded, because the Church is a good Mother, that we don’t just wait with impatience, with ingratitude, with a blindness to what we already hold in our hands. We are taught to wait in joyful hope.

That’s why I love Advent, I think – because every year God in His goodness gives me yet another chance to cooperate with His desire to transform my heart. Every year He sets aside practically an entire month to sit me down, look me in the eye, and ask, “Do you trust Me?”

Unfortunately, too often my response to that question from the Heart of God is something like: “Uhm…well…sure.”

The enthusiasm is inspiring, right?

But during Advent, I get another chance. I get a fresh start.

Literally. After all, it’s the beginning of a new liturgical year!

Ya’ll knew that, right? Advent IS the Catholic New Year. So, this year, with the help of a few new (and some old) friends, I’m working on my Catholic Nerd Skills and making some New Year’s Resolutions.

First, I just have to throw out there that I am tremendously excited, because this coming Friday, the 23^rd, is the feast of….*drumroll, please*….Blessed Miguel Pro!

Bet you didn’t see THAT one coming. ;)

Seriously though, if you’d like you can look at an old blog post in which I explained howthis man, priest and martyr, lived with that joyful hope that is the trademark of our saints. A lifestyle referred to by another beautiful Jesuit as “the Advent of the Heart.” That phrase was coined by Fr. Alfred Delp, who died in 1944 at the hands of the Third Reich. Father Delp is my official Advent buddy this year, thanks to Ignatius Press.

In December of 1944, days before he was executed, he wrote (with his hands cuffed together, I might add):

“Advent is a time of being deeply shaken, so that man will wake up to himself. The prerequisites for a fulfilled Advent is a renunciation of the arrogant gestures and tempting dreams with which, and in which, man is always deceiving himself. Thus he compels reality to use violence to bring him around…But at the same time there is much more to Advent than this. The shaking is what sets up the secret blessedness of this season and enkindles the inner light in our hearts, so Advent will be blessed with the promises of the Lord…It is precisely in the severity of this awakening…in the wretchedness of experiencing our limitations that the golden threads running between Heaven and earth during this season reach us; the threads that give the world a hint of the abundance to which it is called, the abundance of which it is capable.”

If we were sitting next to each other, we could read that again, and look at each other silently with awe in our eyes, and not need to speak for a little while.

Padre Pro, Father Delp, and the Church Herself point the way to a fruitful Advent. An Advent where we come face-to-face with our own inadequacies and are filled, not with despair, but with the childlike confidence that meets the Father’s gaze and is able to answer positively His question of “Do you trust Me?”

Advent helps us learn to give the answer of the martyrs, the answer of the Patriarchs and Prophets we will soon be hearing in our Mass readings, the answer of Our Lady at Nazareth and Cana and Golgotha…the answer of a hopeful heart.

“’I believe, Lord – help my unbelief.’

 I love – help my fear.

‘My soul waits upon the Lord, 

more than sentinels wait for the dawn’…

I wait, in joyful hope.”

A Different Kind of Super-Hero

There are few things as disorienting to me as having about 15% of a blog post which I simply MUST write swirling around in my head, while I have no concrete idea what the post is actually about. 

This could get interesting, since I'm not really sure where it's going. Hang on, though - might be someplace good. :)

First thing: I saw this picture the other day. In my head, this picture is captioned: "A different kind of Super-Hero." And I love it. Here, look:

I mean, honestly. You ever feel like that little red kid? I'll admit, I'm not really good at superheroes, I don't even know who he's supposed to be (if you do, feel free to share). But he isn't exactly, ya know, fitting in.

One of the other tumbleweeds in my head are the Catholic baptismal promises. Specifically the beginning part: 

V. Do you reject Satan? 
R. I do. 
V. And all his works? 
R. I do. 
V. And all his empty promises? 
R. I do. 

Empty promises.

It's funny, if I recorded my talks you could probably hear different ideas evolving, and one of the things evolving lately is this theme of Satan's empty promises.

I, being a nerd, like to Google random things. Just now I tried "Satan's empty promises Catholic."

Fun. 

No, really. You should try it, it's fun. I got some good results, like an archived homily from EWTN. I like the way it gets started, quoting paragraph 391 of the CCC: "Behind the disobedient voice of our first parents lurks a seductive voice, opposed to God, which makes them fall into death out of envy..."

"A seductive voice..."

I'm becoming more and more convinced that one of the biggest empty promises of Satan evident in our modern culture is silence. Not the holy silence born of being wrapped in the cloister of Carmel or the weight of the Consecration at Mass...but the godless silence of a people too terrified to speak in the face of grave evil.

One silence comes from being immersed in the Presence of God. 

The other kind of silence comes from elevating an ideal into the place of God and becoming immersed in the filth that surrounds such idolatry of the heart. Tolerance, co-existence, fill-in-the-blank-with-your-choice-of-mush-brain-mealy-mouth-liberal-replacement-words, whatever. 

The "tolerance" being sold by the world today never satisfied anyone's soul, and how could it? Our souls are consumed by a hunger that can only be sated by one Source. There's an older name for turning a blind eye to evil, and it's more correct than what people prefer to call "tolerance" these days: being lukewarm. And, feel free to check Revelation 3:16 on this, being lukewarm is not exactly the kind of behavior which gets a seal of approval from Scripture.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer, one of the most well-known people to meet death in a concentration camp, put it this way: "Silence in the face of evil is itself evil: God will not hold us guiltless. Not to speak is to speak. Not to act is to act."

But not to speak, not to act...it is so very, very easy. We fear offending or hurting others, we fear losing friends, we fear running into trouble. Fear is a great instigator of silence, and fear is spoken to our hearts in a very, very seductive voice.

"But perfect love casts out fear."

I actually looked up what specific verse that is, and it turns out it's 1 John 4:18. Part of the fun of looking up verses is seeing the different translations, and the Douay-Rheims version is a gem: it uses the word "charity" instead of "love". 

Since I've already busted myself on the fact that I'm a nerd and like looking things up, check it out:

I. Like. That.

Just to pick out one of the many things I feel like writing about after I read that, I'll go with the last: "the root and foundation" of all Christian virtues.

I would like to take this moment to remind us all that one of the things the Church requires before recognizing a Saint is proof of their heroic virtue.

Heroic. As in, outstanding. Above and Beyond. Valiant. Stalwart. All aflame.

Virtue.

It is too tempting to resist quoting Chesterton at this moment, so I won't resist: "The act of defending any of the cardinal virtues has today all the exhilaration of a vice."

My friends, what is a Saint, but a different kind of hero? 

Different, that is, than what the world tells us heroes are made of. I mean, hey, I'll watch The Avengers right along with the next person, but seriously, could Ironman really hold up against, oh, say...St. Ignatius of Loyola? 

Ehhh...

Heroic. Virtue.

Virtue that requires the heroism of rejecting Satan's empty promises: silence in the face of grave moral danger, or settling into mediocrity instead of embracing a life that dares to obey the commands of a Savior who "came to set the world on fire".

It's not enough to be a "nice" person. I would seriously doubt the credibility of anyone who ever tried to tell me that Jesus Christ was a "nice man." Nice says "not offensive." 

It doesn't say "hero."

And heroism, my friends, is what is required of us. So let's do it. Let's be that different kind of hero, the ones that don't "fit in" with this culture. 

I think a great place to start might be throwing ourselves into some of that Holy Silence, sinking into the Ocean of Mercy that is the Presence of Christ in the Eucharist. Swim in those depths and you cannot help but catch that holy fire, the fire of Christ's love which He meant for us to spread. In His Presence we will not be able to resist being pierced by the agony of the love that drove the saints to the heroism which springs from that Divine Source. 

The silence that comes from love of Christ will teach us to reject the empty promises of a fear-full silence, and His grace will enable us to respond heroically, as someone like St. Francis Xavier did when he was told to "Go, and set all afire."

"The Noise of the Crusade"

The rest of the story...

Now that his Holy League crusade was in motion, the Pope called for a second crusade: one of prayer, particularly the Rosary. He entrusted this naval crusade to the care of the Blessed Virgin, and insisted that the men of the Holy League and all faithful Catholics unite in this powerful prayer.

“In that enormous silence, tiny and unafraid,

Comes up along a winding road the noise of the Crusade.

Strong gongs groaning as the guns boom far,

Don John of Austria is going to the war.”

Each ship carried a priest, every soldier was given a Rosary, and one of the commanding officers carried in his cabin a fascinating portrait: a copy of the image of Our Lady of Guadalupe which had been touched to the original tilma, at that time barely 40 years old. 

The entire Holy League had placed itself under the protection of the Blessed Virgin.

In spite of the vast differences between the thousands of men he was given to command, John somehow managed to maintain his authority. Arguments over tactics began to shift into a firmness of purpose when the Holy League stopped briefly at the port of Corfu, and found it recently ravaged by the Ottomans. The atrocities they witnessed in the wake of Islamic destruction helped solidify their alliance, which increased as reports of other atrocities in nearby Cyprus and Famagusta made their way to the Christian ships. 

The Holy League drew closer to the Ottoman fleet, and on the morning of October 7, they began to draw themselves into position for the great confrontation, in the gulf of Lepanto.

Something that's important to remember at this point are the ships: galleys, massive vessels powered either by sails when there was a favorable wind, or men with oars when there was not. And the Ottoman ships were rowed by Christian slaves. 

“Christian captives sick and sunless, all a labouring race repines

Like a race in sunken cities, like a nation in the mines.”

Another important thing to keep in mind is that with naval battles at that time, the ships didn't simply sit and shoot their cannons at one another. They came side-by-side, boarded one another, and then engaged in bloody hand-to-hand combat.

So, the morning of October 7th, there was a lot of wind. And all of it was in favor of the Ottoman ships. Which meant the Christian ships were rowing, and they didn't have any extra slaves to do it. John of Austria was being taken back and forth along the line of ships in a little rowboat, shouting encouragement and making epic Aragorn-like speeches to the men. 

The Christians, standing silent as their priests were giving blessings and general absolution, could hear the Ottoman fleet screaming across the gulf, the wind carrying every blood-thirsty shriek straight to their ears. And they were coming closer all the time.

Then, the wind died. Completely.

For a few moments there was utter stillness.

Then the wind returned, but it had completely reversed its course. The wind now came directly at the back of the Christian fleet. Flags bearing the names of Jesus and Mary spread in the breeze, men who had been rowing sprang up and were armed, and the Ottoman ships scrambled to drop their sails as the Christian slaves below their decks were forced to begin rowing.

When the two fleets crashed into one another head on, the Christian slaves began an uprising, a riot from the very center of the Ottoman forces, and between these freed slaves and the Holy League men, by late afternoon everything was over.

“Scarlet running over on the silvers and the golds,

Breaking of the hatches up and bursting of the holds,

Thronging of the thousands up that labour under sea

White for bliss and blind for sun and stunned for liberty.”

Holy League casualties: 8,000 dead, about 16,000 wounded, 12 ships sunk.

Ottoman casualties: about 8,000 dead, several thousand captured, 50 ships sunk, 117 ships captured. 

Miles and miles and days of travel away, in Rome, Pius V was in the middle of a financial meeting the afternoon of October 7. Suddenly he stood up, strode over to the window, and stared out of it for a long time. Turning after a while, he announced, "This is not a moment for business; make haste to thank God, because our fleet this moment has won a victory over the Turks." Pius V had seen the victory in a vision, and afterwards declared October 7 the feast of Our Lady of Victory, giving credit where it was due.

So…why is this so exciting to me?

Well, uh, if you’re not the tiniest bit inspired by all of that, I honestly don’t know what to tell you. Lepanto is, to me, a lesson for every Christian in every time. The beauty of it pierces the heart with the truth that is captured in 2 Chronicles 7:14:

“If then My people, upon whom My name has been pronounced,

humble themselves and pray, and seek My face and turn from their evil ways,

I will hear them from heaven and pardon their sins and heal their land.”

Is there anything we need more than this, right now? Humility, prayer, seeking God’s face, turning from evil ways, pardon for our sins and healing for our land? 

Lepanto proves God keeps His end of this promise when we respond to the call. 

Lepanto proves that even the nameless, the outcast, the weak, and the broken can become a glorious vessel for God’s grand designs. 

Lepanto even shows the way to make all of this a reality: trust in the care and intercession of the Blessed Virgin, whose task is always to bring us closer to Her Son, and deeper into the mysteries of God’s mercy.

"Dim drums throbbing..." in which I begin to geek out.

"I love October."

I keep hearing that around lately, and usually people are saying it in reference to the (slightly) changing weather we Texans supposedly experience about this time.

Well, I actually do love October, for a straight-up-Catholic-NERD reason: ya'll, there are some pretty epic feast days.

St. Therese, the Guardian Angels, St. Francis of Assisi...and, my personal favorite, October 7th.

I say the date instead of the name, because the date is pretty essential to understanding why, exactly, I happen to totally geek out about this feast. The name of the feast has actually changed before, and the current title is a tad long-winded: The Memorial of Our Lady of the Rosary.

Formerly known as Our Lady of Victory.

So-called because of the Battle of Lepanto.

(I am now making my EXCITED NERD face, but you can't see it, so I thought I would just let you know.)

All right, all right - some of you are now wondering "What the heck IS Lepanto, anyway?"

I'ma try and un-complicate that explanation. It’s kinda long but totally worth it, read it in sittings if you have to. In fact, I'm even doing this in two parts again, to break it up a little. You should know about this. To keep you interested in the history lesson, there are little italicized snippets of Chesterton’s Lepanto, which is EPIC, and which you should read if you ever get the chance.

The year was 1571. Which meant there were basically two world powers: Christendom, and the Ottoman Empire.

The Ottoman Empire was the name used to refer to the forces of Islam, and they were not interested in peace. They were in for total domination, and they were on a roll. The crescent flag had been edging its way toward Europe at a seemingly unstoppable pace, and the method used thus far had been simple: convert to Islam, or die. They had desecrated countless sanctuaries, murdered ruthlessly, and enslaved thousands of Christians: women and boys were sent to the harems, men to the ships as galley-slaves. 

Christendom was falling apart, because it was no longer the alliance of Catholic monarchies it had been. Lutheranism had been raging across the continent for nearly 60 years, and Elizabeth was developing what would be known as Anglicanism in Britain. The throne of France was occupied by a Catholic-in-name only Charles IX, while the country was actually ruled by his mother, a woman described as "Macchiavellian." Spain was ruled by Philip II, who was Catholic, but very much preoccupied with maintaining the empire his father had left him, including the Spanish claims in the New World. Venice was also a great power at the time, especially on the sea, but they were very protective of their individuality and independence.

The man sitting on the Chair of Peter in Rome, Pius V, saw all of this with alarming clarity. He knew the only response, and he made it: a call for a new crusade. But this crusade would not be to the Holy Land, this crusade would go to meet the forces of Islam in a place many had begun to consider them unbeatable: at sea.  Pope Pius V called all of Christendom's rulers to send men and ships to join a Holy League and stop the Ottomans before they could set foot on the soil of Europe. 

“And the Pope has cast his arms abroad for agony and loss,

And called the kings of Christendom for swords about the Cross.”

The response was, shall we say, less than enthusiastic.

Everyone else had their own problems, and most of them felt they still had plenty of distance from the problem. But a series of Islamic atrocities galvanized Europe into action, and the task of choosing a commander for the patchwork Holy League fleet fell to the Pope.

One shudders to imagine the politics involved.

But with a brilliance inspired by the Holy Spirit, Pius V selected a man without a nationality, a great name, or even a real family: John of Austria. 

“Dim drums throbbing, in the hills half heard,

Where only on a nameless throne a crownless prince has stirred,

Where, risen from a doubtful seat and half attainted stall,

The last knight of Europe takes weapons from the wall.”

John of Austria was the illegitimate half-brother of the King of Spain. They shared a father, but John's mother was Austrian and he had partly been raised in that country before being transplanted to the Spanish royal court, where his royal half-family could keep a close eye on him. Illegitimate half-bloods were not allowed a lot of leeway. 

But John, in spite of the level of distrust with which he tended to be treated, turned out to be handsome, charming, popular, a fairly devout Catholic, and very loyal to his half-brother King. 

Age at the time he was tapped by the Pope to command the Holy League: 24.

And THEN things got interesting.

The rest of the Lepanto-geek-out-history-lesson will be continued tomorrow. If you're still reading...

Raising Hell - Part Dos :)

Aaaaand we're back, playing the aforementioned "saints" card. 

Let’s start with a notorious demon-crusher, St. John Vianney.

“Whom does the devil pursue most? 

Perhaps you are thinking that it must be those who are tempted most…

the immodest and shameless people who wallow in moral filth…

No, my dear brethren, no, it is not these people…

So, you will ask me, who then are the people most tempted?

They are these, my friends; note them carefully.

The people most tempted are those who are ready,

with the grace of God, to sacrifice everything for the salvation of their poor souls,

who renounce all those things which most people eagerly seek.”

He goes on with another nice bit:

“The devil only tempts those souls that wish to abandon sin and those that are in a state of grace. The others belong to him; he has no need to tempt them…The greatest of all evils is not to be tempted, because there are then grounds for believing that the devil looks upon us as his property.”

Ouch.

A few more, because I am still very much in a redheaded mood and these two gentlemen are definitely my style:

“The strategy of our adversary can be compared to the tactics of a commander intent upon seizing and plundering a position he desires.  The leader of an army will encamp, explore the fortifications and defenses of the fortress, and attack at the weakest point…After you have made a decision that is pleasing to God, the devil may try to make you have second thoughts.  Intensify your prayer time, meditation, and good deeds.  
For if satan’s temptations merely cause you to increase your efforts to grow in holiness, 
he’ll have an incentive to leave you alone.”

-       St. Ignatius of Loyola

“In the face of such strong attacks by the enemies of the Church of God, are we to remain inactive?  Is that all we can do, complain and cry?  NO!  Every one of us has a holy obligation to build a trench and personally hurl back the assaults of the enemy.”

-       St. Maximilian Kolbe

Basically awesome, right?

Now, while we should understand what we’re dealing with, we should be cautious to avoid dwelling unnecessarily on it. Don’t give Hell too much credit, that’s what the saints are good for.

To check in with one of my fellow redheads, St. Faustina recounts in her diary, “At about 11:00 o’clock, satan shook my bed.  I awoke instantly, and I started to pray peacefully to my guardian angel.”

Peacefully...with Satan shaking her bed. Oh, girl.

From St. John Bosco, very amazin’ man: “When tempted, invoke your Angel. He is more eager to help you than you are to be helped! Ignore the devil and do not be afraid of him: He trembles and flees at the sight of your Guardian Angel.”

And of course we must include St. Teresa of Avila, because that woman is a hoot: “From long experience I have learned that there is nothing like holy water to put devils to flight and prevent them from coming back again. They also flee from the Cross, but return; so holy water must have great virtue.”

On a more serious note, friends, the second chapter of Sirach kicks off by reminding our often-impatient hearts, “When you come to serve the Lord, prepare yourself for trials.”

But that chapter ends with words of hope, “For equal to His majesty is His mercy; and equal to His name are His works.”

If you need some encouragement, that whole chapter of Sirach is for you. It’s for me. And so are these words from Servant of God Solanus Casey:

“In my opinion, there is hardly anything else that the enemy of our soul dreads more than confidence, humble confidence in God.  Confidence in God is the very soul of prayer.”

Let's also keep in mind that today is a most glorious feast day, the Triumph of the Holy Cross. 

If you've got a Magnificat, you'll see a marvelous little quote in the italics right before Mass:

"We exalt Christ's Cross whenever we freely take it up, filled with the certainty that the ultimate meaning and fulfillment which we crave in life comes to us through this unending event. 'With the cross we are freed from the restraint of the enemy and we clutch on to the strength of salvation.'"

Ready to go raise a little hell yet?

Raising Hell - Part One

Recently I mentioned a need for security at a work event, and the person with whom I was speaking asked jokingly: “What kind of hell have you kids been raising over there?”

That got me thinking.

I was flipping through the book of Job the other day (long story) and my eye was caught by the very beginning, when the scene is being set, and Scripture has the devil telling God he’s been “roaming and patrolling the earth.” Then we get going with all that bad-news-for-Job stuff, and there’s a lot of downhill before God pulls everything way back up. The point is, during his “patrolling,” the devil noticed Job, and claims Job is only so good because God has him in some sort of devil-free bubble zone. Give me a shot at him, the devil brags, and we’ll see if Job likes You so much then.

A priest I know once referred to trust as “the seal of the children of God.” And trust, I hear, doesn’t really have a chance to happen until there’s an occasion for it to be tested. C.S. Lewis explains this by saying "[God] wants us to learn to walk, and so He must take away His hand." In other words: God gives Job a chance to grow in trust because He loves him. Everything else was stripped away so that Job could stand face to face with God and say, “I’m all that I have I left, and I’m still yours.” God allowed tragedy in Job’s life in order to allow Job the real freedom to choose God. To choose God for God Himself and not for His gifts, and regardless of what was happening around and to Job. 

But before that moment of understanding, as far as Job was concerned, all Hell had broken loose.

Now, I had some thoughts on this, and could definitely feel a blog post coming on, but decided to do a little research before I got too carried away.

Ya’ll, do not go reading saints if you’re mad at the devil and trying to calm down.

Because see, I am mad. I’ve been watching several of my friends deal with some tough issues: struggling with discouragement, facing personal disappointments, working through deep hurt, and searching for hope that seems tough to find. I’ve even been dealing with some of that myself.

And then it struck me: could it be, we’ve just been raising a little Hell?

Let me explain the thought process. I read part of Dante’s Inferno in college (back in the day), and one part in particular has really stuck in my head over the past several years. Dante describes broken, fallen bridges, ruins of the structures of Hell.

The explanation given for the ruins is the “Harrowing of Hell.” 

The Catechism explains this idea of Hell being harrowed by stating, “In His human soul united to His divine person, the dead Christ went down to the realm of the dead. He opened Heaven's gates for the just who had gone before Him.”

Google the definition of “harrow” and you’ll get a fascinating selection. Sort through the entries about various farming tools, and the relevant items seem to be “to inflict great distress or torment” and “to plunder and sack.”

Is anybody else grinning yet?

So, Christ’s Passion and Death caused great distress and torment in Hell. He sacked Limbo by freeing the souls of the just to see the face of God for eternity.

Christ’s Passion, Death, and Resurrection = bad news for Hell.

And, friends, if we’re called to follow Christ…

At this point I will play my "saints" card and allow them to explain better. 

To Be Continued...

Sirach Friends

“Faithful friends are a sturdy shelter; whoever finds one finds a treasure.

Faithful friends are beyond price, no amount can balance their worth.

Faithful friends are life-saving medicine; those who fear God will find them.”

-       Sirach 6:14-16

  

Beautiful women are one of God’s absolutely most amazing gifts to humankind.

If you know one, you know what I mean. If you know one, you understand that I’m not talking about only physical beauty, I’m talking about soul-beauty. Some saints have remarked that we should be like “panes of glass,” windows letting the light of Christ shine into a dark world as clearly as possible.

I actually have been blessed to know several of these women. This particular post is inspired by one of them, a truly lovely woman who “window-panes” really well.

I spent last weekend with her, and as I left I had an unfortunate sinking feeling accompanied by the thought: “Oh, crap, now I have to go back to working hard at being holy.”

She makes it SO easy to focus on God, to live in joy, to rest in trust…I felt like her love was holding me close to Christ every moment I spent with her.

But, as it turned out, her prayers and the gentle words of encouragement she shared with me remained, a warm layer of protection around my lately-fragile heart.

Imagine a rower who gets in the boat, understands what is necessary to move the boat, but refuses to exert the necessary effort to row or even to pick up the oars. Then the rower starts to get frustrated about not moving.

Deep down I knew I’d been clinging to distractions because they were less work than what I was actually supposed to be doing. Deep down I knew, to get anywhere, I had to quit wallowing and start rowing.

But all the pep talks I was trying to give myself weren’t working so well. Several times I explained to myself: “Listen, kid – you’re supposed to be working on T-R-U-S-T.”

The main effect of these little self-lectures was the inclination to throw a fit and scream: “Well, WHY? Didn’t we already work on that? What’s even the point? I realize I’m supposed to wait on God and all, but how long will be long enough? Why should I even bother to budge if I don’t even know where we’re going?”

I’m kind of hoping you can relate to this.

Otherwise that just makes me a spiritual brat, huh?

Anyway.

So, there I was, stuck on the shore, hesitating to answer St. Josemaria’s cry to “throw aside the pessimism that paralyzes you, launch out into the deep!”

Then, God in His goodness shipped me off to a weekend with this beautiful friend, and gave her words which poured themselves like a healing balm into the ache that had frozen me. She reminded me of how God uses His children to reveal Himself to the world. If the world acts in defiance of some particular trait of God, He will raise up saints who particularly model that trait as a witness to the world.

And what is the world more fixated on than the satisfaction of self? And in this fixation, what does our world forget more than the enduring faithfulness of God, His desire to provide all things in His perfect timing for His beloved children?

So, what if God wanted me to fall so deeply into a relationship of trust with Him, that I would start rowing diligently toward the One Whom Chesterton rightly calls “the blazing Sun of our mortal midnight” … without hesitating to ask how long it would take to reach Him?

What if, like Simon Peter, I wanted just to be with Him, and leapt forward without pausing to demand how such a thing might be possible?

What if I chose to focus on the fact that the wait was meant to perfect my desires, not to stifle them?

What if I fell at the feet of the Divine Lover and begged, “I believe, Lord. Help my unbelief.”

This is the answer, the truth that needs to sink into our hearts:

“Blessed are those who trust in the LORD;

the LORD will be their trust.

They are like a tree planted beside the waters

that stretches out its roots to the stream:

It does not fear heat when it comes,

its leaves stay green;

In the year of drought it shows no distress,

but still produces fruit.”

- Jeremiah 17:7-8