Did you know that through all Masses offered, nearly the entire Bible is covered in the three year cycle of readings?

As part of our blogging schedule, we have agreed as a group that we will not be doing individual blog posts on Sundays. However, we do want to keep discussion going, so we will be posting about Mass and our obligations on Sundays. Don’t worry, we’re set to auto-post so we can enjoy family time, too.

Sunday readings hold different meaning for different people. Inevitably some part of Scripture or a certain place during Mass jumps out at someone, giving them something they needed at that precise time.

What was memorable for you today? Did the kids behave? Did you find forgiveness in something you had been holding onto for a while? Did you marvel at the Body, Blood, Soul & Divinity of our Lord, Jesus Christ? Anything of particular importance you want to share with us? We’d love to hear how Mass impacts your life.

Mary has a servant’s heart.  As a young woman, newly pregnant, she walked 80-90 miles to help her aging cousin Elizabeth.  Not an easy task while pregnant.  She then had to undertake her own long journey to Bethlehem with Joseph, at which point she was heavily pregnant, and they were unable to secure a room.  They found shelter in a stable.  By today’s standards that would be tragic, but that hardship was tempered with joy because that stable became the birthplace of Jesus!

When you look at Mary’s life overall, those physical trials can seem trivial since it was not long after Jesus’ birth that the first of her Sorrows came to pass.  In Luke 2: 22-35, we read about the Presentation of the Child Jesus in the Temple and Simeon’s prophecy.  He foretold that Mary’s soul would be pierced by a sword, saying, “Behold this child is set for the fall, and for the resurrection of many in Israel, and for a sign which shall be contradicted; and thy own soul a sword shall pierce, that, out of many hearts, thoughts may be revealed.”

Simeon’s prophecy was the first of the Seven Sorrows that are a traditional devotion to Mary.  The traditional Sorrows are:  Presentation in the Temple, Flight into Egypt, Loss of Jesus for three days, Way to Calvary, Crucifixion, Descent from the Cross, and Burial of Jesus.  Given my own experience with loss, I can see another facet of sorrow that would have come hand-in-hand for Mary during the flight into Egypt:  Herod’s order to slaughter the children we know as the Holy Innocents.  While the flight into Egypt and the difficulties of starting over in a country where they had no friends and didn’t speak the language would have been difficult, the lives of those children, slaughtered because her Son was born, would weigh heavily on her.  When they were finally able return to Nazareth, the lack of children within a year or two of Jesus’ age would be painfully obvious.

We don’t hear much about their lives until the next Sorrow-  Losing the Child Jesus at the Temple.  How they must have panicked when they realized that Jesus was not in the group with which they were travelling.  Again, this suffering was tempered by the joy of finding him, but I’m sure any parent can attest that that moment of sheer terror never completely leaves you.  This Sorrow is the last of the ‘easy’ trials.  In a few years Mary’s world will be turned upside down.

In a short period of time, Mary would experience the pain and loss that make her the most excellent intercessor for women, especially those who have lost children or who have had to deal with the diagnosis of an incurable disease that will affect their child’s entire life.

Mary would have heard Pilate’s sentence: scourging, crown of thorns, and finally crucifixion.  I’m sure that those words, that moment, burned into her brain, just as hearing the doctor say my daughter’s heart was slowly giving out is a moment I cannot forget.

While she may not have been present for the actual scourging and crowning of thorns, we know that Jesus met with her on the Road to Calvary and she would’ve seen the damage done to his body – suffering from which she couldn’t protect Him.  How difficult it is for a mother to see her child suffer – and how much more so when the innocent suffers for the misdeeds of others.

Mary was at the foot of the Cross where she would’ve been witness to the cruelty of the soldiers and the jeering crowd.  It was from that vantage point that she watched her baby die.  I was blessed in that I was able to hold my daughter, to sing to her as she left us, but, Mary did not even have that comfort. She could do nothing but watch helplessly.

The sixth Sorrow is the Descent from the Cross.  Mary was finally able to hold Jesus in her arms and say her goodbyes.  She must have wept bitterly.

The final Sorrow in many ways is the hardest to handle: the Burial of Jesus.  There is a finality to burial that is difficult to bear.  You can no longer hope that there’s been a mistake…you know you will never see your living child again in this world, and Heaven is a long way from your mind when you are saying that final goodbye to your baby.

For Mary, all of her Sorrows were tempered and balanced by joy.  The sad stable became the joyous location of our Savior’s birth. She lost and then found Jesus in the Temple.  Even the sorrow of the crucifixion and burial are swiftly followed by the Resurrection.

I have had many dark moments in the days since my daughter died.  Today would’ve been my daughter’s second birthday; Memorial Day will mark two years since she left us.  Mary has been my constant companion on this journey even when I’m not aware of it.  I realized while writing this that the due date for my current pregnancy is the Feast of the Sorrows of Mary, September 15th.   Mary is uniquely qualified to walk with us mothers through our joys and sorrows.  Her mission is always to bring us to her Son, Jesus, and by uniting our sorrows with hers, we are transported to the foot of the Cross.

*******

The Blessed Virgin Mary grants seven graces to the souls who honor her daily by meditating on her tears and sorrows. This devotion was passed on by St. Bridget.

The Seven Graces:

1. I will grant peace to their families.
2. They will be enlightened about the divine mysteries.
3. I will console them in their pains and I will accompany them in their work.
4. I will give them as much as they ask for as long as it does not oppose the adorable will of my divine Son or the sanctification of their souls.
5. I will defend them in their spiritual battles with the infernal enemy and I will protect them at every instant of their lives.
6. I will visibly help them at the moment of their death, they will see the face of their Mother.
7. I have obtained (This Grace) from my divine Son, that those who propagate this devotion to my tears and dolors, will be taken directly from this earthly life to eternal happiness since all their sins will be forgiven and my Son and I will be their eternal consolation and joy.

The Seven Sorrows:

1. The prophecy of Simeon. (St. Luke 2: 34, 35)
2. The flight into Egypt. (St. Matthew 2:13,14)
3. The loss of the Child Jesus in the temple. (St. Luke 2: 43-45)
4. The meeting of Jesus and Mary on the Way of the Cross.
5. The Crucifixion and Death of Jesus.
6. The taking down of the Body of Jesus from the Cross.
7. The burial of Jesus.

(Say one Hail Mary while meditating on each Sorrow)
The Hail Mary: Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee: blessed art thou amongst women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. Amen

We emerge 10 minutes later, the baby wearing only a shirt and a fresh diaper, his chunky bare legs wrapped up in his blanket. I used the spare set of clothing in my diaper bag the other day and forgot to replace it (this happens far, far too often). Four little feet thump out after me. “I can get a drink, mommy?” I sigh a little. “Sure.” I shift the baby to my right arm and precariously balance the toddler on my left knee so he can reach the drinking fountain. He slurps the water with his little red lips, and then turns and grins at me. “We go back upstairs now!”

We plod back up the stairs. “Now what are we supposed to do when we get back in church?” I ask. “BE QUIET!” my three year old says, not so quietly. “We have to-” then his voice drops low- “whisper in church.” The two year old stops to sniff the fake Easter liles on the way in. We slip back into our pew.

King David reminds me an awful lot of Brad Pitt.

I hand their books back to them. It’s “Great Men of the Old Testament” for the two year old. He likes to sit next to me and have me turn the pages for him while he looks at the pictures, and I can never get over how the Great Men are posing like celebrities. We turn to the page with Noah (who bears a striking resemblance to Victor French.) “Mommy, an ARK!” I raise my eyebrows; that was not a whisper. “The ark. Look, there’s a rainbow!”

We soon head up for Communion (after inhaling the aroma the fake lilies again). This is the part that always worries me the most. Please, guardian angels of these dear children, I pray. Let them go up to Communion without knocking over the Paschal candle, or the poor soul who has the misfortune of being in front of us in line. Attendance is sparse today, so the line is short. I kneel down to receive, baby in my arms and with a TIGHT grip on the 2 year old’s hand. “Mommy! There’s Uncle Pat!” the 3 year old says far too excitedly, pointing towards the altar servers. My eyebrows shoot up so fast and high, they are now flush with my hairline. I would put my finger on my lips, but, both my hands are occupied. But he knows this look and gets the hint. “Mommy, there’s Uncle Pat! We have to whiiiisper in church.” he whispers. Yes, Uncle Pat is serving today. Poor Uncle Pat is trying so hard to keep a straight face.

I receive Holy Communion with the 2 year old’s hand still firmly in my grasp. We turn back towards the pews, and 3 year old bounces along, grinning and waving at fellow parishioners as we walk past. “Fold your hands,” I mutter under my breath. “My hands are too tired today,” he says in a very un-quiet voice. Once we are back in the pew, he leans over and whispers, “Mommy, is church all done?” “Almost!” I give him an encouraging smile. He replies very matter-of-fact, “Church is not really very fun.” (!!!) Oh. my. I’m not sure if it’s appropriate to laugh or cry. He smiles sweetly and turns back to his book.

Just then, a little elderly lady behind us taps me on the shoulder. “I can see your halo,” she whispers. “You’re doing good, mama. Keep it up.”

Thank you. Thank you so much, sweet lady. By this point, my self-doubting is firmly entrenched, and I have started to wonder if we should have even come. You have no idea how much your kind words mean to me! No. idea.

The same “church is no fun” 3 year old blesses himself with holy water on the way out, and whispers, “Bye, I love you Jesus!” My faith is restored, but still a bit shaken. At least we avoided the temper tantrum today. Can’t say the same about last time.

~~~

According to her sister, Zelie Martin was “distressed that her children showed no signs of piety.” (I take this to this mean that they frequently complained that church was not fun.) All five of her children who lived to adulthood entered religious orders. Her youngest is known to us as St. Therese of Lisieux, and a case for sainthood is being made for her other four daughters. Zelie herself, along with her husband Louis, have since been declared Blessed. That is enough to give us just a little hope for our children who are sometimes stubborn and difficult – even the saints struggled!

Toddlers mature, new babies grow into toddlers – into that awkward “I’m a toddler and I have my own opinions about what I want to do and going to Mass is not one of them” stage. They do and say things that we KNOW they haven’t learned from us! We just want them to be GOOD, why won’t they be good!?… Sometimes we wonder, “Why even bother?” But we have to persevere; to learn to laugh and not take them or ourselves too seriously. It’s so tempting to get frustrated and angry at these little people, to skip mealtime or evening prayers because “they don’t really understand,” or to keep them home until they are old enough to learn proper Mass behavior. But Jesus said “Let the little children come to me.” He wants us to teach them to pray. Even if we feel like we aren’t “getting anything out of it”, we are setting the example for our children: God is important. And I’ll give you a sympathetic smile when your toddler throws a fit during Communion if you promise to do the same for me. We’re both doing the best we can. And hopefully the sweet elderly lady will smile at both of us. She remembers these struggles, too.

In addition to feeding them spiritually, we also have to feed their bodies. Both are quite daunting tasks.

We are called to raise these little souls for heaven. God gave us these little people not only for our enjoyment, but also for our sanctification. Some days we feel like we are just trudging along and everything is falling apart. Let’s keep trudging. Sometimes we will fall, and fail, lose our temper, and want to run away. But we need to keep feeding them spiritually, even if they don’t always like it, and even though it is difficult for us! If we plant the seeds of faith in our children, we can have joyful hope that the roots will take a firm hold, and that those little seeds will sprout and blossom into a beautiful love of Christ. And that is our whole goal: to know, love, and serve Him in this life so that we may be happy with Him in the next.

~~~

This is the wonderfully hilarious Fr. Winkler book with the movie star Old Testament heroes. I’m not getting perked or compensated for my recommendation, but I really should be because I tell people about it all the time and because everyone I’ve shown it to has belly-laughed at the pictures along with me. The stories are good, too. But the pictures are priceless.

As someone who knows this struggle intimately, I’ve thought a great deal about how I would respond to such an admission by my child. Obviously, I’d have a slight advantage over most Catholic mothers because I have my own SSA journey to share. But even beyond that, if my son came to me and confessed to SSA, I would:

1. Listen to him compassionately and let him unburden his heart without seeing me react in horror, disgust, or disappointment.
2. Reassure him I love him unconditionally. That he has no reason to be ashamed. That we are all sinners in need of God’s grace. That no cross is more disgusting or better than another.
3. Ask if he’s considered he might be called to the single life or religious life, which brings with it a deeper union with God than is usually possible in marriage and family. Offer resources about the theology of the body if he hasn’t studied it and it open to it.
4. Ask if he’d like to seek therapy with a Catholic counselor trained in dealing with SSA. Yes, these people exist and they know how to handle this cross in souls sensitively and with great compassion. As a Catholic, I believe that SSA is a disorder and just as with any disorder, I’d recommend individual counseling.*
5. If he wants counseling, I’d offer to pay for it. And assure him I have no expectation he will emerge from the experience “cured” of his SSA. That I expect it will be a lifelong cross for him. That I will love him even if he emerges as an on-fire, flaming homosexual drag queen, even if I’m praying for that NOT to happen!
6. If he chooses not to seek counseling, tell him the option is always there. And assure him, again and again, that I’ll love him no matter what.
7. Then, I’d drop the subject–unless he asked me to talk about it.
8. Love him.
9. Pray for him.
10. Sacrifice for him.

Our first priest once said, “When people tell you they’re tempted to sin, you pull them close. Once they sin, you pull them closer.” Unless you’ve experienced it, you can’t imagine the self-loathing and shame that comes with SSA. So it’s critically important that we as Catholic parents do everything we can to assure our children who have this cross that while we can’t support them having a romantic or sexual relationship with someone of the same sex, we will always, always love them deeply as a person. Jesus loved us “even as we were sinners.” Even when we’re rotten to the core, He still adores us and pursues us. I’d want my son to know I still love his sense of humor, admire his cooking skills, and appreciate his kind soul—regardless of what else he does in his life. This message–that he is more than “gay”–is something he won’t be hearing in the gay subculture.

The single greatest thing we must do if our child struggles with SSA is keep the relationship loving and open. If we worked hard while raising our child to ensure he understands the Church’s teaching about sexuality, then more preaching will only drive a wedge between you and you’ll lose the Catholic influence you could have on his life. When our children have chosen the wrong path, we need to fight their sin with prayer and sacrifice, NOT words. A person who constantly hears he’s disordered will feel deep shame and avoid you, no matter how many times you follow it up with, “But I love you anyway!”

For as long as my son remained chaste, I’d encourage him to remain an active member of our faith. The only reason I’ve been able to maintain a loving, fruitful marriage despite SSA is because of God’s grace. There is no greater weapon in the battle for chastity—for gay or straight people—than the Eucharist and Confession.

But what if my son decided to live openly as a gay man and had a partner? How should we treat our children’s gay and lesbian partners? The answer, for me, is simple: I’d treat the partner with love and respect, too. If we were still raising his younger siblings, I’d privately ask the couple to avoid public displays of affection when around them, because it can be confusing for children. As long as they agreed to that, I’d have my son and his partner as part of all of our family gatherings. His partner would be welcome in our home, because he, too, has that inherent dignity that makes him precious to God. Like my son, he deserves to be loved and respected, too. He deserves to see what Catholicism really is, too.

For those of you who find that idea offensive, let me ask: if your daughter had a child out of wedlock and lived with the child’s father without being married, would you tell your daughter that her child’s father isn’t welcome in your home or at family events? Not likely. You’d love them both, pray for them, and hope your witness speaks to their hearts and leads them to Christ. I’m very disturbed that parents wouldn’t dream of shunning one part of a straight couple that’s living in sin think shunning their child’s gay partner is acceptable.

This isn’t to say there aren’t non-negotiables. If my son asked me to participate in events that would legitimize his relationship with his partner, such as a gay wedding ceremony or gay pride parade, the answer would be a gentle but firm, “NO.” Whether we like it or not, our presence as such events would cause scandal. People would rightly think, “Well, if the practicing Catholics are here, it can’t be all that bad!”

This is all the ideal, of course,  and not every person will accept your attempts to love the sinner but remain a committed Catholic. It seems tolerance of gays and lesbians isn’t good enough anymore…you must celebrate homosexuality or risk being vilified. My son could choose to be one of those “all or nothing” people, who can’t accept that I’m faithful to the Church. He may hold a grudge and try to sabotage our relationship or even cut me out of his life. If he insisted on promoting his choices to me (probably in a misguided attempt to get my approval), he shouldn’t be surprised if our relationship ends up strained and distant.

If he is receptive to a relationship based on mutual respect, however, he ought to know me well enough not to be surprised when I decline to attend the gay pride parade. And a loving, open relationship means he’s more likely to want me in his life even if I’m not his cheerleader. If I can accept and love him as a person, even though I disagree with his morality, why can’t he accept me and love me as a faithful Catholic, even if he thinks I’m wrong? Respect is a two-way street.

We are called to love as Jesus loves–and that means warts and all. One of the most common criticisms of Catholics is that we don’t practice the love we preach. When it comes to having a child with SSA, let your love do the preaching for you.

*By counseling, I’m NOT referring to “conversion therapy,” which is largely a Protestant construct. These programs aim to “cure” SSA through prayer and mental reconditioning. Some of them also use heavy-handed, abusive practices such as electrocution, verbal threats, and humiliation to change the person’s sexual orientation. Homosexuality is a complex pathology and not something consciously chosen by the person. Programs that propose to “pray away the gay” do great harm to souls when the person exits with his SSA intact, and not as the morally upright straight person he’s told God wants him to be. The intensified self-hatred participants feel after “failing” the program too often leads to severe depression, self-destructive behavior, and even suicide.

As a Catholic and as someone who struggles with SSA, I believe wholeheartedly that it IS a disorder, however. And because of that, I would recommend therapy with a sensitive Catholic counselor trained specifically in helping those who bear this cross. I’d recommend the same to any of my children who suffered from a psychological or spiritual disorder that threatens to lead them away from their Catholic faith.

I’ll admit it: the HHS Mandate debacle has been on my radar since the news came down the pike. How dare a government dictate that a Catholic employer must hire and serve only Catholics to be worthy of religious conscience protections? Since when is the charity that begins at home, confined to home?

The Catholic Church has done more than any other institution, religious or secular, in advancing the good of any and all people, whether in healthcare, education, or assisting the poor. If Mother Church is confined to giving aid to such a narrow demographic, the value of her services to the world would be devastated–and ineffective. We must be allowed to give succor to those who are in most need, regardless–no, despite!–the narrow parameters set by the government.

The subject has been heating up ever since, as the US Bishops have awakened from their comfort zone and recognized the danger lurking in the hearts and minds of Big Brother, whose ham-handed efforts pose a serious threat to the Church. Many good shepherds have stood up and publicly denounced this infringement of our most basic of rights. In fact, bishops from every diocese in the nation (191) have gone on record in opposition. Good for them! And good for the people in the pews and those who rely on the Church for their survival! I have never been more proud to be an American Catholic!

The laity has gotten involved, too, by rallying across the nation in support of religious freedom and the right to abide by the laws of a higher power: God! In April, more than 140 cities across the United States, as well as cities in some other nations, gathered for the Stand Up for Religious Freedom Rallies. June will see a second wave of these rallies and the tens of thousands who participated will surely increase. Christians from other walks of faith, as well as non-Christians, have also stepped up in our support. There are videos and photos of thousands of citizens proclaiming they “Stand with the Catholic Church.”

None of this has stopped an insidious attempt to beat back those who would stand, toe to toe, against the Goliath of this tale. There are plenty of traitors crawling out of the woodwork to sell their misinterpretation of this threat:

• That Kathleen Sebelius would be an honored speaker at a Catholic institution is only one symptom of a total disconnect. This despite the fact that 26,000 Catholics and the archdiocese vehemently objected.

• The Obama campaign has come out with an ad that uses sentimental and misleading imagery all the while touting the Pill as a necessary aspect of healthcare on which young girls rely to gain happiness and fulfillment in their adulthood. The mother of two young girls ages six and 10 claims the Pill is as common in medicine cabinets these days as cough syrup. What does this have to do with a presidential campaign!?

• ‎CBS News reports that, “The U.S. Health and Human Services Department adopted the rule to expand health care for women. Last year, an advisory panel from the Institute of Medicine, which advises the federal government, recommended including birth control on the list of covered services, partly because it promotes maternal and child health by allowing women to space their pregnancies.”

Regardless of how widely used the Pill is, not even the manufacturers, doctors, or health organizations can deny that there are significant health (and death) risks associated with the its use. The risk of blood clots alone gives one pause, as does the damage to the environment. Can the deceit get any worse? A known carcinogen, the Pill is also a proven abortifacient, and yet its proponents claim it “promotes maternal and child health.” Where is the outrage and the accountability?

There are many more such stories, but this should give you an idea of what we are up against. What is needed is much prayer and a resolve to become active in being a part of the solution. Take your cue from one of our more outspoken shepherds, Timothy Cardinal Dolan, who told CBS This Morning on Tuesday that “the compromise reached earlier this year is not sufficient because the exemptions made for churches are too restrictive.” The White House is “strangling” the church over the matter, Dolan says.

Meanwhile, more than 40 Catholic organizations have sued the Obama administration over the HHS Mandate, which makes it a government requirement that most employers provide birth control coverage as part of their employee health plans. Citizen rallies continue, as yet another Stand Up for Religious Freedom Rally is slated for June 8. This day coincides with the anniversary of the day James Madison introduced the Bill of Rights to the 1st Congress, including what would become the First Amendment. To quote the organizers of this nationwide rally effort, “We’re standing up for the First Amendment and demanding that all our health care laws respect religious freedom.”

Lord have mercy on our nation. And inspire us all to be part of the solution!

How in the world I was able to drive the hour home I’m not sure.  I called my husband and told him the news.  Next I would call our priest to ask him to pray for us and if I could receive the Anointing of the Sick.   Then I cried. I just drove and cried.   As I neared our house I decided I couldn’t go home and face the kids.  As soon as I walked in the door I knew they would want to see my ultrasound pictures and hear about the baby.  They did this every time I went to the doctor’s. I couldn’t face them just yet.  Instead of going home I went to a nearby park and sat in my car for 3 hours crying.  I called a few people to let them know and ask for prayers but mostly I just cried.   I cried as if my soul had been ripped out of me.  I cried until my body shook and my eyes burned.  I cried until I couldn’t breathe.  I cried out to God… but I didn’t hear an answer.

That day I entered into a spiritual place where I had never been before. It was a dark place.  It was a lonely place.  I was heartbroken and sad but even more I was mad at God.  How could He allow this to happen?  Why was He doing this to me… to my family?  I just couldn’t understand.  I would question even more when our son Joseph was delivered and I held his still body in my hands.  Why, oh why, did God abandon me?

During this time I had a very hard time praying.  God seemed so distant to me.  Why would I want to pray to a God that let my son die?  A God who, with all His powers, could have easily saved him?  As I buried my son I felt even more alone.   Later, when we had our first heavy thunderstorm I cried all night thinking of him alone in the dark with the rain and thunder all around him.  It was too much to bear.    My anger at God increased.  No matter how hard I tried I found that I just couldn’t turn to Him for guidance or comfort.  I started to have thoughts of doubt creep into my life.  I didn’t like feeling that way but I didn’t seem to know how to stop it from happening.

It’s funny, to those around me, I’m sure I looked like I was handling it just fine.  They would have never guessed how my faith was being attacked.  I still went to Mass, I still helped with all the church functions, and I was still able to pray for other people.  But in my own life I questioned, worried, and wondered if I had it right or if I had been deceiving myself all this time.  Was God really there?  If He was, did He really abandon me?   People would tell me (as I had told others beforehand) that in times of trouble God was always there, holding you safe in His arms.  I wondered if that was true. I didn’t feel His strong arms protecting me, holding me.   I didn’t like doubting but I felt so alone.

As I walked through this hell, and it was hell, I would find myself still craving God.  I didn’t want to doubt.  I wanted to believe.  I had to stop and reevaluate not only my faith but my life.  All I had in my life I attributed to God’s love and grace.  If He wasn’t truly there, or if He had abandoned me, where did that leave me?   Could I really look at my living children and not see God’s hand in their creation?  Could I look at my husband and not see God’s love flowing through him?  Surely He had to still be there.

I knew that I needed to reconnect with God.  I started with my memorized prayers.  They were the only way I felt like I could talk to God at that time.  I relied on the Our Father and prayed it frequently.  Soon I would be able to “talk” to God again in my own words but to be able to rely on those prayers that I learned as a child saved my relationship with God I believe.   I also tried to find God in everything I encountered… the night sky, my children’s laughs, the flowers that were blooming, a gentle hug from a friend.  When I focused on finding God I could see that He didn’t abandon me but was everywhere around me and that made me feel better.

I can’t say that it was an easy process.  On the contrary, as time would go on and we would lose another baby, Sarah, just months later followed by our devastating loss of William, I found that I would question God’s ways and His insights.  How could He allow for so much loss, so much suffering, and so much pain in our lives?  Still, I remembered that craving I felt for God and focused on the areas where I knew I could still see God in our lives.  It helped tremendously.  I made it through those trials in my life a little better off.  I knew from my previous experience that I needed God to help me through.  I knew without Him I was definitely going to be lost, so. I clung to God.  I prayed as I have never prayed before.  I still had times of doubt but they were different than when I lost Joseph.  I would come to believe that my loss of Joseph and the hell I went through spiritually helped prepare me for my loss with William.

So the question remains, is it ok to have doubts within your faith?  The answer is yes.  We only have to look towards Christ to know that it is ok to doubt.  As he knelt in the garden praying, he was scared and asked not once but three times for God to spare him of what was to come.  In Matthew 26:38 we see that Christ is “overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death.”  Likewise, as he hung from the cross he cried out, “My God! My God! Why have you forsaken me?”  (Matthew 27:46) If our Savior could know times of doubt why would we question if we, just mere humans, would not also doubt at some point in our lives?  If Christ, who is a part of the Blessed Trinity, asked God why He had abandoned him, then surely God understands when we also cry out, “My God! My God! Why have you forsaken me?”

Jesus welcomes the doubters.  He welcomed Thomas who would not believe in the risen Christ unless he was able to put his fingers through the holes in Jesus’ hands and feet.  There are times that we are like Thomas, needing to feel the holes where nails pierced through Christ’s hands.   There are times where we feel overcome with doubt and sorrow just as Jesus was in the garden.  What we do during those times though is what is truly important.

Doubt can be the catalyst to digging deeper into our faith.  It can be what helps us draw nearer to God in the end.  It can ultimately help us live more faithful lives.  It is said that many saints often doubted.  Those like St. Teresa of Avila and St. John of the Cross were said to have “dark nights of the soul”.  Blessed Mother Teresa would also admit to having doubts of where God was at certain times in her life.  When those thoughts of abandonment and loneliness creep into our lives how we deal with them is extremely important.

• Read the Bible- know that there are those, including Christ who have doubted.  Read their stories.
• Pray- talk to God.  Keep the lines of communication open.  Tell Him how upset you are.  Ask Him to help you through the pain even though you may not feel He’s there holding your hand.  Trust that he hears you and is listening and answering your prayers.
• Talk with someone you trust- find a friend, a priest, your spouse or someone you can trust and tell them how you feel.  They will more than likely tell you they understand and have been there too.
• Focus on seeing God in things around you- the big things, the little things, the mundane, the amazing.  See that God is everywhere and if that is the case that means He is also with you.
• Cry- Christ cried, Mary cried, the saints cried… know that God sees each and every tear that falls.

Perhaps as we work through our doubts we will find that they are indeed blessings in disguise.  They have the ability to draw us nearer to God.  They can help us find a deeper and more lasting relationship with God.  After fighting our way through those feelings of abandonment and loneliness we find God waiting for us, as He always was, with outstretched hands eager to pull us to Him.  We were never truly alone nor abandoned.  We were lost.  Thankfully God always provides a way back to Him.  Sometimes we must be lost before we are found.

The full quote from my interlocutor ran like this:

I think that too often people confuse dogma/doctrine with spirituality….dogma can never compete with true spirituality and indeed is most often the killer of it.

I called the guy out on this bald-faced assertion by quoting Chesterton: “There are two kinds of people in this world: those who believe in dogma and know it, and those who believe dogma and don’t know it.”

This man has a dogma, and the dogma is that other dogmas, ones he rejects, kill “true spirituality.” So his statement is self-defeating, like the saying that “there are no true generalizations” (except of course, the generalization that there are no true generalizations!).

I'm feeling more "spiritual" already! (http://www.sxc.hu/photo/1384060)

But let’s step back and understand the intention behind his claim. The idea is that “true spirituality” is one that comes from inside a person, perhaps even something they uniquely have imagined or come to believe, rather than a belief that some religious institution–perhaps the Catholic Church–teaches is true.

Religion is bad; spirituality is good. I heard the same thing the other night on a radio station that plays Delilah’s love songs. Delilah, in all her pop culture wisdom, said something to the effect of: “spirituality unites; religion divides.”

But in fact why should it be more plausible that something I imagined in my own mind is true while something taught by the Catholic Church is false? Have I been given special powers to discern the truth of existence, over and against all others? Why should I believe that I am gifted in such a way so as to trust my own imaginations over a religious institutions claims?

An old teacher of mine, a man I greatly respect, once told me that he believed that when we die, our spirits will all go up into the ether and kind of meld and combine in a big cosmic soup. Rather too bluntly, I asked him: “What makes you think that this idea of yours is more plausible than what Christianity claims will happen when we die?” He was clearly taken aback by my candor and fumbled around for how to respond. I felt bad that I came across rudely, but the point I made still stands.

Dogma is not the killer of true spirituality. It is the protector of it. God has revealed truth to us and made it possible for all men–not just a few gifted ones–to know this truth. He has done this by sending His Son, Jesus Christ, and subsequently through the Church that Christ founded, which subsists in the Catholic Church. Historical evidence and philosophical arguments all support these beliefs, though they cannot demonstrate it through reason alone.

The Catholic Church elevates a doctrine to the level of dogma when it is needed. She draws a line in the sand that says: “Such-and-such is true, or at least, a particular falsehood is not true.” By doing so the faithful are safeguarded from falling into error. Note that there is still tremendous freedom of belief within the bounds of dogma: our Christian faith is mysterious and isn’t defined down to every jot and tittle. But we know that, whatever we believe, we should stay within these bounds set by Christ through His Church.

So while dogma has a negative connotation to most people, one of irrational, fundamentalistic adherence to a crazy religious belief, real dogma is anything but that. Real dogma is supported by reason, even though it goes beyond it.

Hopefully this little mental exploration will be of help to you the next time that you run into someone who denigrates dogma and elevates their own personal spirituality.

In thinking of Mary’s yes to God, I questioned if I could or would ever be able to say yes and give Him all that He was asking for. I thought of my conversion story, how my heart has been changed by Him, and I realized in my own small way that I have already given Him my yes.

When you’re a child, the world seems so small. You can be anything, do anything, you have infinite time to see the world. You know that all you have to do is think something, and you can make it happen.

I knew I wanted to be Catholic from the moment I smelled the old sweet mahogany wood and incense in my father’s church. As a young child, I remember walking into St. Cecilia’s parish in Hastings, Nebraska with my father and just feeling more at home there than almost anywhere else in the world. There was this thing though, I couldn’t be Catholic.

My story is the same as too many others, a child of an unhappy marriage which led to divorce. A child not unwanted, but a constant reminder of the mistakes that two people had made. My father was Catholic and my mother Methodist. Neither of them practicing, but both absolutely sure that their religion was right.

I lived with my mom who soon remarried and had more children, every other weekend and two weeks in the summer I saw my dad who soon remarried and had more children.

I distinctly remember on one occasion asking my step-mother if I could become Catholic. She looked at me with more love in her eyes then I had ever seen her show for me, but replied that my mother wouldn’t let me. It was then at 7 or 8 I knew I would never be allowed to be Catholic, because just like so many other things in my life, it was something my parents could use to hurt one another. My dreams could never come true, because they were still bitter about their dreams not coming true.

Time went on, I grew, but my parents didn’t. Their hatred toward one another raged through my childhood and adolescence. I occasionally attended Mass with my dad and his family when I visited, and envied my step-brother and step-sister as they came home from school wearing uniforms and toting religion assignments.

But, there was this moment, a moment that changed my life in ways that I can’t describe or explain. A second when time stood still, and I knew that God was real and good and answered my prayers. My anti-Catholic mother, who in every sense of the word hated Catholics decided to send me to a Catholic high school! She of course had her justifications. I was turning into a bad seed in public schools and making the wrong friends. But this one seemingly insignificant decision, is the beginning of my conversion. The beginning of the most beautiful story I can tell in my life. The story of how God purified hearts, dug souls out of the deepest pits of sin, and brought his children close to his bosom.

As I entered the building that would shape my destiny, I was terrified. I wondered if everyone could tell I was a Methodist simply by looking at me. Maybe they would notice that my brand new Bible had never been opened, let alone read. I of course had the regular fears any freshman might have, and I was terrified to start at a school where I knew no one, but mostly I thought they’d sniff me out and soon kick my non-believing behind out of there.

Days and months went on, I was an awkward teenager and so was everyone else, though of course I can only see that in retrospect. It was clear that I was far behind in Religion class, and I remember dreading group work, review days, anything where it became apparent how completely ignorant I truly was. I had joined the school choir, and as we prepared to sing at school Masses I found myself moronically thumbing through missal pages and trying to hold back the tears as I stood when I was supposed to sit. I longed to know the divine secrets these other people knew, and as I watched them go to Jesus in the Communion line my heart ached.

More time passed, and it became easier. I learned the routines, and was soon much better at faking my way through things. I eventually made friends, joined clubs, finished classes and became a “normal” high school student. Fast forward to junior year, and a certain young man, Eric, met my eye. We started a relationship, and lucky for us, we were young and stupid. We didn’t know the things of this world, and so we entered a serious relationship totally in love with one another and completely devoted. Did I mention this man became my husband?

Eric and I dated through high school, and went to college together. He and I knew from very early on that we would be married, but we both wanted to wait until we graduated college. It was also completely understood that if I wanted to marry Eric, his parents expected me to convert. Of course I was ecstatic at this idea, and so the summer before Eric’s senior year as an undergraduate, I decided it was time to begin RCIA. I distinctly remember telling my mom what I had planned. I knew she wouldn’t be happy, but I also knew that I was an adult and it was finally my choice. The thing about family is they know you so well, and this is usually a great thing, but in this case, my mom knew exactly what to say to break my heart.

She said, “Your great-grandmother will roll over in her grave when she hears of your conversion.”

It hurt. It hurt a lot. I idolized my great-grandma, and my mom knew it. My mother knew she had already lost the battle, so she went for the gut. I don’t know what I expected her to say, but that wasn’t it. It didn’t matter though, it was finally my choice and not hers and so I excitedly began RCIA.

I was catechized by two loving deacons in our parish, and became Catholic during the Easter vigil in 2004 with my husband as my sponsor. I chose St. Adelaide, a patron saint of parenthood and second marriages which I felt was fitting based on my childhood. I remember that moment, when I first consumed Jesus in the Eucharist, and I expected to feel different….feel something. And yet, nothing. Shouldn’t this be the end of my story? How could it be that I was finally Catholic, yet my heart was still not whole. I didn’t understand, and I honestly felt as if God was angry because I didn’t obey his call sooner. I feared that all along my mom was right, that I should never have become Catholic. I had lost so much of that wonder and awe for The Church with age, and I so deeply wanted it back.

However, I quickly pushed these feelings to the back of my mind, and dreamt of wedding plans, our future careers, and our lives together. We became barely practicing Catholics as I found that when you surround yourself with “lukewarm Catholics” that that is what you become. Sometimes we attended Sunday Mass, sometimes not, and that was it. We made choices that were a slap in the face to the Mother Church, because we thought we knew better. But, Eric and I were married in the Church that December, and began our lives together.

My husband became a graduate student at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln, and I started looking for a teaching job. I interviewed several places, but wasn’t getting called back. I was nervous. I applied for anything and everything I could find. One day, I received a call to come interview at North American Martyrs School in Lincoln, Nebraska. This day, the day of my interview with Sr. Patricia, was the first day of my real conversion. If I thought it was difficult to become Catholic, I was wrong. The real work began when I saw that my heart needed to change to actually be a Catholic woman.

As I drove home from the interview I called my husband. I told him that I would never ever accept that job, that the pay was laughable. I mean really, what self-respecting college graduate would start at $23,000? My husband was in grad school, there was no way we could live off of that. Plus, I was certain that I’d be getting called back from the other schools at which I’d interviewed. But, I didn’t.

A week went by and no one else called. I was scared I wouldn’t have a job at all. And so, when Sr. Patricia called back to ask if I’d decided, I said yes to her. I was just relieved to have a job after I got off the phone, and yet here’s the best part. That same day, after she called, I had two other job offers both for much more money and with the opportunity to earn my Master’s degree in 18 months during my first year of teaching. It was in this moment, that I accepted divine intervention. Though nowhere near as awesome as Mary’s “yes”, this was the beginning of my yes to God. I allowed Him to direct my life’s path.

Now, I wish I could recall every detail of my three years in this holy place, but alas after five children my memory often fails. I can tell you that never having been to Rome or the Holy Land, Lincoln Nebraska is the holiest of places I’ve ever been. Bishop Fabian Bruskewitz is a holy man, and leads his sheep with a rod and staff.

As part of my job I was required to take the students to daily Mass every single school day. We had prayer time in the church as a class once a week, adoration and benediction on the first Friday of every month, confession once a quarter, stations of the cross every week during Lent and that was just the beginning.The altar boys (boys-only) deserved their nickname: “The Knights of the Altar”. The girls respected them for it. Dozens of men in the parish served as acolytes. The idea of unvested extraordinary ministers or even permanent deacons were unheard of. There were actual religious sisters teaching in our school, and twice a month our parish priest came to teach in our classroom. The students in the school knew the faith better than anyone else I had ever met, and could defend it to any well spoken adult. The priests were amazing, and the diocese has one of the highest priest to parishioner ratios. They gave homilies about the tough issues, and didn’t apologize for it. The priests inspired everyone in the parish to do more, give more, pray more, love more.

Sometime during this amazing experience, I began to hear a whisper. A whisper I didn’t want to listen to because it was scary, but I knew it was from God. I heard it, “Rachel, put aside these Earthly things and follow Me.” And worse yet, I knew exactly what He was talking about: contraception. Through much prayer, my husband and I agreed that we needed to stop using birth control and begin using Natural Family Planning, as our hearts were not yet ready to welcome children into our family. Soon after I gained the courage to go to confession and pour out my guilt for this sin, and words cannot say the true forgiveness I felt. I knew I would have to battle this mistake my entire life, but as I left the confessional, for the first time ever, I felt like a child of God.

My husband and I started using NFP in November of that year, and immediately realized from the charting, that something was not right. A story to be told some other time, but we soon discovered with the help of an amazing NaPro doctor that I had polycystic ovaries, and possible fertility problems. In fact I was told that it may be difficult to impossible for my husband and I to conceive. Information that is crushing to any woman, and especially to my 23 year-old self.

This led to THE moment, the moment of my true conversion. The moment where I could no longer be the person I used to be and instead had to be who God made me to be. Where I would have to die to self and live in Him, the culmination of my “yes” to Him.

And it is in the spirit of the diocese that my husband and I decided to participate in a Lenten retreat. The retreat had it’s ups and downs, but we found of course that the more we poured ourselves into it, the more we got out of it. During the last week of the retreat, the Sunday before Holy Week, we were called to participate in Eucharistic adoration. Our small group knelt in the front pew and prayed. But then, our priest did something amazing. He brought Jesus to us in the monstrance. He came down the row, and one by one each person was allowed to touch Him. I prayed with more fervor than I ever had before. I asked God to come into my heart, and for the courage to make a true dwelling place for Him. Then, Father Kilcawley stood in front of me, and in his hands was Jesus, truly present in the Eucharist. This was the moment that my life had led up to, the culmination of my journey finally at hand. I laid my hands on Him and began to cry tears of true joy and love. I heard his voice more clearly than I ever had or have since, and I heard Him tell me to be a mother. I knew He had used this retreat to purify my soul, bring me to Him, and remind me of my purpose in life. That one single moment in time was my conversion.

Needless to say, that Easter vigil was the most beautiful Mass I have ever attended, and God’s amazing love continued to follow me. A few weeks later, I discovered that I was pregnant with our first child! A year later, at Easter Mass, I welcomed my mother into the Church. Yes, you read that right, my anti-Catholic mother.

I realized that being dubbed a Catholic just wasn’t enough. God wants all of you, your whole heart and soul, and he won’t rest until he has it. Our family has continued to grow in love and in number through Him as I listened to his whispers in my life. Most recently, I answered God’s call in my life and said yes to veiling at Mass, and as always when I listen to Him I am sublimely happy.

And, this is how I picture Mary, sublimely happy. Yes, she was human, and laden with daily tasks as any wife or mother is, but I know her “yes” to God must have radiated from her everyday.

Solemnity of the Ascension

You can find today’s readings here.

Ascension of Christ by Garofalo, 1520.

Happy Ascension Sunday! Last Thursday held the traditional celebration of the Ascension, but the Solemnity has been moved to Sunday in most areas. This is a very happy celebration! In the Glorious mysteries of the Rosary, the fruit of the mystery of the Ascension is hope, and indeed the Ascension is very hope-filled!

After Christ died on Good Friday, and came back to life on Easter Sunday, He shepherded his disciples for another forty days. Christ’s Resurrection fulfilled his disciples’ hope that they would see Him again after his death, providing much needed faith to continue to proclaim the kingdom after the Ascension (as an aside, the fruit of the Glorious mystery of the Resurrection in the Rosary is faith). As Christ majestically lifted Himself to Heaven in his resurrected body, his disciples were amazed and filled with hope for the time they would join their Heavenly King.

I love how today’s Solemnity passages continue to point to Pentecost and the Church on Earth. Christ’s work did not finish when exited in quiet grandeur to be with His Father in Heaven. Christ left behind instructed and obedient Apostles with the last directive to make disciples of all nations and to baptize them, and He also promised He would send the Holy Spirit to continue to guide them (Pentecost).

I love St. Paul’s first chapter of his letter to the Ephesians. He so plainly explains the Church, it’s like reading a Catechism. He explains we are called to unity, but there are two parts to that unity; unity of the spirit which is a bond of gentle and loving behavior with one another, and also a unity in faith and knowledge through the building up of the Church. He also reminds us of the universal unity, or one-ness, of the teachings of the Church, that there is, “one Lord, one faith, one baptism; one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all.” (Eph 1:4-6). We have such a loving God to have provided us this divinely designed guidance in the Church, and we should be so thankful to the servants who have held the positions of God given vocations, “as apostles, others as prophets, others as evangelists, others as pastors and teachers” (Eph 1:11) as they continue to teach us the ways of Christ through their humble obedience to the Church who lovingly taught them.

This is such a happy time in the Liturgical season!! As we delight in our Savior’s Ascension and in the hope of our own resurrections, we can also gear up for Pentecost Sunday! We will be celebrating the official beginning of the One, Holy, Catholic and Apostolic Church, so get ready to delight and give great thanks next Sunday! Oh, and find something red to wear if you’re in that kind of festive spirit! Lastly, invite our separated brethren to reflect on the great mystery of Pentecost. While many of them celebrate Reformation Sunday as a sort of beginning of their churches, Pentecost is theirs to celebrate too, as it was the Holy Spirit’s beginning of the Church on Earth, a gift for all of us and that we all are entitled to relish in, together!

“In an acceptable time I heard you…Behold now is a very acceptable time.” 2 Cor 6:2

All my life I’ve been overweight. I’ve always felt hungry; no matter what I’ve eaten I have rarely felt full. I was always the fat girl in every grade, teased by my peers and embarrassed by my body. When it came to food I was unable to control myself. I had to have ice cream if it was in the house. I loved mashed potatoes, rolls, anything sweet or starchy. I even took gummy vitamins because they were so sugary. I was a foodaholic and out of control. For 45 years I’ve struggled with my weight and the negative emotions that go with it.

Two years ago I went on a strict diet and began to count calories. I eliminated wheat, because wheat seemed to have a detrimental effect on my metabolism. I went to bed hungry every night. I lost 40 pounds, but immediately gained back 13 when I added wheat back into my diet. Doctors tested me for celiac disease, thyroid disorders and food allergies but couldn’t find anything. I was suffering from extreme fatigue, I had acne and was so bloated that I looked pregnant. I was depressed and felt hopeless to ever get down to a healthy weight.

I prayed to God to help me get healthy, but it was a whiny prayer and, I’ll admit, an empty one. I didn’t want to be hungry. I hated to fast. Food was an idol to me.

Last summer, I had a conversation with a friend of mine who mentioned to me that when she was trying to quit smoking some years ago, she began to confess that she smoked. After all, the body is a temple of the Holy Spirit and damaging it can fall into the realm of sin. This gave me pause and made me think about my overeating as an affront to the Lord.

I began to confess the sin of gluttony in the sacrament of reconciliation. I also began to pray to the Lord to help me become completely detached from food. I wanted to eat to live, not live to eat. I wanted to become healthy and to live a long time so I could enjoy my children and, hopefully grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

About a month after I began praying this way I was diagnosed with a Systemic Candida Overgrowth. All of us have good and bad bacteria in their digestive systems. It seems that mine had gone haywire and overtook my digestive system and got into my bloodstream. This particular bacteria, Candida, is a yeast, which demands to be fed…and what does yeast eat? Sugar! This explained my craving for sweet foods.

The treatment for my condition involved eliminating all fruits, grains, dairy, sugars, mushrooms and fermented products, including alcohol, from my diet. That left me with meat, vegetables and eggs as a basic diet. Initially the anti-fungal medication I was on made me physically ill and I could barely eat. One day, as I sat doubled over with nausea, I remembered my prayer asking God for a complete detachment from food. Wow, I thought, be careful what you pray for…

I have been in treatment for over seven months now and all my cravings are gone. Completely. I haven’t eaten fruit, grains or alcohol in all this time and I feel great! My skin has cleared up, I have energy and my stomach is flattening. Recently I have been able to add a few foods back to my diet, like unsweetened Greek yogurt and occasionally heavy cream. However, most foods I have tried to add back have made me sick and my doctor has recommended staying on this diet for the rest of my life. Now I truly appreciate any foods I can eat and pray my meal blessing from the heart!

The most positive result of my condition is that I have been given the grace to embrace this cross…and a cross it is. I pray a lot before the Blessed Sacrament. Regarding my condition, I only have prayers of thanksgiving. I haven’t asked the Lord to cure me of it because I’ve decided to approach it as a lifelong fast.

Now that I know that in order to stay healthy I need to severely restrict my diet, I feel empowered! I offer up my fasting for my children’s salvation, for souls in Purgatory, for sinners who have no one to pray for them.
Other graces have come as well. My husband has taken his vocation seriously and has stepped up to help me bear this cross. He grills meats for me every weekend so I can have prepared food to eat throughout the week. He has been accepting of the changes I’ve made in our family’s dinner menus. My whole family has been supportive of my new way of eating and even my children have come up with recipes that are within my diet.

So, with the cross, graces abound. When I bake brownies for my children or make a nice Italian meal for a friend, I remember to offer up my fast for the person who will be eating the food. Using my condition for good has brought such joy! Joy from knowing my suffering can benefit others and joy that the Lord heard my prayers and answered me in His time.

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