Oh, Crappiness!

I was awakened by a migraine this morning. It is a hard way to greet a new day. I took my meds, went back to bed for a few minutes rather than walking, and woke later with the same heaviness. Exhausting me. It fluctuated throughout the day, climaxing around 6:30-8:00 p.m. So I buried myself in my dark bedroom, heel pressed to my temple (or temple pressed into my folded pillow), and rocked back and forth praying variations of the Jesus Prayer over and over. Eventually I fell asleep and woke again around 11:15 to take some ibuprofen and try to do some needed paperwork. It's only a quiet ache at the moment, for which I'm grateful. My headaches are debilitating. I really hate them. And while I try to "offer up the pain," the offering of them never lessens the pain - and you'd think it ought to. The pain reveals me as I am, which is quite ugly if I do say so myself. No gentle saint hidden beneath my well-composed mask. Just an angry, selfish man.

My dryer broke the day before yesterday. I called the repairman, but it might be a day or two before it's fixed (or replaced) and the laundry factory begins again its sluggish business. In my estimation, a rather bad time for it to blow. Already financially tight and unable to visit my family over the holidays, this situation doesn't help that one.

I'm waiting for other shoes to drop to concretize my helplessness, my neediness, my desperation. To buckle me onto my knees, felling me. Because in the midst of all the crap in the fan, the truth and goodness of God stands. I may not be standing in that truth right now; I may be staring at it from across the road. But it's right there. Like the nose on my face. Like the pain in my cranium. Like the constancy of need, of demand, in a house full of children. I close myself to it because the "I" makes it all so unbearable. If I could lose It, the in-rush of joy would be refreshing sweet. I am full too much of me.

Oh, Happiness!

One of my first-favorite passages of Dostoevsky's The Brothers Karamazov comes at the end of Part 1. I love the joy and peace of it:

"... he laughed again ... softly and happily. He slowly put the note into the little envelope, crossed himself, and lay down. The confusion in his soul suddenly passed. 'Lord, have mercy on them all today, unhappy and stormy as they are, preserve and guide them. All ways are yours: save them according to your ways. You are love, you will send joy to all!' Alyosha murmured, crossing himself and falling into a serene sleep."

I was reminded of this passage as I listened to David Crowder* Band's "Oh, Happiness!" - a similar strain of meaning echoes in the lyrics, "Oh, happiness! There's grace enough for us and the whole human race."

Yesterday was one of those rare days where I spent the good part of it in joy. Peace and joy. Diapers, dishes, sweeping, feeding the baby - it was all joy, because God is. And he is love. I was perfectly at peace yesterday morning - I knew myself to be the worst of sinners and yet would have been happy in hell if I could retain one thing, simply knowing that God, who is love, was and is and will be forever. Nothing was needed beyond that knowing. I could rest there.

I am not a good man. But Glory to Jesus Christ! for God is good, and the lover of mankind.

Today is another day. Pray for me.

With a Wrathful Soul

There is only love, and when love fails, life fails.

O my Jesus, forgive us our sins. Save us from the fires of hell [that rage in our hearts, that in our weakness we feed]. Lead all souls to heaven, especially those in most need of thy mercy.

I want to repost a quote from Dostoevsky simply because I need to be reminded of it this morning and every morning:

"See, here you have passed by a small child, passed by in anger, with a foul word, with a wrathful soul; you perhaps did not notice the child, but he saw you, and your unsightly and impious image has remained in his defenseless heart. You did not know it, but you may thereby have planted a bad seed in him, and it may grow, and all because you did not restrain yourself before the child, because you did not nurture in yourself a heedful, active love. Brothers, love is a teacher, but one must know how to acquire it, for it is difficult to acquire, it is dearly bought, by long work over a long time, for one ought to love not for a chance moment but for all time. Anyone, even a wicked man, can love by chance."

(Dostoevsky, Fyodor. The Brothers Karamazov. Trans. Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky. New York: Farrar, Straus & Giroux, 2002. 319.)

Pray for Us, Padre Pio

Today is the feast day of St Pio of Pietrelcina. Padre Pio is significant to me mostly because of our 6-month-old son, Noah. During his birth my wife's hands had been pierced multiple times as different nurses unsuccessfully tried to draw blood. When the room was empty, she lifted her bandaged hands and said she felt like Padre Pio, who bore the stigmata of our Lord. I left that night from the hospital and stopped for a cheese steak. I sat down and waited for my late supper and looked up at the wall to my right and was somewhat surprised to see a picture of Padre Pio, the only religious picture on the wall. So I began calling Baby Noah "Pio" on occasion, as I felt that Padre Pio was near us that night, praying for us.

Today is the first full day of Autumn. It is the feast day of St Pio of Pietrelcina. Coincidentally, Noah was born on the first day of Spring, six months ago on March 20. Noah's half birthday is Sept 20, which is the day Padre Pio received permanently the marks of Christ upon his body.

What does it all mean? To some, talk of saints is silliness and superstition. "Those who are dead," they might say, "are dead; they know nothing of us or our lives." Or they believe that prayers to the saints are undeserved, unnecessary and take away from Christ - like clouds before the sun. And I understand that. But for others of us, the saints are very real and present in our lives - indeed, part of what the "I believe ... in the communion of saints" means. They pray for us, and we ask for their prayers - not in opposition to Christ, not robbing anything from Christ, but because of Christ (who, as St Athanasius says, became man that we might, by God's grace, become God [in his energies, not his nature]). God does not dwell alone. God is not selfish. He does not hoard himself. He gives himself. He does not demand our worship. But he draws us into communion with him, into his very life. Pours himself out for us. And when we are drawn into him, reconciled to him - who is love - we adore him because there is nothing else to do. And when we adore him, we worship him with a great company. The glory of the saints is Christ, and their glory magnifies the glory of Christ - it shows forth God's glory.

We have communion with Padre Pio - a connection, to put it in more sterile terms. He and Noah are brothers. But not simply because of the correspondences of certain milestones in their lives, but because they are in Christ. Padre Pio is our brother. And he loves my son and points him to Christ. He walks before and beside him - always and only gesturing to Christ.

My words are insufficient and poor. So I will simply ask today for the prayers of Padre Pio, remembering his holiness, his compassion, his love and his life. Happy feast day!

Crazy Love and a Quiet Life

I recently read Francis Chan's Crazy Love. I'm not a big fan of the book, if you care. Sometimes we get caught up in wanting to live an extraordinary life for Christ - to do something extraordinary for God - but at the heart of it, it is little more than vainglory. Or, sometimes our desire to "do something great for God" is little more than our desire to be someone great.

St John the Forerunner says, "He must increase and I must decrease."

Jesus says, "Love your neighbor as yourself," "love as I have loved you," and "love your enemies."

St Paul says, "Make it your ambition to lead a quiet life, to mind your own business and to work with your hands."

Mother Teresa says something like, "We can not do great things. We can only do little things with great love."

Maybe God is calling you to Africa or India - so go already. But it's more likely he isn't. Strive to be less, to be no one. Love your wife. Be gentle with your children. Go to Liturgy. Pray always. Judge no one.

When we love our enemy, love the crazy fool of a pastor who wants to burn Qur'ans, love the one who wishes us harm - then we have begun to be in communion with Christ. For it is Christ who loves these.

If Wishes Were Horses

My seven-year-old, Avery, said, "I wish I could bite my butt like dogs do."

.....

"I wish I was a girl but I had a boy's bottom," said Avery.

"Why?" I said, suddenly interested.

"Because," she said, "Then I wouldn't have to have a period."

Computer Woes

My computer won't turn on - probably the power supply as it's been a recurring problem on this machine. The difference is that this time it's not under any warranty. I'm wondering if I should fix it for several hundred dollars or replace it. It's 5 1/2 years old. I do need a machine for freelance work. Any thoughts?

Hey, Hey, Hey

I am in Week 4 of Weight Watchers. Actually, I'm not a paying customer; I'm just along for the ride with Laura (though she hardly needs it, and I desperately do). Last week wasn't a good week - Noah's godparents sent home pasta twice (pasta with spaghetti sauce - she puts Italian sausages in her spaghetti sauce, mind you - and another night shrimp fettuccine Alfredo). But in spite of it, I've still lost 13 pounds in the first three weeks. I hope to do better this week, but I find I'm running headlong into my appetite.

Appetite is a bad thought. I don't have to eat as I do because I'm hungry. The reasons I eat as I do have nothing to do with my physical need or even the comfort of a spoiled stomach. Gluttony is a spiritual problem: It's finding solace in a means for communion with God, rather than in communion with God. And even the skinnies among us share in it. You don't have to look like me to struggle with gluttony. Saint John Climacus says,

"In our self-criticism we must refer particularly to the stomach, and indeed I wonder if anyone breaks free of this mistress before he dies.

Gluttony is hypocrisy of the stomach. Filled, it moans about scarcity; stuffed, and crammed, it wails about its hunger. ... Gluttony has a deceptive appearance: it eats moderately but wants to gobble everything at the same time. A stuffed belly produces fornication, while a mortified stomach leads to purity. The man who pets a lion may tame it, but the man who coddles the body makes it ravenous.

- The Ladder of Divine Ascent, Step 14, On Gluttony (my emphases)

And Saint Isaac of Syria says, "It is just as shameful for lovers of the flesh and the belly to search out spiritual things as it is for a harlot to discourse on chastity." This is what I love about the Church Fathers. When you need a good punch in the gut, they're happy to oblige. And most of us need the breath knocked out of us, every now and then, for our salvation. The added blessing of the Church Fathers is that it feels less personal when the guy's been dead for a thousand years. But back to the quote. Here I am, I write on spiritual disciplines, on ascesis, and I am a catechist at my parish and then Saint Isaac of Syria comes along and says that I'm no better than a harlot giving discourses on chastity. So where does that leave me? It makes me feel like saying, I can't do this - I'm a hypocrite. But that's not the answer - I don't think. The better answer, perhaps, is to recognize my hypocrisy, the reality of my situation - I am unqualified, but in my weakness, perhaps the Holy Spirit can reach someone.

Meanwhile I'm going forward with this business of taming my stomach and trying to squeeze more life out of my lifetime. I want to be an old man, surrounded by my grandchildren and great-grandchildren. I don't want to swing to the other extreme, into a cult of the body, but I do want to take my appetite by the horns and find peace through the struggle.

Pray for me.

(The photo is from Diners, Drive-Ins & Dives.)

Quiet and Humble

If you haven't heard, Anne Rice has left Christianity ... but not Christ, she says. I'm a little upset about her announcement. Not so much because of her decision, but because of the reasons she gives for her decision. She has been wounded by us. (Lord, have mercy.) But I am rooting for her, and for others like her. I am rooting for people like Christopher Hitchens who is suffering with esophageal cancer. I feel kinship with them; I have an affection for them. I see Christ in them.

Anne Rice's story is important not because she's a bestselling novelist. Her story is important because it's been told before, and it's been told by Christ. But we clap our hands over our ears and heap our disregard onto a wounded sister's shoulders. Anne Rice left the Church because you and I fail to love our neighbor. It's that simple. You and I make the faith about issues and politics and a world of things other than Christ. She left because you and I fail to be quiet and humble. When someone doesn't share our views - whether it's about sexuality, abortion, politics, or liturgy - we bristle and spit, "You aren't Catholic if you ..." or "You cannot follow Christ and ..." This is not love, but judgment. There is a place for those who are spiritual to come along and exhort, encourage, and correct. But it is not my place. It is not yours.

Nothing animates the pious like issues: not God, not Church, not loving the poor and marginalized - nothing. A fight invigorates us. But all our "righteousness" will never change the desires of someone who is homosexual. We cannot raise one hand to protect the unborn and choke our brown neighbor with the other. We will never convince anyone of the love of Christ with our anger and judgment. We are called to be martyrs for Christ. To die. And by our love to be the sacrament of God to our world.

If anyone will kill the Church, the pious will.

God is love. He is full of mercy. We must love others because God loves them. (If we are in communion with God, then we will love whom he loves.) We must be quiet and, like a child, humble. We must pray always. As for Anne Rice, let me close with a quote I recently read: "We believe ... that Christ is present in any seeker after truth. Simone Weil has said that though a person may run as fast as he can away from Christ, if it is toward what he considers true, he runs in fact straight into the arms of Christ" (from For the Life of the World, by Alexander Schmemann).

Life Is Heaven

I cried suddenly, speaking straight from my heart, "look around you at the gifts of God, the clear sky, the pure air, the tender grass, the birds; nature is beautiful and sinless, and we, only we, are sinful and foolish, and we don’t understand that life is heaven, for we have only to understand that and it will at once be fulfilled in all its beauty, we shall embrace each other and weep."

- Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov