Life. Today.

It is a season of penance, when dead things are called to life and redbuds drape themselves in purple. Jack and Cate play outside, running back and forth across our dirt driveway. Their laughter trips over red lava stones, heralding life.

Life does not arrive when the kids are grown and I have time to do as I please - writing, working, concerned with adult matters instead of dirty pants and hungry tummies - life is now. Today. Life is not postponed because of my kids, not interrupted. It is propagated through them. Propagated in me. Propagated in the world they touch. They are joyfully, wildly alive. And while their life, untamed and freckled, often requires all of mine, I would not wish for any other. And they run and play and fight and whine, catching me up. And I, though often tired and discontent, bud.

Take Up Your Cross. No, Mine.

Too often, we elevate the importance of the work God has called us to. So we are called to do this or that work and we believe it the apex of Christian life, of incarnational or iconic living. Our apostolate always seems greater than another's, our spiritual emphases and works of mercy a clearer path to God. This, of course, is untrue generally, though it may be true specifically. That you are called to have a dozen children may be necessary for your salvation. Or that you become a monk. Or that you work as a missionary or a priest or a homemaker. Now all these are good, and we may, to a greater or lesser extent, be expected to be involved in a variety of these callings - though in different functions. But my service is different than your service. It ought to be. If I push hard enough, my calling becomes bent from its original shape and no longer remains in service to Christ and his Church. To borrow St Paul's metaphor, the Body becomes grossly disfigured as the hand becomes everything. And then my life leans fully into egoism and autonomy, and, sometimes, potentially, heresy. Of course, this does not mean we cease to take up our cross, but rather that we do not demand our neighbor take it up as well - or think that if he doesn't, he does not serve God as he ought or as well as we do. Do not judge him, he has his own cross to bear.

Before becoming Pope Benedict XVI, Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger was asked in an interview, "How many paths are there to God?" And Cardinal Ratzinger answered, "As many as there are people."

(Image taken from sacredartpilgrim.com)

Are We Poor?

"Are we poor?" says my son, says my daughter, says my heart.

And I think of the man on the street and the ladies who live across from us in the duplexes. I think of so many whose first chore of the day is to walk to a well or a river for water. And for water that isn't even clean. I think of them after taking a hot shower in the middle of winter. I think of them while sipping at my coffee. "No," I say. "We are not poor." And the car breaks again and the floor rots under us. The bath tub is useless and our water pipes hold together only stubbornly. This house is at odds with itself.

"Are we poor?" they say.

I say, "It depends what you mean by 'poor.' " It seems obvious to them what they mean: They cannot have the new pair of shoes they want, or that video game, or clothes that they do not have to share. It seems obvious when they go to bed, stacked like cordwood. Or when the weather constrains them to indoors, and their parents grow impatient at their play (it is so loud). It seems obvious. But still they ask.

"Look around you," I say. "You have a big family that loves you, that is and always will be together. Who, when I take just half of you out to the store, people ask whether you are all mine. You are rich where richness counts."

"Are we poor?" they say. And I think of my anger and my covetousness. I think of my despondency and impatience. I think of how I hoard what I do have, failing to give to those who do not. And I say, "I am poor."

Outside, overnight, it has snowed. It is a Carolina snow. And the ground, pizzelle-like, reminds me of holidays and weddings. We are not poor, children. We are not.

Baptism / Epiphany

"A Russian Orthodox Christian crosses himself in 9-degree weather as he emerges from a cross-shaped ice hole in a traditional Epiphany celebration in Moscow."

Beautiful.

Pic from www.seattlepi.com

The Sun Does Not Hide Itself

"God is good, without passions and unchangeable. One who understands that it is sound and true to affirm that God does not change might very well ask: 'how, then, is it possible to speak of God as rejoicing over those who are good, becoming merciful to those who know Him and, on the other hand, shunning the wicked and being angry with sinners.' We must reply to this, that God neither rejoices nor grows angry, because to rejoice and to be angered are passions. Nor is God won over by gifts from those who know Him, for that would mean that He is moved by pleasure. It is not possible for the Godhead to have the sensation of pleasure or displeasure from the condition of humans, God is good, and He bestows only blessings, and never causes harm, but remains always the same. If we humans, however, remain good by means of resembling Him, we are united to Him, but if we become evil by losing our resemblance to God, we are separated from Him. By living in a holy manner, we unite ourselves to God; by becoming evil, however, we become at enmity with Him. It is not that He arbitrarily becomes angry with us, but that our sins prevent God from shining within us, and expose us to the demons who make us suffer. If through prayer and acts of compassionate love, we gain freedom from our sins, this does not mean that we have won God over and made Him change, but rather that by means of our actions and turning to God, we have been healed of our wickedness, and returned to the enjoyment of God's goodness. To say that God turns away from the sinful is like saying that the sun hides itself from the blind" (St Anthony the Great, Cap. 150).

Cap'n's Log

I'm currently reading two books. The first is Catholicism: Christ and the Common Destiny of Man, by Henri de Lubac, and the second is Why Evolution Is True, by Jerry A. Coyne. Both books are quite good. I can't read but a few pages at a time of Lebac, who constantly knocks me on my metaphorical butt with his thoughts on the Church and unity. Unity is what brought me into the Church, but it has been a while since I've actually thought much about it as it relates to life in the Church, unfortunately, and it's been a wonderful reminder. (Thank you, Fred, for the suggestion.)

The second book is about evolution, which you may have deduced from its title. It's actually quite good, if you like learning about evolution, but the author does make the mistake (in my opinion) of sometimes pushing his science into his metaphysics. But maybe he backs off later in the book. We'll see.

We had the entire week off, due to the snow and ice. Monday is MLK Jr. Day which gives us a grand total of 10 days. A little ice age, or at least a secondary Christmas break. Which means, likely, that we will get very little of our spring break. C'est la vie. That's what happens, and how it happens, in the South.

Anna turns 10 on Monday. What a beautiful girl. Looking forward to having the day off with the family. Because, you know, we haven't had much time together lately.

Snow Days

This is our second day off school here in North Carolina. We had freezing rain last night, though fortunately with no power outage or broken limbs through the roof of the house. The kids will be off Wednesday as well, and, at best, we'll have a two-hour delay on Thursday. Though with the temperatures they're forecasting, my guess is that it will be Friday before any of them see the inside of their school again. Laura has been off too, of course, though with her teaching in a different county what is called off and what is not usually is somewhat of a nail-biter. When she has to be at school and the kids are off, well, that's just not even funny. I get enough of that every summer.

I need to write here more often, but have gotten away from it and have spent more time with small posts via Facebook. But FB doesn't allow one to really write - and no one there really wants to read anything, so I'd like to breathe some life back into this little blog. Though it is hard to get the time to write. After two months, my upstairs computer has come back to life - for some odd reason. Raised from the ashes. I don't know how long she'll last, but I hope it's a long while. I love this old Mac.

Advent's Quiet

Faith Formation (CCD) was quite nice yesterday. We were decorating Christmas boxes (filled with notes of what we were and would be giving to Christ this season) for an Advent presentation next weekend. And while we decorated, we talked about whatever came up. We talked about God and science, about what it meant to be Catholic and Christian and how to handle others not believing we believe. The subject matter went wherever the kids took it, and it was a beautiful little conversation. Some expressed how they wished our parish had a youth program and that some were involved in Protestant youth groups because of our lack. It was a good class.

Youth need times like these to try to find answers to questions they have or about which they are curious. Something less formal. I try to incorporate some of this in every class, but other lessons must be gotten through as well.

How do we properly catechize our youth when our catechetical programs end just as our children are getting to be of the age to fall in love with their God? Some of the push back I've received is that some suppose none would show up when they didn't have something like Confirmation to "hold over" them (which is another problem in and of itself). But while we would love 100% attendance, it would be meaningful for those who need to be there to be there. And other church groups have more than proven the possibilities and merits of such programs. Catechesis - learning - doesn't end when we're 14, but some of our 14-year-olds don't know that because our very program seems to suggest otherwise. You don't graduate from walking with the Spirit and growing in grace. And sometimes you just need to know that others are present when you need them.

Go to Mass or Go to Hell

This week we had a holy day of obligation in the Catholic Church: the feast of the Immaculate Conception. A holy day requires those of us who are Catholic to attend Mass/Liturgy if possible. The penalty for not attending is, well, hell.

Sort of. I mean we are given the sacrament of Reconciliation or Confession to prevent such an undesirable arrangement, but missing for no good reason is considered a grave/mortal sin. I'm not a big fan of grave sin, or at least not the definition of it. It makes our spirituality too much an exercise in accounting. Now I understand and appreciate its intention. I understand how the Church tries to instruct and nurture us as she is, our mother. I understand that the Church is pointing to the Liturgy as an encounter with Christ - the encounter with Christ. I understand that the Church is saying that it is a great good, and that your missing (for no good reason) reveals some disorder in your heart. And I agree. But most Catholics come away from the doctrine with the idea - feel this way even if they don't intellectually view it as such - that if you commit a grave sin, and then get hit by a train, you go to hell.

This is shocking, for some. Legalistic for others. For myself, I'd rather be treated as an adult than a child. Obligating my presence on pains of hell helps no one. Labeling something such as this as grave sin (with eternal consequences) obliterates our ability to understand the Fatherhood of God. It strips away faithfulness and friendship and abiding in Christ, and he in us, and exchanges it for a legal system, juridical. Sometimes it is better to understand sin as a bent rather than an individual act. It can be better seen, often, as a revelation of the heart or a way of being, and not simply a slip or fall. When I sin gravely, and I do, it is a sign of my weakness and of my need. I have never not desired reconciliation with God (thanks be to God!) - and this is his grace working in me. But he is faithful even when we are faithless, because, as the Scriptures say, he cannot deny himself.

I'm not saying that one should get a pass on murder if it's a one-time kind of thing. But skipping one Mass is not an objective evil (other than, possibly, because of one's disobedience to the Church). How could it be since Mass was not always required? It is, however, an intrinsic good and we should be exhorted to make ourselves present to God, to receive him in Word and in Mystery/Sacrament. Missing Mass regularly is your exclusion of yourself from God. (Of course, I'm speaking to Catholics here.) This is death, or mortal/grave sin.

We need to better understand our sin and how it affects us. I don't think defining missing Mass as a grave sin, as the Church does - with its consequences - to be particularly helpful. Stripping away the "on pains of hell" can be helpful, as it helps me better understand sin in the midst of our disordered culture. The instruction is important; the call to conversion is important.

God is love. Does his being love strip away from me the need for the sacrament of Reconciliation? Hardly. God is life. I can and do separate myself from him, but the fact that I present myself before him for Reconciliation shows his grace working in me. His presence is constant, immediate - there is never a time that I need to get his attention. He calls and we must answer, because there is no where else to go. No better place. God is not angry with us. But sometimes we become angry with him. Sometimes we are faithless. This does not change God, but it does change us. And this is why Reconciliation/Confession is so important. Because it heals our infirmities.

Push back if you would. I understand my disagreement is problematic, but I think the Church can do better. What do you think? What am I misunderstanding?

Gulo Gulo

I watched PBS's Nature last night. The program was "Wolverine: Chasing the Phantom." And among the many amazing things they said concerning this marvelous creature was its Latin name: Gulo gulo. The name means "glutton glutton." And I've been thinking about gluttony since and it seems to me right that the Desert Fathers thought of it as the heart of our sin - the first sin is a sin of gluttony and all sin flows forth from it. (Pride, C.S. Lewis - I hear you.) This is why fasting is of such paramount importance to the Fathers and the Orthodox even still. Fasting undoes the first sin. Now, I am not real big on fasting. (Whereas feasting is spirituality I can dig in to.)I wrestle with my gluttony, my avarice toward all things - consumption, gluttony, seems to be the prize of American culture and any limit imposed on it is flatly rejected (though more precisely any limit imposed from without rather than freely taken on by oneself). There is no true freedom in accumulation - more for the sake of more. (See Jonathan Franzen's Freedom.) My dog is a picture of my heart. She is a voracious, out-of-control scavenger. At times, ratlike. My cats are also this way. Especially the semi-feral cat. You have to pull Francis out of his food just to finish pouring it. There is no contentment, no rest. So it is with our hearts. This is why it is so important to share, to give alms. To say No to self in order to say Yes to my neighbor. To suppress the gulo gulo in each of us.

This is also part of the beauty and hardship of living generously in a large family, I might add. Twelve Popsicles mean two apiece. Maybe. Probably not, though, because Daddy might give some out to the little ones at home while the bigger ones are learning about landforms. And then there aren't enough Popsicles for everyone. And if there aren't enough for everyone, then nobody gets one. It's hard. But it is also blessing. It helps us form godliness and love within us. And it's hard.

It is like this in our world. We are a large family, and we must share. Because so many are without clean water and food. So many are dying while we become Mayors of our favorite restaurants. While we become fat. While we hoard and fill our barns. And build bigger barns. May God have mercy on us; that we might draw near to him, who pours himself out freely and unreservedly to all.