Cures from Pope Withdrawal

I’m sure I’m not the only girl who wished that our Holy Father turned around on the airplane steps and decided to spend a few more days with his American flock.

Here are some site for those who are also suffering from Pope Withdrawal.

A nice summary of the NYC Mass, which also happens to have call toward “obedience.”

Two thoughtful reviews of the pope’s visit from the NY Times. A call for use to take our faith more seriously and a call to hold up a mirror to our own lives.

A sweet follow-up to the pope’s sweet kiss.

What are your favorite links?

Obedience

"If you love me, you will keep my commandments." John 14:15

From Daily Homily of Father John:

"Obedience is proof of love. And love motivates obedience. Jesus tells us that if we love him, we will keep all of his commandments. Anyone who tells you that they love Jesus, but don't follow his commandments, is a liar. That's a pretty strong word, "liar." Yet that is what Jesus tells us plainly."

As further proof that the Eucharist is "real", the girl who practically wrote her history thesis on civil disobedience and made a living off of being argumentative, is now facinated by the virtue of obedience. I can't get this obedience quest out of my head.

Today, while listening to this homily, I thought of how furious it makes me when my kids willfully disobey me. Sometimes, it's frustrating because they put themselves in clear danger, such as running out into the street without holding an adult's hand. Othertimes, I thought disobedience was simply annoying, such as when the 5 year old needs three promptings, instead of just one, to set the table. I never thought of equating disobedience with a lack of love. Yet, isn't that a small part of my frustration? If you loved me, you'd do what I tell you. The first time. With a cheerful heart.

Applying the same standard to myself, I can see where my deep love for my husband should motivate me to obey him. If I find it so difficult to "obey" a flesh and blood guy who makes "reasonable" requests, how can I claim to easily obey a more abstract Father in Heaven who asks "unreasonable" things, like keep my temper each day after five years of nights with little to no patches of uninterupted sleep? If I don't yet have a great understanding of Jesus, isn't due to my own failure to follow his commandments? Jesus has promised to reveal himself perfectly to those that perfectly follow his Father's commandments. Since I'm way off on the "meek shall inherit the earth" request, how can I "demand" to have a better understanding of the mystery of the Eucharist?

Just some thoughts on my mind after Daily Mass and a wonderful visit with our Holy Father. There are many mysteries left in Catholicism for me. Todays tasks are more clear. Get started down the obedience path. Give thanks for my husband and children who are my "cliff notes" on the faith. Jesus is the Way and the Truth and the Life. Once I start to follow him in earnest, all the surrounding vagueness about the Resurrection will clear up for me.

Stained Glass Window Reflection

From The Pope's Homily at St. Partick's Cathedral

I would like to draw your attention to a few aspects of this beautiful structure which I think can serve as a starting point for a reflection on our particular vocations within the unity of the Mystical Body.

The first has to do with the stained glass windows, which flood the interior with mystic light. From the outside, those windows are dark, heavy, even dreary. But once one enters the church, they suddenly come alive; reflecting the light passing through them, they reveal all their splendor. Many writers – here in America we can think of Nathaniel Hawthorne – have used the image of stained glass to illustrate the mystery of the Church herself. It is only from the inside, from the experience of faith and ecclesial life, that we see the Church as she truly is: flooded with grace, resplendent in beauty, adorned by the manifold gifts of the Spirit. It follows that we, who live the life of grace within the Church’s communion, are called to draw all people into this mystery of light.

This is no easy task in a world which can tend to look at the Church, like those stained glass windows, “from the outside”: a world which deeply senses a need for spirituality, yet finds it difficult to “enter into” the mystery of the Church. Even for those of us within, the light of faith can be dimmed by routine, and the splendor of the Church obscured by the sins and weaknesses of her members. It can be dimmed too, by the obstacles encountered in a society which sometimes seems to have forgotten God and to resent even the most elementary demands of Christian morality. You, who have devoted your lives to bearing witness to the love of Christ and the building up of his Body, know from your daily contact with the world around us how tempting it is at times to give way to frustration, disappointment and even pessimism about the future. In a word, it is not always easy to see the light of the Spirit all about us, the splendor of the Risen Lord illuminating our lives and instilling renewed hope in his victory over the world (cf. Jn 16:33).

Yet the word of God reminds us that, in faith, we see the heavens opened, and the grace of the Holy Spirit lighting up the Church and bringing sure hope to our world. “O Lord, my God,” the Psalmist sings, “when you send forth your spirit, they are created, and you renew the face of the earth” (Ps 104:30). These words evoke the first creation, when the Spirit of God hovered over the deep (cf. Gen 1:2). And they look forward to the new creation, at Pentecost, when the Holy Spirit descended upon the Apostles and established the Church as the first fruits of a redeemed humanity (cf. Jn 20:22-23). These words summon us to ever deeper faith in God’s infinite power to transform every human situation, to create life from death, and to light up even the darkest night. And they make us think of another magnificent phrase of Saint Irenaeus: “where the Church is, there is the Spirit of God; where the Spirit of God is, there is the Church and all grace” (Adv. Haer. III, 24, 1).

Coming In under the Flag of the Holy See

My tears at the sight of our Holy Father yesterday came from the recognition that I’ve spent most of my thirty-three years without his guidance & protection. As a baptized Christian, I’ve always been loved and prayed over since my birth by each successor to the Chair of Saint Peter. The “block” on following the Pope was entirely my own.

I come from a line of rebels that stretch back 450 years. An Irish Protestant ancestor signed a petition demanding that King Henry VIII break with the Catholic Church back in 1520. King Henry, spurred on by lust & a desire for an illicit divorce, fell into the “pride” trap that he could create a more pure religion without the Pope. He started “The Church of England,” which had the same Mass minus that pesky oversight of the Vicar of Christ.

I got baptized and raised in a reform movement of the Anglican Church, called the Methodist Church. My church experience as a young girl was loving & sweet, if a bit “vague.” We had communion. We had “ministers” who wore the same collar as a priest. We said the Apostle’s Creed which recognized “one catholic church.” But we definitely weren’t Catholic! That was sort of the guiding principle of our form of Protestantism, “we weren’t under Rome.”

How we grew up to hate the Pope. I didn’t think of the Church as the “whore of Babaylon” but I had a definite distaste for all thing Roman Catholic. All those unnecessary ornaments on the church walls—things that detracted from my “pure” contemplation of Jesus. That weird insistence on confession before a priest, I could go straight to Jesus for forgiveness anytime I wanted to! And the horror, oh the horror, of letting some guy in Rome dictate what I should and should not believe. Who was he? Why should I listen to him?

When I started RICA in response to this hard to define, yet insistent notion after my marriage that I should “figure out this religion that my future kids will be raised in,” I sat tensely in my chair during my first class. All of the people around the table introduced themselves one by one. Each spoke of a strong, strong urge to become a Catholic. “Well, that is not me!” I thought. “I’m quite happy being a Methodist!” and I mentally rattled off three major breaks with the Catholic Church, “worship of Mary, denial of birth control and following those “made up” doctrines of the Pope, such as Mary’s lasting virginity and her immaculate conception.” (Here’s where I pause to encourage readers of my blog to laugh out loud, since I’m now a devoted Pro-lifer, consecrated to Our Lady, love to worship at the Shrine of the Immaculate Conception, and just started crying after seeing our Holy Father!)

One by one, the loving Sister who ran my RICA class showed me that the “Church of Rome” I had divorced myself so completely, barred little resemblance to the actual Catholic Church. I found that everything I had learned about Jesus was embraced in my new church. Yet at the same time, there were so many more spiritual wonders to embrace and contemplate. The rosary drew me closer to Jesus. The Eucharist carried me along the river of grace without my puny efforts to paddle myself. The sacrament of Marriage made my own commitment to my husband more certain, more secure since it no longer held the possibility to “divorce” when times got too tough.

A few months before Easter Vigil, I found myself ready to convert—except for the Pope question. Why should I have to listen to him? I hadn’t answered my inbred skepticism by drenching myself into the teachings of Church on the seat of Saint Peter. Peter wasn’t really a “saint” to me yet. I’d read the bible before, that didn’t answer any Pope’s legitimacy questions. To my Protestant eyes, Peter was just one of the gang of twelve. The whole apostles were just “tag-alongs” to Jesus during his ministry. We were all called now to be “disciples” of Christ. Why didn’t we get an equal say in how the church was governed. After all, isn’t democracy a good thing?

During my time in RCIA, my husband and I were living nine hours apart. Jon was in his final months of a masters program in Rochester, New York. Like a fool, I had decided that I couldn’t abandon my important “saving a small corner of Appalachia” job to follow my husband to on a temporary grad school quest. As a result of my foolish stubbornness, I gave myself room to work out my new feelings towards Catholicism entirely on my own. I also made it incredibly stressful on my husband who faced all the overwhelming tasks of his final thesis with a roommate, instead of a wife.

By February, we had both realized that this “living as devoted husband and wife, just in different states for nine months” was an incredibly stupid idea. Jon hated sleeping alone. I hated not being able to make him a cup of tea & rub his feet after a ten-hour shift doing thesis work. To compensate for our misery, I drove to Rochester with our three dogs every two weeks. Jon vowed to spend the entire visit outside of his computer lab. We’d rent a hotel room and play house. Each Saturday we’d take a drive into the country and then watch double features at our favorite “artsy” movie theater. On Sunday afternoon, I’d get back into my car and start the next 13 day count-down until we could be a family again.

During one of these February movie theater trips, I suggest that we watch “Witness to Hope.” I walked into that movie thinking it would just be one of the many documentaries we had consumed that winter. I walked out of that movie theater shaking and crying. I remember that I was so shaken afterwards that Jon couldn’t take us to Spot Coffee, our usual post-movie hang out. I had no idea that Jon Paul II suffered so acutely under the Natzi Regime. The story about how his fellow forced quary laborers would cover for “Karol” so that he could have time to read theology moved me. I made Jon buy me a copy of “Witness to Hope.”

When we finally reach “The Pope” a few weeks later in my RICA class, I made a silent decision of conversion in my heart. “I don’t know about the Papacy in general. I’m not sure about those “from the chair” statements. But I do know this Pope and I’ll gladly follow such a holy, devout man.”

I joined the church at Easter Vigil 2002. I joined the year of the priest scandals (which didn’t phase me but did give great hope to my RICA leader and new parish home.) John Paul II is “my pope.” He was an artist, like me. He was a world-traveler and a man of great faith and great charisma. He is the Pope under which I gladly decided to live in obedience under his gentle direction.

Pope Benedict is also “my Pope”. He is the gentle, humble presence that made me devote myself not to the “man” who is the Pope, but to the Papacy itself. I love Pope Benedict for his intelligence, his clear, concise writings, his focus & love of his priestly duties. Yet Pope Benedict himself helped me to trust that the Holy Spirit guides the selection of each Pope as one who is truly "God's Choice" for each moment in church history. I’ve come to adore that fact that we still have a “Chair of Saint Peter” 2,000 years after Christ. I love that we are protected from the current splintering of the Anglican church. I love that in this confusing, chaotic post-modern shred of Christianity, I can easily tune my ear to hear the call of our “one Shepard” on earth. I’m a lost sheep of Christ, who finally found my true Shepard. I’m so grateful to two Popes, best-friends in real life, who helped me happily commit myself to the banner of the Holy See.

The Pope & Me

The Papal Mass had extraordinary moments and ordinary moments. I'm blessed to have both.

Extraordinary moments:

Holding my five-year old daughter in the air as she frantically waved a huge Vatican flag towards our Holy Father in his Popemobile. The Popemobile slowed and the Holy Father leaned out of the widow to bless our section of the crowd before the start of the Papal Mass. Seeing our Holy Father, unobstructed, shook my soul. The full force of my conversion to Catholicism hit me at once. I realized what grace it was to come home to the church, to greet the Holy Father in a reverent manner, and how it was because of me & my struggle in the faith, that my little daughter can laugh so happily under the flag of the Holy See.

It was extraordinary to ride the Metro at 6 AM this morning. First, as Anne Maria pointed out, we used a special Metro card with the key of Saint Peter. Second, we ran into my spiritual director, Father Jaffee, at the start of our trip. He gave us a happy blessing to start out our day. Third, it was just amazing to watch all these little groups of Catholics (we were the only one's headed into the city so early) grow and grow until we ran into a subway train filled to maxium capacity with priests, religious, and cheerful laity. We had to let 3 subway trains pass before we found space for our family of 4! While we were waiting, Hannah & I kept singing "This Train is Bound For Glory". We then reversed the process coming home from Mass. First there was the crush of fellow Catholics on the Metro and slowly it dispersed to fewer and fewer among the regular business folk and tourists.

Watching the dignified priests and bishops act like "little boys" during their walk to the alter. A group of bishops had to host up an elderly bishop, who had a cane, out of the dug-out entrance & it went right to my heart. First, because the bishop was walking a long way with difficulty out of such love for us and the Pope. Second, something about how they accomplished this task made them look like happy little boys, instead of serious, dull bishops. I caught their joy at being in such intimate contact with the Pope and the holiday feeling of such an occassion. After the Mass ended, the young priests on the edge of the baseball field, ran, without any dignity in their long white robes, they just ran as fast as possible to get a better view of the Pope before he exited the Stadium. I'm probably not describing it well, but the enthusiam and tenderness of the clergy for the Pope was so evident. As the mother of a squirrely young boy who spends many, many moments in the naughty chair-it gave me such hope to imagine my son tripping over his white alb in a race to say a last goodbye to our Holy Father.

Praying the Our Father with 500 members of my church and being surrounded by 45,500 other Catholics.

I put real pink roses in Hannah's hair and she made so many adults smile. The hot, hot sun made the kids sleep all through the homily. I got to truly drink in our Pope's words. Sitting with Jon, while we both held sleeping children, when our Holy Father sincerely thanked parents for their role in passing on the faith, was an extraordinary moment.

Ordinary Moments,

One of the biggest surprises for me was the "ordinariness" of the Papal Mass. For that fact, I'm so grateful. The Pope prayed my English liturgy. We sang many of the same songs I sing in my choir. My kids got restless during the same prayers. The Eucharist tasted the same. I can't tell you what an amazing pleasure it was to know that the Holy Father's Mass, with the exception of having Hymns led by Opera Stars, is much the same as I experience each day in my church. The Easter Candle is the same. The prayers of the faithful are the same. The Eucharist is the exact same. (In fact, I had a little envy watching people on the scoreboard take their communion directly from the Pope. "How cool would that have been?" I thought. Then my next thought was "The Eucharist would taste the same!")

That last sentance is a miracle to me. The Eucharist always tastes the same. For a girl who grew up on Protestent services which tended to vary a lot from Sunday to Sunday, the fact that the Holy Father presided over a similar Mass to the one I attended in my little parish church on Wednesday morning is breath-taking. Sitting in that huge crowd, I "got it." Each of us, in our humble way, in our tiny domestic churches, in our small parishes, are part of the world wide Roman Catholic church. Each Sunday, as I sit in my little church with it's wooden roof and rotten acoustics, I'm directly participating in the same Mass as happens under Michelango's Sistene Chapel. The Eucharist is the same, which means that each time that I receive, I can walk away with all the graces and uplifted spirit which accompanies as Papal Mass. This is what it means to "receive" the sacarment of the Eucharist. I'm so blessed to have been called to sup at Our Lord's Table.

I wish you all a blessed and holy day!

Papal Mass

Tomorrow morning at 10 AM, I'll be among the crowd of 45,000 faithful at the Papal Mass. I'll be praying for each of you and your intentions. Thank you to everyone who has read this blog and helped me on my walk towards God's grace!

Preparation

I had my little sketch of what this week was supposed to be, intensive prayer, reading and teaching about the Servant of the Servant of God. I meant to reread Spe Salvi with a highlighter and make notes on the margins. I meant to get through Jesus of Nazareth & share my insights with my husband. I meant to drink orange soda pop with the kids, decorate our front door with "Welcome Pope Benedict Signs", and read "Joseph and Chico".

Then on Monday night, around 8 PM my homelife feel apart. A neighbor two floors above us called her son, instead of our apartment's maintenance man, for help when a pipe burst in her house at 7 PM. By 7:45 PM, Jon noticed that the sprinkler over our washing machine was leaking. He put a bucket under it and continued to put our kids to bed. When he called for me to check with the maintenance guys, it was 7:55 PM. We sat in a mixture of fear and facination as leak after leak exploded in the front half of our apartment and six inches of water poured into our entry way, our laundry room and our kids room. Jon and I frantically moved all of the kid's furniture, toys and photos further and further back into our apartment as the soaked carpet stain grew and grew. The maintenance guys shut off the water at 8:35 PM. It was only 40 minutes, not 40 days, but we still felt like Noah.

Unfortunately, I did not have the faith of Noah. Instead of praying for strength and sensibly thanking the Lord that no one was injured and not even a child's horse poster was ruined, I started to whine: "I just finished spring cleaning, now look at this choas! Every surface of our living room is crowded with dangerous items and I can't even get to the kitchen to make a snack. How am I supposed to handle breakfast tomorrow? How am I supposed to get through tomorrow with 3 cranky kids and no place for them to nap? Why did this have to happen during this MOST important week of our Holy Father's visit!"

Tuesday, I woke up and felt like I had been run over by a train. I fought with Jon (who thankfully is a calm optimist during all such crisis), I fought with our kids, I fought with the baby who didn't sleep, and I fought with our apartment manager. My low point was flinging myself before Jesus during Adoration, saying "you have to help me!" and hearing the back door of the chapel bang open. The three year old had escaped during my 30 second prayer, flung open two sets of chapel doors and had his hand on the last door needed to exit the building. I flung my kid on his rear end, shoved him up against the wall and barked "NO! NO! NO!" three times in his face. As I'm yelling so loud that spit is flying into my son's eyeballs, I think "Jesus is watching right now. I'm bullying my kid because he won't let me do a few minutes of uninterrupted Adoration." I had about a half-second of clarity on this situation but then I went right back to "I REALLY need to pray right now, and you never listen to me, and I so need you to learn obedience RIGHT NOW."

Yikes! The cringes I'm going to have when Jesus reruns my life for me at the end of time.

Thankfully, I did get something out of my non-restful time at Adoration. I made it to the Bascilica of the Immaculate Conception. There we were surrounded by clouds of human kindness. A parking lot attendant pushed up my stroller "Chitty Bang Bang", loaded with 3 heavy kids, up the steep hill to the main entrance. We met lots of smiling priests and nuns. We bought rosarys for the Pope to bless and a shiny new copy of Joseph & Chico. We ate red jello and chocolate pudding. Everyone was so happy and shiny. We joined in the good will and wished everyone a blessed time during their visit with the Pope.

We were hot and tired when we drove home, but happy. The kids couldn't wait to read their new book, Maria couldn't wait to nurse and I couldn't wait to take a nap. We walked home and discovered that the repair guys had not replaced the carpet. It was ripped up, nails exposed in almost every room. Huge (read dangerous for small hands) fans were blowing in each room. The entire house smelled like mildew remover.

I watched the Pope's plane land in the middle of my non-fruitful discussion with our apartment manager.

Suddenly, it just didn't seem worth it to fight for a hotel room voucher anymore. Our Holy Father was here. Everything else seemed like small potatos. That's when I remembered that the upstairs neighbor, the one with the former leak, was also a former Catholic. I know this because her son, who is also a former Catholic, attempts to convert my husband to Scientology everytime they walk their dogs together. I don't know what the possible spiritual metaphor is for Monday's flood, but if it's going to get her to take a second look at our Holy Father during a time of trial in her own life, I'm all for offering up my suffering.

Today, we made Daily Mass as a family & ate the Eucharist. We drank our orange soda & we sang "Happy Birthday." The kids learned about our Holy Father's love for a little tabby cat named Chico. I'm feeling prepared for my first Papal Mass. My preparation has little to do with clean clothes for tomorrow's church service. Last Sunday, I thought I could make myself, my spouse and my children "ready" to hear our Pope. Jesus showed me the best way to hear his good friend, however, is to humbly acknowledge my own weakness and be "ready" to receive the message that "Christ is our hope!"

The Pope is Almost Here!

Are you ready? Get your heart and your children's hearts ready tonight! Here are some wonderful resources.

Did you know that the Pope's favorite drink is orange soda? Do you know why our Pope chose to place a bear with a backpack on his papal seal? Check out fun facts, papal coloring pages and more at this site. ht: Cottage Blessings

There is still time to read Spe Salvi before Thursday's Mass homily. To find a copy of "Christ is our Hope" along with an excellent study guide,click here.

My parish is participating in a "Hunger to Hope" Food drive. The goal is to fill up the area food banks in honor of the Pope's visit. Even more importantly, we registered for a "Spiritual Bouquet" in honor of the Pope's visit. Catholics pledged to do a certain number of any of the following acts: Attend Daily Mass, Spend time in Adoration, read Scripture for at least 10 mins, pray alone, pray as a family, offer up Holy Communion, help the poor, etc. A letter containing the total number of each act will be forwarded to the Vatican Embassy. You don't have to be in D.C. or NYC to join in these beautiful acts of homage to our Holy Father.

The Pope needs our prayers! Please pray for the conversion of hearts by the hears of his message. We should also pray for his safety and his health during his visit to the United States. (There are intended protests/disruptions of all of his public speeches.) Good times to pray for specific intentions during his trip to D.C.:

Tuesday: The Pope lands on US Soil
Wednesday: The Pope celebrates his 81 birthday & meets with the President of the United States
Thursday: The Pope celebrates his First Public Mass around 10 AM.

History of the Cherry Trees

For the last few weeks, we Washingtonians have taken delight in the National Cherry Blossom Festival. As a gesture of friendship, Japan donated 3,200 cherry trees to plant along the Potomac River. Each Spring, the trees explode in pink fireworks.

Imagine my surprise to find that all of this natural beauty and international goodwill is due to two American women, Mrs. Eliza Schidmore and First Lady Helen Taft. Mrs. Schidmore came up with the idea of planting cherry trees along the streets of Washington D.C. after a visit to Japan in 1885. It took Mrs. Schidmore 24 years of persistent letter writing before she found a sympathic heart for in her project, in none other than the First Lady of the United States of America! Mrs. Taft had once lived in Japan and was familiar with the beauty of flowering cherry trees.

In 1909, the First Lady and Mrs. Schidmore asked the nation of Japan to donate a few trees to their joint "cherry tree" project. Japan eventually gave over three thousand as a gesture of goodwill. The cherry trees have survied the hostilities of two World Wars (vandals chopped down four cherry trees in WWII, so the trees had to be renamed "Oriental" Trees for the rest of the conflict) and now stand once again, as a lasting tribute to beauty & international-friendship.

Now when I look at the cherry trees, I'll also be contemplating the virtue of patience. Could I develop a smidgen of Mrs. Schidmore's patience and keep sending polite, persistent letters for 24 years until my words reach the ears of the right person? Or am I going to remain the girl who gives up after two notes go unanswered?

Read the whole story here.

Food for Thought II

To prepare for the upcoming Papal Mass, I'm working on getting the concept of transubstantiation into my heart. This week I took my family every day to 6:30 AM Daily Mass. (A special thank you to my five year old, who loves to sleep late, and who requested an actual cup of coffee at our 7:15 breakfast. To my surprise, she drained her cup.) I went Adoration for a half hour last night after having an inspring talk with my sister who is thinking about attending a Catholic Church. My reward for hours of lost sleep came with a real nugget of understanding of the Eucharist during today's homily by Father Brennan:

"Today's Scripture reading shocked its first Jewish audience. Jesus said "unless you eat of my body and drink my blood, you cannot have eternal life." The Jewish religion provided no preparation for such a message. It sounded like cannibalism or even worse.

I often think what a grace it is that Jesus left the wine and the bread in their same outward appearance after he turns it into his body and blood. How many of us could bear to eat at the Table of the Eucharist if we could see and taste the actual blood and body of Christ?"

I never thought of the Eucharist in that way. I always thought of transubstantiation as an abstract "test." A rather hard one at that. Can you have enough "faith" to believe in something that tastes & smells exactly the same as "regular" bread and wine? I never thought of it as a way of Jesus himself being humble and gentle with us skittish humans. Our Lord comes to us in a gentle form so that it is as gentle as possible for us to eat at his table.

Sort of like the bananas I'm currently mashing for Baby Maria. Or the way my husband showed up in my life. Not with frightening fireworks or the great trumpet blare of "This is your future Spouse." Instead, Jon's unique presence announced itself through a comfortable feeling that came over my heart as we first chatted over a Starbuck's coffee cup.

In Praise of Life

I've been missing the son I lost in a miscarriage pretty acutely lately. Maria's just taught herself how to crawl. Every time I see her peak out from a corner, or hustle down the hallway to catch up with her brother and sister, I smile. A 16 year old with a new car license could not be more joyful than she is to finally be "on the move". Sometimes, I'll also get a little heart-stab; "We were supposed to have a walker by this time." (Francisco would have been 16 months old this April).

This past weekend, I stopped by Francisco gravesite with my husband. Usually my visits with the kids are pretty upbeat and sweet. The kids will drop off new toys at the gravesite, say tender prayers and then run around counting all the crosses and "Mommy Mary" Statutes. This time, however, I stood quietly beside my husband and felt too sad to squeak out much of a Hail Mary. Our child's precious body is gone from my womb, buried under a flab of earth until the end of time.

I'm in the midst of mourning again, a full three months before the actual "anniversary date" which hits me hard each July. Instead of feeling foolish, I'm letting it out. I decided to buy Francisco the new statute which is pictured above. When I see this statue in my kitchen, it reminds me to pray for myself and for so many women in similar pain, for Minnesota Mom who's carrying a baby after 3 miscarriages, & for a dear friend who is struggling to conceive for the first time.

My prayers must be working because this week I've received tons of graces. I had the unique joy of hearing Father Francisco say Daily Mass this morning. I recieved an email with a link to this wonderful"post". Please stop by and tell Katherine Ann's mother that you'll pray for her. Then write your own "How I Became Pro Life" post & link it to Anne Marie's wonderful blog!

Food for Thought

Daily Homily from Father Francisco

“I explained to the children during their Confirmation retreat a few days ago about the twin sins of pride and laziness. These sins often go together. The proud man is surprised that he makes mistakes. He thinks God should make him good because of his own good works, because of his own merit.

A lazy person is not just someone who sits on the couch all day watching TV. A lazy person is also the person rushing around, the person doing many, many things, the person who is always running, running, running. Our society is always running, running, running. We don’t want to sit and think. We don’t want to ask deep questions. We don’t want to watch suffering and struggle straight in the face. So we rush around doing many things, none of them well, instead of taking time to do one thing well for Jesus.

The remedy for pride, according to St. Bernard, is humility. The man who has humility is not surprised that he makes mistakes. He is nothing in himself. He simply takes his mistakes and gives them to Jesus, asking him for mercy.

The remedy for “laziness” is contemplation, stillness. We need to sit still and focus. Then we need to have endurance, and patience. With stillness, endurance and patience we can wait for the Lord. We can stay present and watch all the struggle and suffering in the world turn into redemption.”

These words went straight to my heart today. Father Francisco doesn’t preside over my church’s English Masses very often. He is too busy running the 11 Spanish Masses our church hosts each weekend.

It might just be that he shares an unusual name with my son, but every time I hear him speak, I feel that Father Francisco sort of levitates with goodness. His native language is obviously Spanish, which Father Francisco then translates mentally into Latin and finally English. When you are in the confessional with him you can hear him struggle with the language. As a result, there are these delays, some foreign language terms and then WHAM the English term will come out and go right into your soul. It’s an incredible experience. I remember shaking once after a “I lost my temper again with the children this week. I promised Jesus I’d do better with controlling my anger for Lent and I failed him again and again" confession. Father Francisco answered me with the most pure voice in slow words “Jesus . . . comes . . . for sinners. We… must . . . have. hope!”

This homily about pride and sloth hit home. I realize that my perfectionism is a real hang-up. In Father Francisco’s words, I’m still “surprised” that I lose my temper with my kids. I’m still surprised that I forget to say my daily St. Louis de Monfort prayers. I’m surprised that I feel uncharitable and unforgiving of my neighbor. I need to let go off the “how could I mess up again when I’m trying to be such a good Catholic, what is wrong with me?” thoughts. Those thoughts are just pride taking the reigns again.

As for laziness, right now the “rushing frantically from one activity to another” is my biggest problem as a stay-at-home mother. My kids are still young, so we don’t even use the car most days. Still, I’m moving from one emergency to the other, one cup of milk request to another, one load of laundry to the next without working on those precious virtues of contemplation, endurance, and patience.

Today, the Eucharist was working. When my son did this awful thing with a bodily fluid that is too gross to mention on the Internet, I started to freak out. I started to think “poor me.” Why did his accident happen just as Hannah and I were making good progress on her writing skills? When am I going to get some time out of my day to get some REAL work done?

Then as I got out the steam cleaner, I started talking to Saint Bernadette in my imagination. If Saint Bernadette were with me, she’d tell me to stop being so upset. She’d tell me that as servants of Mary, all work is equal. Cleaning up after my son’s potty accident is no less important that teaching my daughter how to make a Welcome Pope Benedict sign. I imagined her exclaiming about what a wonderful invention the steam cleaner is, how light my housework is compared to work in her time period. I started mentally thanking my mother-in-law who knew that a deluxe steam-cleaner was the perfect Christmas present for a house with several small children and a dog. A little chat with my favorite Saint turned my mental thoughts right around.

I hope all of you are finding good spiritual food during this Easter Season.

Papal Mass

The Benjamin Family got tickets to see the Papal Mass on April 17th! We won four tickets through our parish lottery today. (I put in our request yesterday, on the feast of my consecration to Mary). We are so excited. Please pray for us. In return, we will happily pray for you. Please leave any prayer requests on the comments below or send a note to my email account.

Prayer Request

J. Colliver, The Annunciation

On Monday, the Feast of the Annunciation, I'm finishing my consecration to our Blessed Mother. Please pray for me!

So Close, Yet So Far

Divine Mercy Sunday found us doing a corporal act of Mercy. My grandfather (age 92) recently suffered a stroke while visiting his only child, my mother. On Friday night, we packed up all the kids & our dog to make "a visit to the sick."

After hearing dire reports of Grandpa's health, I was shocked to wake up late Saturday morning to find him happily clapping along to the latest Easter song that Hannah was currently composing on Mom's piano. He was the same lively Great-Grandfather that the kids have enjoyed for years. His few physical limitations hadn't affected his warm spirit or kind heart.

As a result of the visit, I found myself at my hometown Methodist church for the first time in five years. Jon & I took the kids to Catholic Mass at 9 AM. After coffee & donut hour, I still had time to hit a 10:30 United Methodist Church Service with my parents. I'd stopped going to double services whenever I came home after Alex's birth. Today, Jon said he'd happily handle all three kids so that I could sit with my family unaccompanied.

Going back to my original church home, felt warm and comfortable at first. My Dad and Grandfather were busy debating politics in the adult Sunday School Class when I first entered the church. So I stopped by the basement to say hello to my Mom who was busy cooking the "free monthly brunch" for college students. After being introduced to new minister's wife, I went upstairs to help guide my grandfather to his seat. (The stroke gave him some trouble walking.) I cheerfully said hello to my friends of my parents who have known me almost 20 years.

Once I walked into the church, things started to feel a little weird. There was no tabernacle, no holy water, no statutes of our Blessed Mother. The cross was barren, no picture of Jesus, no stations of the cross nor stain glass windows of the saints. I realized that it was impossible to kneel in the closely packed pews. I sort of brushed past these initial shocks in my eagerness to be back "home."

Today is the 33 year anniversary of the Day that I was Baptized. My parents were graduate students when I was born and not regularily attending any church. So I got baptized at my grandparent's church, Fairlington United Methodist Church in Alexandria, Virginia. My grandparents have attended this church for over 50 years. My parents got married in this church. (Ironically, it sits about five blocks from the current church of my regular confessor. I pass by it every Tuesday on my way to Rosary Group.)

I know that I got baptized on March 30, 1975 (at the age of three months) because I recently looked up my baptism card to find out when I can earn an indulgence by repeating my baptismal promises. Today, I found myself in a Methodist Church, sitting beside my grandfather and my father. I mentioned this fact so happily to them before church. I thanked them both so sincerely for having me baptized in the Christian faith.

That was the highlight of church service for me, the rest felt so odd and uncomfortable. The scripture readings were the same as I had heard earlier in Catholic church. The long sermon had a bunch of odd comments and factual inaccuracies. The most painful for me, was experiencing Methodist communion service as a Catholic for the first time. The Methodist use the exact same service as the Catholic Mass. The minister hold's up a glass of grape juice and says "This is the Blood of Christ".
He passes out pieces of bread and says "This is the Body of Christ." Communion is just a symbol, however, there is no transubstantiation. I gasped internally as the choir started singing "this is the blood of Christ," the same hymns I sing as a member of a Catholic Choir.

I've struggled this year with gaining a greater understanding of the Eucharist. I felt attending this church service was such a grace. For almost 28 years, I attented Methodist church services where the words of Mass didn't match the reality of what was being performed. I declined to eat of the table (I was the only one in church, the Methodist table is an open communion, even little children "eat" the bread and drink the cup). I prayed hard for the hearts of all those attending this service. It was a strange feeling, sitting outside the fold. Here were all of these extremely loving people who had surrounded me in my youth. At this service alone there were eight Methodist ministers. These people "worked" so hard at their faith, yet they were missing so many crucial aspects of Scripture, of the Holy Tradition & the Sacraments. Meanwhile, I'm so much more weak, so less intelligent in matters of doctrine --yet each week I'm carried further and further along on the currents of the Eucharist.

I have some more thoughts on this matter, but am feeling tongue tied at the moment.

On this Divine Mercy Sunday, please join my prayer that Christ will soon unite his entire Holy Church into one body.

Advice from a Mom of 12

On Tuesday, my mother’s group had a guest speaker. She introduced herself as a daughter from a family of 14, a mother of 12, and a Harvard graduate. (She said when her people give her a hard time about having a Harvard Degree & then having “all these children” she cheerfully responds “Well, at Harvard they told me to do something big. I became a mother, so I just did that “big!”).

The topic was “Sanctity & Motherhood.” There was so much wisdom dripping from this encounter. Here are a few highlights.

Our purpose as a Catholic is to become a saint. As mothers, we need to grow in virtue. We also need to help our children grow in virtue. She said, that everyone has some virtues that are easy to master, but others that are much harder due to our individual temperament. As parents, our increase in virtue will naturally help our children’s growth in virtue. As the same time, if there is a virtue that doesn’t come easily to you, don’t despair that your children will automatically also fail in that same way. Children lean from watching us struggle with a virtue. Sometimes, we are better teachers when we struggle with something, versus if it always comes easily to us.

For an example, she says she has ADD and constantly struggles with the virtue of “order.” Meanwhile, her son-in-law is a “neat freak.” He will come home and straighten up all the toys during his lunch break, stacking all the grandchildren’s dolls in a row, etc. She says her grandchildren aren’t necessarily learning “order” by having their father always pick up after them. Her own daughter, however, did have to learn “order” by having a Mom who had ADD and frequently “freak out” that the house was in total chaos from having 12 children.

(I thought this makes perfect sense because I’ve discovered that I’m a good Math teacher exactly because I’ve struggled so much in school to understand math concepts. I never thought to translate that concept into modeling virtue before. My hope is that my kids have a better chance at becoming meek by watching their mom struggle to control her temper so often)

Virtues can also be thought of as “age specific.” The virtues that we should be trying to most instill in children under the age of reason (below age 7) are: obedience, order and sincerity. (Having three key virtue goals for my kids will really help me!)

She also had great marriage advice. Just listening to her talk about her husband and their life in general was so inspiring. Right now, I can’t imagine what life would look like with the responsibility of twelve children! But her talk was filled of examples of an ordinary husband and wife, complimenting each other to bring about the tasks of raising a family. (And they must be doing something right because their oldest is a Poor Clare).

Here is some of her marriage advice:

a) Always go to bed at the same time as your husband.
“When his bedroom light goes out, your place is by his side.” I thought this was for “pillow talk” but what she explained was that as women, we are social creatures. We get out companionship & friendship needs met all the time from all different places, with friends, on the phone, on the Internet, chatting with the grocery store clerk. Most men are more the silent, quiet type. That means that during most of the day, they aren’t spilling out their feelings to co-workers. Your husband’s primary outlet for companionship is you, his wife. Husbands don’t even need to chat so much, as physically touch their wives. Going to sleep together at the same time is more important for him, than for you.

b) Always say yes to your husband
(This of course got lots of giggles from my group. Especially when the mom says “we try to follow NFP” and one mom laughed, “Not if you always say yes”)

c) Handing your husband a warm plate of dinner each night is one of the best ways to say, “I love you” (I struggle hard with making dinner with 3 little kids during the “ulcer” hour of 5-6 PM. Her talk inspired me to start looking at dinner as a concrete gift to give my husband instead of one more task in my day, equal to doing the laundry or picking up messy toys)

d) Pray the Divine Office (go Et Tu Jen!)
Get your spiritual needs met, (you can’t give love out unless you constantly feed divine love into your soul) and also encourage your husband to find Catholic friends and to do things that get his spiritual needs met

e) No matter how old or how young, get everyone in your house to take a nap at the same time.

f) Make sure you are getting 3 to 4 hours a day with your husband. Get up at the same time and have breakfast together. Have a solid family dinner hour. Make sure you have an hour of uninterrupted time after the kids go to bed. She also suggested taking the kids often to visit Dad at work. (Her husband is a doctor and she said she often said to her 12 “let’s see if we can catch Dad at the hospital right now.”)

(This prompted an interesting chat in my mother group about fathers and their daily commute. In our area of D.C. a 1 to 2 hour one-way commute is not unusual. This mother said she specifically picked a smaller, more expensive house that was a 4-minute drive to his husband’s workplace so that he could spend more time with his family. This is an issue close to my family’s heart since we are thinking about moving, but hate to give up access to Dad at lunchtime).

Just a few thoughts from a fascinating 1 1/2 hour talk. Have you received any good advice about “sanctity and motherhood” recently?

Happy Birthday Hannah!

Happy 5th Birthday to the girl who got the Benjamin kid party started!

Miniature Adults

The Puritans had a belief that children were "miniature adults." Children were expected to stand through out the family meal (Fathers sat on the family's only chair, Mothers usually sat a rough stool). Children were served their food last and were expected to stay silent unless asked a direct question. After the age of 3, Children were dressed in clothing styles exactly like their parents. They were expected at a young age to be fully purged from original sin.

I'm not sure there is much that I want to import of Puritanical childrearing into my own household, except the most basic premise that "children are miniature adults." This lovely post by Melissa Wiley has me thinking about the virtue of patience and most specifically about the tone in which I use to "correct" my children.

Today was an especially rough Easter Monday in our household. A busy Holy Week at church meant that no one has napped, cleaned or walked the dog according to our usual, humble routine. Stumbling upon Melissa's post this morning helped me shift from a "just grit my teeth to get through this without undoing all of grace Holy Saturday confession just won me" to a more "how can I best bring love and peace to this individual tense moment".

The decision to start treating my children as "miniature adults" came in a mundane setting. The oldest Benjamin children, (which can only happen when two artists decide to commingle their maverick DNA), have decided that they want to always exit from a different car door than they enter. If Alex goes in through the door closest to his car seat then wishes to scramble over his sister to come out through "Dad's door" (the one by the driver's seat). Meanwhile, Hannah wants to enter by the door blocked by Maria's car-seat and exit by "Mommy side" (the front passenger door.)

You can only imagine the headaches that ensue. No matter how quickly I get out of my seat-belt, a kid has beaten me to the other door, hit the parking brake with one foot, and knocked out the baby's pacifier with a flying shoe. Jon & I have tried to clamp down on this dangerous phase with threats, bribery, and a confiscated Willie Wanka Easter Egg. So far, nothing has worked.

This morning, after pulling up to "Party City," I thought about Melissa's post. I took a deep breath and started the fire-exit scramble by gentling picking up the baby. As the older kids were starting the unhitching of their seat belts, I gently opened Alex's door and played the part of the coachman. "Thank you so much for coming out of this door" I gushed. "It makes thing so much easier if I know which side to wait with the baby while you big kids get out. I like being able to open the door for you." Hearing my praise made Hannah turn around mid-scramble and head swiftly out of Alex's open door.

I held the baby in one arm and led a chain of tiny hands effortlessly across a parking lot. It was a small, humble moment. Holding hands with a light heart felt good. "I could do this more often," I thought. Instead of demanding that my kids follow my orders, I could make requests in the same gentleness of tone that I'll use when they turn 30.

Happy Easter

On my sixth anniversary of becoming a Catholic, I had the honor of singing Psalm 16 as a cantor at Easter Vigil Mass. I could list a thousand and one reasons why I'm so grateful for "coming home" after growing up in the hinderlands of Christianity. Here are my top 5, just from Easter Vigil 2008:

1) Watching my priest, hoarse from giving advice & absolution for over 12 hours of confession during Holy Week, say "I'm not in any condition to rasp out a homily this night. I don't think that I need to say one anyway. HE IS RISEN! That is enough, that is everything." (Such a contrast to my years as a Protestant when every preacher used Easter Service to show off their rhetorical skills to a packed house and cram a year's worth of advice into one sermon).

2) Hearing my priest switch to French during the Baptism ceremony. "I didn't know Father Brennan spoke French?" I whispered to my fellow choir member. Turns out that, in addition to becoming more fluent in Spanish, Father took several French study abroad trips in the past three years in order to better serve the new African immigrants (from French speaking countries) who have recently flooded into our parish.

3) Watching the rings get blessed from a couple in Togo who just joined the church. (The understanding of the sacrament of marriage is so holy and unique to the Catholic church.)

4)Watching the newbies take their first communion.

5) Renewing my baptismal vows for a sixth time to renounce the "glamor of evil" then taking the Eucharist with it's multiple graces to make that vow a reality.

Crucifixion

Rogier Van der Weyden (1435)


Pietro Perugino


Greek Icon


Dali (1950)


Mattias Grunewald (1510)


El Greco


Hans Baldung Grien (1484-1545)