April—Eastertide, friendship, spring, gratitude.
April—Eastertide, friendship, spring, gratitude.
We live in a world where innovation is highly valued, disruptive technologies sought after, fresh ideas praised. It is as if what is current is interchangeable with what is important and the only relevant ideas are those which can be captured in a sound bite in the 24 hour news cycle.
There is always the temptation to be on to the next best thing.
This temptation draws us away from the romance of daily life, from rhythms and rituals, and practices as old as the world itself.
The world is old—at least in terms of humanity. (The world is young in terms of the eternal God who made and sustains it.) And the sun rises each day the same way. We can count on the seasons, the ebb and flow of the tides, the days of the week slipping in and out book ended with liturgies and weekend chores.
There is this sameness about the world—despite cars that drive themselves and phones that listen to my conversations in order to advertise to me things I neither need nor want. The sameness of things can either feel stifling or grounding, depending on my perspective and how much I let the monotony speak to me of things eternal.
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One time, a few years ago, I went to this awful lecture with friends called “Finding Joy In March In Maine.” Sounds good, right? It wasn’t.
It was terrible and kind of depressing actually and laced with inaccuracies and near heresies. So, my friend leaned forward and whispered “Check your phone” into my ear. She had sent me a text that read, “If you want to get out of here as much as we do, pretend this is an emergency text and make for the door. We’ll follow.”
And so we got the heck out of dodge. Found ourselves a table at a pub. Ate nachos and drank beer and found our joy in March in Maine the way real people do.
This year I didn’t have trouble finding joy in March in Maine. Yes, the weather can be dreary. And it is also true that the divorce was final this month, which came with its own set of feels that had to be dealt with or resolved at the bottom of a tub of ice cream. (Dairy-free, of course, because still healing my gut…)
But also there was grace. And laughter. And children who got muddy and into scrapes. And friends who pressed in. And true love. And cuddles. And warmer temps.
I’m here for it, y’all. I’m here for all of it.
Continue readingForgive me while I take a break from my usually pondering of life and love and grief. Because I have some questions…
If you believe so strongly in the vaccination that those without it are in danger of death why would you refuse the life-saving Sacrament of Confession to such a person? Don’t they need it the most?
Unless you don’t believe in the life-saving Sacrament of Confession? Yet you believe in the life-saving vaccination? In which case is your faith in science rather than in God?
How will this be enforced? Will people have to show their IDs and vaccine cards? In which case how does that not violate the anonymity of Confession?
If someone shows up without a vaccine, will they get reported? In which case does this not violate the seal of Confession?
Will showing medical history be a prerequisite for the Sacraments? Because there are other contagions other than the current viral obsession. Should we also be aware of our status on those? And what if you already had the virus, rather than the vaccine? I mean, it would come to the same end, would it not?
If you refuse people Confession you are also refusing them the Eucharist, the source and summit of our Faith and how can that be justified?
If people are not turned away from the Eucharist because of things like divorce and remarriage or publicly endorsing sin, but they are turned away because of lack of vaccination, is not getting vaccinated now one of the seven deadly sins? Which one is it replacing?
And if it is a sin not to receive a vaccination, that person should go to Confession.
Oh wait…
Psssst….one more thing….
If you’re writin’ your own rules for the Sacraments, you’re a Protestant.
A friend asked me recently if I wrote a book what would it be about. I said, “I don’t know. Grief and other lovely things, I suppose.”
That is said without an ounce of sarcasm, by the way. I have been in a season of grief for a while—the kind of grief that was at first paralyzing and numbing, then painful, then just raw, and finally motivating. I have grieved people and a former life I loved. I have also grieved an illusionary future that felt very real, but was never to be.
“The most painful state of being is remembering the future, particularly the one you’ll never have.” (Soren Kierkegaard)
Today is St. Joseph’s Feast Day. I have an ever increasing devotion to Jesus’ foster father. This man who was chosen by God to look after Our Lady and Our Lord. The Liturgy this morning says, “You served the Lord and His mother, and you were their constant companion both day and night. You carried on your arm the One Who carries the world, and you supported the One Who supports all mankind. You spoke with the eternal Word, and you were the guardian of His mother, the blessed virgin betrothed to you in purity. O mystery of Jacob realized! O true and perfect dream come true! how blessed are you among the saints and honorable among virgins.”
Over my first cup of coffee this morning, I was pondering this mysterious St. Joseph who isn’t recorded as saying anything in Scripture, but how loud his faith echoes through eternity!
As I sipped my coffee by my cozy fire, I pondered how in the absence of a man of the house Jesus has generously given us his father. We daily place ourselves under his protection and patronage. If, as the Litany says, “He made him lord over his house hold and prince over all his possessions” that includes my little family and our old farmhouse too.
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Oh February! The month of love, the beginning of Lent, my birthday, and the dead cold of winter. We survived some stuff. Like some serious emotional stuff. And God was good. And friends were kind. And we laughed and we cried. And we got through, hopefully, a little deeper in His Sacred Heart. Here are some highlights from February.
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I have been guilty of saying too many things or perhaps just the wrong things. In my younger days I was overly critical of others and rode my high horse like I was in a parade. I could tell you exactly the three easy steps you needed to take to get your shit together. I played by all the rules and look how well my life was going. You could do the same.
I am wiser now, with far less answers.
I have walked through some tragedy. I have experienced being on the receiving end of harsh criticism and other people who know exactly how I should respond to said tragedy.
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The third week of The Great Lent in the Maronite tradition celebrates the Healing of the Hemorrhaging Woman.
I have been that woman.
“Her life flowed out with the blood that flowed from her. Pain and sorrow filled her days. Doctors disillusioned her; healing was a dream she chased and her world was dark as night. Yet she was determined still, so she touched the cloak of Christ, and his love embraced her faith. She obtained a cure at last…” So goes the entrance hymn as the Divine Liturgy begins.
I know those days filled with pain and sorrow. I know the disillusionment. I know what it feels like to think healing is just a dream.
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And so Lent begins. Another Lent full of dreams of transformation. Or maybe just survival.
I wonder at the people who get excited about Lent. Lent has been rebranded in recent years. Parish programs promise a “Lent you will love” or the “Best Lent Ever!”
Yes, Lent is good. Fruitful. Necessary. Even beautiful. But I find every year that it is also grueling. It is following Our Lord into the desert for 40 days. For 40 days I come face-to-face with my faults, lack of charity, all the thin spots of my personality that I have so conveniently filled in with the noise or temporary pleasures of the world. Rilke tells us that it is not our acceptance of sensual pleasures that is bad, rather “the bad thing is that most people misuse and squander this experience and apply it as stimulant at the tired spots of their lives and as a distraction.”
Lent is the hardest work we do all year.
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reconciling things 