Author: Meg

I'm a Catholic, madly in love with the Lord, His Word, His Bride the Church, and especially His Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity in the Eucharist. I'm committed to the Church not because I was raised this way but because the Lord has drawn my heart and convicted my reason. After 2 degrees in theology and 5 years in the classroom, I quit my 9-5 to follow Christ more literally. Since May of 2012, I've been a hobo for Christ; I live out of my car and travel the country speaking to youth and adults, giving retreats, blogging, and trying to rock the world for Jesus.

Like a Woman in Love

This weekend, I had the honor of singing at the wedding of a former student and his lovely bride. It was a profoundly moving ceremony and the most beautiful wedding reception I’ve ever been to, but what made the day so marvelous was knowing the happy couple. Andy and Suzy love each other deeply (though they love God more). They are kind and joyful and loving towards everyone they meet and watching the way they love each other–Andy so filled with joy as he watched Suzy walk towards him that he actually laughed out loud and Suzy even more radiant than usual when she gazed on her beloved–has reminded me once again what it means to be in love with Love himself.

Remember when you first fell in love?¹ How thoughts of the beloved would push their way into your mind unsolicited? How every decision was made with him in mind–what you’d wear, what you’d read, how you’d walk to class? Remember spending the day filing things away to tell him about? Longing to be with him? Aching over the distance that still had to separate you?

Remember when you were first engaged? How all you could think about was becoming a woman who deserved him? How you could hardly bear to keep your distance? How you were almost consumed by a desire to be his, to bring more of his life into the world?

Remember when you were first married? How you couldn’t wait to get home to him? How the world more beautiful because he was in it, more beautiful because you were his? Remember looking in the mirror and rejoicing at the gift your body was to him? Knowing you were beautiful because you saw yourself through his eyes?

My friends, that is the love God desires from you. When he speaks of his love in Scripture, he calls himself our bridegroom² and our lover.³ He describes our relationship with him not as a contract but as a covenant, a marriage, a love affair.

This isn’t the unique realm of consecrated women–or even of women, as St. John of the Cross would be quick to point out. Every person is called to a wild, passionate, being-in-love with the Lord. What if your relationship with Christ were less a series of obligations and more an enthrallment? Oh, you can’t manufacture feelings like that. But you can do your best to view Jesus as your beloved and not just some God-man who wants you to be good. What if you made every decision with him in mind? Stopped to talk to him about the things that excite or upset you? What if you asked him to make you long for him? If you looked at him in the Eucharist and tried to imagine what it would mean to be in love with him?

What if your purpose in life was to try to deserve him? What if you asked him to let a desire for him consume you? If you saw yourself through his eyes and knew that your life was a gift to him? If you made every decision because you are his, holding nothing back?

This mosaic from the St. Louis Cathedral shows the Cross as a marriage bed. I got so excited! But then the picture was dim and so I tried to fix it and kind of failed. But you get the picture.

The only reason romantic love exists at all is to teach us the way God loves us and the way he wants us to love him. Scripture is saturated with this imagery of God as lover.⁴ Jesus tells us again and again that he is the bridegroom.⁵ When he handed himself over for us on the marriage bed of the Cross, his body cried out in the language of marital love, “I give myself completely to you forever.” At each Mass, he speaks again through the priest, “This is my body which will be given up for you.” “I give myself completely to you forever,” he says, and we walk down the aisle to receive our groom.

What if we just tried to view the Eucharist like it was the supreme act of love, the consummation of our union with Christ? What if we approached the Mass like it was our wedding–or at least a date? Like it was more than just a box to check but an opportunity for communion with the Lord? Like it was the most important moment of our week?

Of course, love isn’t always pleasant and it isn’t always easy. Remember when it all started to fade, when you lost the love you had at first?⁶ When it was hard to find things to talk about? When he began to seem too demanding? Remember how you stopped thrilling at the sight of him? That’s part of love, too. It’s the part, I think, when love becomes real. It’s no longer about us. It’s not about feelings or fun. It’s a choice made for the beloved. We choose to love, choose to spend time together. We work at love not because of what our lover can give us but because of who he is.

Maybe this is where you are. Maybe you’ve had the butterflies and the longing for heaven and now you’re just trudging through. Maybe prayer is boring and living for Christ just seems too hard. That’s when it’s time to double down. Just like you wouldn’t quit on your marriage,⁷ don’t quit on this love. Don’t settle for mediocrity. Fight for this love. Read up on some strategies for prayer or just commit to doing it without any strategies. Start talking to God, even if you have nothing to say. Spend more time with him, not less. It’s okay that it’s not fun–it’s still good. And it’s worth fighting for.

I guess I’m just saying that if you’ve been settling for doctrines and pious practices and rules, know that there is more. All those things are designed by God to lead you to what really matters: being in love with him. So many of us are pushing through the day-to-day without any attention to God beyond the obligatory grace before meals–or going to daily Mass and praying the Office and the Rosary without a spirit of love. The Lord is offering you more than a membership card with the occasional obligation attached; he’s offering you a love affair of the most passionate sort, a relationship that shakes your world, that defines you, that fills your heart and still leaves you longing. You may never thrill to the thought of a holy hour, but your life can be so much more than just the things of this world with a side of Jesus. It can be beautiful, intense, amazing, terrifying, and real. But he’s a gentleman. He won’t force you. He’ll keep chasing you, but eventually you have to stop running and draw near to the God who is closer to you than you are to yourself.

It’s a choice, just like love is a choice. It’s a choice to spend time with him every day, a choice to pay attention when you’re there. It’s a choice to see the world through his eyes, a choice to make him more than just an obligation. It’s a choice to live like a woman in love and I’ve found that the more you make that choice, the more you find that’s exactly what you are: a woman in love with Love himself. What a gift.

Guys, I’m going to direct this at the women since I have no idea what it’s like for a man to fall in love and I don’t know how to talk about men being in love with a God who primarily reveals himself as masculine. Do what you will with it. [↩]
Isaiah 62:4-5 [↩]
All of Song of Songs. [↩]
Song of Songs, Ezekiel 16, all the above passages from Isaiah, etc. [↩]
For more on this, read Brant Pitre’s book Jesus the Bridegroom. I haven’t read it, but his Lighthouse Catholic Media talk by the same name was INCREDIBLE. [↩]
Rev 2:4 [↩]
Especially in this analogy, where your spouse is without fault. [↩]

Mother’s Day

Happy Mother’s Day to all physical mothers (biological and adoptive), spiritual mothers, birth mothers, foster mothers, stepmothers, and godmothers out there.

Happy Mother’s Day to fathers who have to take the place of mothers, to grandmothers and aunts and neighbors who become mothers, to family and friends who support the mothers in their lives.

Happy Mother’s Day to mothers who’ve lost children, to mothers who haven’t yet begotten children, to mothers who ache over their empty arms and mothers whose arms sometimes seem too full.

Happy Mother’s Day to mothers estranged from their children and to children missing their mothers.

Happy Mother’s Day to Pinterest mothers and drive-thru mothers, to single mothers and married mothers, to working mothers and stay-at-home mothers, to mothers who have it all together and mothers who need a break.

Spiritual motherhood, as recognized by a 19-year-old football player. One of the most beautiful moments of my life, grammatical errors and all.

Happy Mother’s Day to Sisters and nuns and consecrated women the world around who have borne no children but are mothers just the same.

Happy Mother’s Day to mothers of aborted children, to teachers who become mothers, to women wise beyond their years who mother their peers and their elders.

Happy Mother’s Day to the Mother of all mothers. May God bless us all with hearts like hers, open to being broken for love of our children, ready to suffer selflessly that the world might know Love.

If you are a woman, you are a mother. Happy Mother’s Day to you.

How Marriage Makes Saints

Not that I don't have a blast at weddings. Yes, that's me headbanging and playing the shovel. — Not that I don’t have a blast at weddings. Yes, that’s me headbanging and playing the shovel.¹

I thought I was done with weddings. And then my students started getting married, and now wedding season has begun all over again. Seriously, I have 6 weddings and two ordinations in the next 8 months. I hope they’re not expecting gifts….

Soon after one of my kids got engaged, we were talking about how exciting it all is. She looked at me with 22-year-old, doe-eyed, twitterpated optimism, and asked, “You know what I’m most excited about?”

The cynic in me steeled myself for some saccharine answer like “Waking up every morning with my best friend” or “Falling more in love every day of my life!” A good answer, but one that was unaware of the difficulties of real love.

“When we’re married, we won’t be able to hide from each other. Think how much we’ll grow!”

I’d like to take credit for that answer. After all, I did teach her apologetics in 2009. But she may have taught me more in that one statement than I did in 9 months of essay tests and notebook checks.

This is a power couple. They’re good-looking, intelligent, successful, outgoing. The world is their oyster. They should be focused on a Pinterest-perfect wedding and a honeymoon to make their Instagram followers jealous. But instead, they’re focused on holiness and how marriage will transform them and make them saints. Shoot.

It got me thinking. I don’t meet a lot of married couples whose approach to their marriage seems to be that it’s intended to sanctify them. At best, people tell me that marriage is really really hard and suffering makes you holy, so marriage makes you holy. On rare occasion,² I’ll meet a couple that’s intentional about praying together. Not just praying as a family or showing up at Mass together, but honest-to-goodness, bare-your-soul-before-God-and-your-spouse praying together. More often, couples (good, holy, faithful couples) tell me that praying together is too intimate. God help us who live in a society where physical intimacy is shared with anyone we find moderately attractive but spiritual intimacy has no place in marriage!

Toddlers=redemptive suffering. — Toddlers = redemptive suffering.

But while redemptive suffering and communal prayer are essential elements of Christian marriage, I think even those two aren’t enough. Marriage doesn’t make you holy just because your spouse is a thorn in your side or a prayer partner. Marriage makes you holy because it strips you bare before another soul and asks you both to challenge and encourage each other. It’s that accountability that makes saints.

So I’m going to go out on a limb again and give advice I have no business giving.³ Go ahead and discount anything that’s tinged by my unmarried optimism and adjust as needed.

Here’s what couples need: a couple’s examen of consciousness. Make a commitment that once a week⁴ you’ll get together just the two of you.⁵ Start by praying together—Mass or a rosary or adoration or whatever but also from-the-heart, awkward, intimate prayers. And then get real. Each of you go over the last week, talking about where you feel you failed in charity. Point out the times you got angry, the times you were lazy—not just in your marriage, but throughout your life. Mention the ways God helped you grow this week and thank God for the many blessings he poured out on you. Talk through the frustrations you endured and try to figure out together how those things are working for good. And listen. As you share the ways you fell, ask your spouse if there’s anything you didn’t notice. Listen when he points out both your faults and your victories. Ask her what you did that made it harder for her to love well. Process the advice he gives you and the strategies she suggests.

Then switch and talk through your spouse’s week. Listen more than you talk, but speak when you must. Console and challenge and encourage. Speak hard truths, but speak them gently and with reverence.⁶ Ask (and grant) forgiveness. Thank each other. Ask the Holy Spirit to guard your tongue, that you might speak truth in love. Ask the Holy Spirit to guard your ears, that you might hear God’s truth. Ask the Holy Spirit to open your heart, that you might become holy.

Maybe some of you do this daily. But I imagine that more of you are living lives of quiet desperation, that the deep, intimate conversations of your courtship have disappeared under the weight of trivialities and exhaustion. So when your partner upsets you, you bite your lip and bury your frustration over and over and over until it explodes in unmerited rage that just causes him to close up. Or you try to say something each time and it comes across as nagging. You decide you’ll just be a martyr but you martyr her instead by your frigid response. When you speak, she takes offense and when you’re silent he doesn’t change.

But what if you had permission to correct each other? What if once a week, there was a peace accord, a free pass to examine your own conscience and encourage the other to grow? What if you were vulnerable before each other? What if you talked about little problems while they were still little? What if you saw your temper through her eyes? What if you saw your sullenness through his? What sins could you wipe away before they became habits that hardened around your stony heart?

And what if you were affirming each other as well? Balancing correction with congratulations? Taking the time to point out your pride in his patience or your pleasure in her hard work? Our herculean efforts often go unnoticed in the chaos of life and that lack of recognition becomes one more stone in the walls we build between us. What if every week you told him how marvelous he is? What if every week you told her how glad you are that she’s the mother of your children? What if you stopped letting life live you and started living like you’re saints?

It might be too much to jump into if you’ve got years of resentments and wounds built up.⁷ But you could start by praying together and affirming each other once a week and go from there. If you’re early in your marriage, you could amp up communication now; if it’s been 50 years, you could start talking about the things that have been swept under the rug since the Nixon administration. Figure out the formula that works for you, but start looking at marriage like its purpose is to make you a saint. Marriage isn’t sanctifying simply because it’s hard. What accomplishes the miracle of holiness in marriage is two people fighting together to become saints.

Obviously, I’ve never tried this. In fact, I don’t know anyone who has. Maybe it’s a ridiculous idea. All I know is I can’t get it out of my head in prayer and it sure isn’t doing me any good rattling around in there. Maybe it’s for one of you. Give it a shot for a few months, then tell me how it’s going. I figure prayer, communication, and the pursuit of holiness can’t hurt, anyway.

Also, kiss more.

While we’re on the subject, can I recommend my favorite books on marriage? I just reread Alice von Hildebrand’s By Love Refined and it’s just as good as I’d remembered. Note: it’s subtitled Letters to a Young Bride but is NOT written exclusively for women. It’s a book about love and sacrifice and it’s simply-written in short chapters—a perfect book to read together! Fulton Sheen’s Three to Get Married is (as I recall) not quite so simple but fantastic all the same. And it gives me hope that people can write well about things of which they have no personal experience….

Also, I fleshed out some of these thoughts in a talk I gave in Tennessee. Listen to it here:

Sober [↩]
So rare it’s really quite disheartening. [↩]
See also Advice to Priests and 5 Rules for Fathers of Daughters [↩]
Or every day or once a month. [↩]
Pick a time when you’re generally not too stressed or distracted or exhausted and when you won’t feel rushed. Get a babysitter if you have to. Your marriage is worth the investment. [↩]
Be very careful how you phrase things. Try “What was going on Tuesday night when you wouldn’t talk to Therese?” instead of “Have you forgotten what a baby you were Tuesday night?” “I feel as though this was a hard week for you to speak charitably about your coworkers” instead of “You were quite the gossip.” “I know you didn’t mean anything by it, but I was pretty upset when you joked that I was fat” instead of “Calling me fat was a total jerk move, don’t you think?” [↩]
If this is the case, please, please don’t be too proud to consider therapy. Sometimes all we need is for someone to help us find a common vocabulary and we can take it from there. [↩]

The Pope Who Brought Me Home

I became Catholic quite against my will. Well, to be fair, when I actually became Catholic I was 3 months old and had very little will to speak of. But when I came to believe–when I left my adolescent atheism behind and embarked on the great adventure that’s brought me anguish and ecstasy, guilt and mercy, uncertainty and risk and sacrifice and so very much joy–it was not something I sought. The Lord looked past my rolling eyes, dragged me into a confessional, and didn’t let me go till I was washed clean and convicted.

And there I was, a wide-eyed 13-year-old knowing nothing but that Jesus was God and he loved me. So, like any other 13-year-old, I grabbed a Catechism and a Bible and set out to know all the things there were to know.

As it turns out, there’s quite a lot. And some of it is hard. And some of it seems illogical, especially when you know nothing about logic because you’re 13 and getting your answers from AskJeeves. But I’d read John 6 and I’d read Matthew 16 and I knew I was stuck. Like it or not, I was Catholic. But the Church still struck me as an ideology, not a home. Until I got to know my papa.

JPII was not a popular figure in my house. We were too liberal for his conservative nonsense. I distinctly remember my father remarking with disgust on “the latest papal bull” in such a way that I didn’t realize “bull” was a technical term, not a profane one. We didn’t pray for him, we didn’t have pictures of him, and we certainly didn’t admire him.

So I don’t know when I first got to know him. I don’t know if I realized at once how amazing he was. I just know this: by the time I was 16, I was absolutely convinced that my papa loved me. It didn’t matter that he’d never met me. He adored me. And he became the Church for me. When being Catholic seemed too hard or illogical, I knew it would break his heart if I left. Oh, he wouldn’t know, exactly, but this mystic pope of ours would feel the poorer for having lost me. I couldn’t do that to him.

There was something in his eyes that told me I mattered, something that spoke the love of Christ in a more powerful way than anyone I’d ever seen. I saw Christ move so powerfully in him that I fell in love. I used to creep my students out by telling them how handsome he was, how he was my number 2 crush of all time.¹ Sure, he was handsome. But it wasn’t just his face that drew me.

JPII was a baller. He was a brilliant philosopher, poet, actor, athlete, and polyglot. He was charming and charismatic, a Catholic rock star if ever there was one. He was handsome enough to swoon over, a man of prayer, and the Rock that Christ rebuilt our Church on during a tumultuous quarter century. He revolutionized the way we think about sex and the human person. He transformed our attitude towards youth. He destroyed communism in the West. But that’s not why I love him. I love him because he loved me.

I love him because he taught me what it meant to be loved by Christ. He longed for me and suffered for me and spoke truth to me. He put a human face on this institutional Church of ours and showed me that the Church was more than my teacher, she was my mother and my home. It wasn’t just that every explanation he gave satisfied my intellectual curiosity, it was that he spoke truth with the love of Christ. In writing about him now, I almost believe that he and I used to sit together and discuss these issues. That’s how much I could feel his love, even before he died and finally learned my name.

That was why I went to World Youth Day in Rome in 2000–to be near him. It was why I studied in Rome. I minored in Italian so that I could hang around the Vatican. I used to go to St. Peter’s and check the language signs on the confessionals to see if any had Polish, Italian, English, German, Russian, Spanish, Portuguese, Latin, etc. on the outside. Popes hear confessions too, right? It was why I started crying when a student told me he had kissed her when she was a little girl: because this Vicar of Christ had Jesus eyes and I felt the love of the Lord every time I was near him.

I remember being in class once with a professor who didn’t strike me as a huge JPII fan. I would have guessed that he was too far left to much admire my papa. He was big into peace and justice, running Pax Christi and the Catholic Worker House, and at the time I wasn’t aware that people could be all about social justice and all about personal morality at the same time.² So when a girl in class started lamenting the popes’ teaching on contraception, I wasn’t excited to hear his response.

“I don’t understand why some old man living in his golden palace in Rome gets to tell me what I can do with my body!”

“Old man in Rome?” he asked quietly. “He also lived in Nazi- and Communist-occupied Poland, Miss White Suburban America.” I’m pretty sure I applauded.

This was the thing about John Paul–sure, some people hated him,³ but far more loved him because he loved truth and he loved liars. He hated communism but loved communists. He hated sin but loved sinners. He endured loneliness and oppression and near starvation and came out the other side so filled with the love of Christ that you were almost compelled to look away. It was almost too beautiful to endure.

To this day, when I see a picture of him, I feel a pang. Not because I miss him but because I miss Christ. The face of Pope John Paul makes me long for heaven because he loved me–loves me–the way that Christ loves me. He pointed me to Christ. He still does. He made me love Christ and his Church more. He taught me what it meant to be human, to be a woman, to be a Catholic and a lover of humanity. Tomorrow’s canonization is a formality. I’ve known he was a Saint since long before he died.

My 4-year-old nephew was recently filling out the Sacramental record in his Bible. After listing his baptismal date (which I’m sure he has memorized) and his anticipated dates of First Communion and Confirmation, he had to put his confirmation sponsor’s name. “What’s a confirmation sponsor?” he asked his mom. “It’s someone who helps you stay Catholic,” she answered.

Without hesitation, he carefully wrote, “Pope JPII.”

Me, too, buddy. Me, too.

So I bought him this. Because I'm the best godmother ever. — So I bought him this. Because I’m the best godmother ever.

Linking up with Jenny and everybody else who loves my papa–find their stories over here!

Number 1: St. John the Beloved, because a guy with the courage and the faithfulness to stand at the foot of the Cross is more attractive than any Ryan Gosling meme. [↩]
Somehow I hadn’t noticed that they’re inseparable…. [↩]
I’m not unaware of his flaws, most especially his colossal failure to act in the face of the clergy sex abuse. Knowing him as I do, I can’t help but believe that he did the best he could with the information he was given and the understanding of pedophilia that was prevalent during his formative years. I am terribly, terribly sorry for those victims who felt that his silence was compliance and whose pain is raw this weekend. Please know that I weep for you and that your Father in heaven aches for you and rages against those who hurt you. Your Church longs for you and will never stop loving you. This canonization is not a declaration that all his actions were impeccable–none of us are without fault, not even the saints among us–but a celebration of the many, many ways he did act to make Christ’s love more tangible to the many empty hearts in this world. [↩]

50 Ways to Celebrate Easter

Well, the Triduum was powerful, with its veiled statues and empty tabernacles and pillars of fire…

with its monks at the foot of the cross and candlelit nuns…

it was a whirlwind couple of days, but now Easter has come and gone and we’re ready to move back into the Ordinary.

Except that there’s nothing Ordinary about it. It’s Easter! Every day this week is Easter Sunday and the Easter season won’t be over till June! The Church in her wisdom asks us to fast for 40 days and follows it up with 50 days of feasting. But (as with Christmas), we tend to forget it’s Easter by, oh, Tuesday and we lose out on some incredible riches. And I’m not just talking jelly beans, either. So how about this Easter we try to live like an Easter people?¹

So here you have it: 50 ways to keep those alleluias coming all Easter long.² It’s not as structured as the Advent and Lent Boot Camps, but it gives you a jumping off point. See if you can’t get all these in this season–and let me know if you do! I’ll devise some prize.³

Figure out which of your Lenten resolutions shouldn’t stop just because it’s Easter. Don’t stop praying the Rosary or going to Mass because Jesus rose. Don’t start cursing or being uncharitable either. Easter shouldn’t be a time to relax our pursuit of Christ but to rejoice in the effort we’re making. You don’t have to fast as hardcore as you did for Lent, but don’t quit the prayer and the almsgiving while you’re about it.
Change the background on your phone to some stunning piece of artwork celebrating the resurrection.
Buy Easter candy half price this week. Make sure to buy enough to last you 50 days.
Pray the Chaplet of Divine Mercy.
Check out Maximus of Turin’s triumphant reflection on Easter.
Use the word alleluia whenever possible. Try to replace all other positive exclamations with this one.⁴
Have a party to celebrate the canonizations of JPII and John XXIII. Eat kielbasa and pierogies with cannoli and gelato for dessert. Read poetry. Open all the windows. Go skiing. Tell jokes. How very papal all those things are!
Read this excerpt from a homily by St. Ephrem the Syrian.
Have dessert every night. Explain to your kids that they get to have all the cake because Jesus loves them.
Wait until Easter is half over. Give someone a gorgeous bouquet of flowers, saying, “Happy Easter!”
Read the book of Acts.
Go to Mass on Ascension Thursday—even if there is no Ascension Thursday in your diocese.
Have an Easter party. In June.
Greet everyone by saying, “He is risen!” Judge them if they don’t respond correctly.⁵
Make a holy hour every week in Easter.
Pray Christ the Lord Is Ris’n Today, especially verse 4. Consider getting 1 Cor 15:55 tattooed on your face. Decide against it.
Change your Facebook cover picture to something celebrating the Resurrection–and not something cheesy or kitschy, but something that will cause people to gasp for the beauty.
Read the popes’ recent Easter messages. Tweet the highlights.
Check out this piece by St. Peter Chrysologus.
Any time you would have said, “I’ll pray for you,” ask instead, “Can I pray with you?” Then get comfortable praying out loud.
Choose joy.
Get an Easter-themed manicure. (I usually just paint my nails gold, but Easter lilies would be pretty sweet if you can find someone to do them.) When people comment on it, tell them it’s for Easter. Be prepared to explain that it’s still Easter.
Don’t ever have an Easter egg hunt on Holy Saturday. If you already did, have another one in reparation, and switch your family tradition to Easter egg hunts during Easter. You have 50 days to hunt eggs—don’t do it on the one day Jesus is in the tomb!!
Pray a rosary every day. Feel free to use the glorious mysteries whenever you want.
Meditate on this passage from St. Augustine.
Change the message on your alarm to something that will remind you to rejoice from the moment your feet hit the floor.
Wish everyone you meet a happy Easter. Even when it starts to get weird.
Make a pilgrimage to a shrine in your area.
Treat others as you would treat Christ. (Here are 100 ways to try.)
Do a Bible study for 7 weeks. Read each of the appearances of Jesus after the Resurrection.⁶
Go to confession. Twice.
Start reading the whole Bible through in a year.
Trade your Starbucks habit for a McCafé habit. Give the money you save to the missions.
Read this passage from a letter to Diognetus.
Stand on a street corner with a sign that says “Free prayers!”
“Never let anything so fill you with sorrow as to make you forget the joy of Christ risen.” (Mother Teresa)
Memorize 2 Corinthians 4:16-18.
Choose a spiritual book to read during Easter. Try The Imitation of Christ or Practicing the Presence of God.
Forgive.
Find a Eucharistic procession to take part in for the Feast of Corpus Christi. If there isn’t one, start one.
Pray the Exultet.
Keep holy water in your house. Bless yourself every time you pass it.
Read this sermon by Theodore the Studite: “How precious the gift of the cross, how splendid to contemplate!”
Give a “welcome home” present to someone who’s just entered the Church.
Stop in to visit the Blessed Sacrament every day.
Change your ringtone to some sweet version of an Alleluia—but maybe not the Leonard Cohen one. It probably won’t evoke Easter joy among your more secular friends.⁷
Meditate on At the Lamb’s High Feast We Sing.
Wear red on Pentecost. All red.
Tell someone about Jesus.
Orient your life toward being a saint. As yourself at the end of each day: Did I live today like heaven is the only thing that matters? When making decisions, ask yourself: What would I do if I were a saint?

Try a ringtone like this on for size:

By the way, that “We are an Easter people and Alleluia is our song” thing that everyone’s suddenly qu0ting this year? Love it! And JPII did say it…but he was quoting Augustine. Just saying. [↩]
Thanks to Fr. Curtis at KU for the challenge! [↩]
likely immaterial [↩]
Sweet! Awesome! Cool! Great! Nice! [↩]
“He is risen indeed!” The judging part is a joke. [↩]
Mt 28:1-10, Mk 16:1-8, Lk 24:1-12, and Jn 20:1-10; Mt 28:16-20 and Mk 16:9-20; Lk 24:13-35; Lk 24:36-53; Jn 20:11-18; Jn 20:19-29; Jn 21:1-23 [↩]
And not to be a hipster, but it might be a little overdone. [↩]

Stations of the Cross

The First Station: Jesus is condemned to death.

Pontius Pilate wasn’t a bad guy. He tried to let Jesus off, he really did. He tried to pacify the crowd by just beating an innocent man bloody. But they were so insistent. And sure, he had all the soldiers and all the power, but what if they had gotten mad at him? He couldn’t have that. No, Pilate wasn’t a bad guy, just a weak one. So weak that he permitted the greatest atrocity in the history of the world, crying, “It’s not my fault!” while he crucified the Lord of glory. You’re probably not a bad guy either. But is your refusal to stand up and be counted crucifying the Lord anew? Do you keep your mouth shut as your coworkers spew profanity or sit fiddling on your phone as your spouse slaves over dinner, dishes, bathtime, and bed? Do you make any effort at all, or are you sliding complacently to perdition having washed your hands of the need to stand up and be counted? Maybe it’s not your fight–but it wasn’t Jesus’, either, and he submitted. Shouldn’t you?

The Second Station: Jesus takes up his Cross.

When Jesus took up his Cross, it wasn’t tentatively, fearfully, or with disgust. Any halfheartedness in bearing his Cross would have made our salvation impossible as it slipped out of his grudging fingers. No, Jesus embraced his cross, clinging to the torture and the shame and the loneliness “for the sake of the joy that lay before him.”¹ There is no glory in accepting the suffering thrust upon us with anger and complaints. But if we embrace our crosses, rejoicing in the trials of life because we worship a God who bore them first and continues to bear them alongside us, we will be transformed.

The Third Station: Jesus falls the first time.

The very first thing Jesus did after taking up his Cross was to fall. He became like us in all things, even in failure and weakness. He understands what it’s like to be inadequate, to disappoint. Being a Christian doesn’t mean being perfect–it means offering our flaws to the Lord, then getting up and starting over. It’s running to the confessional, falling on our knees, and rising stronger. When you strive for virtue and fail, remember: your God was a failure, but he kept going and his failure became the world’s redemption.

The Fourth Station: Jesus meets his mother.

It seems his one moment of respite, this encounter with someone who loves him not for what he has to give her but simply for who he is. As her heart breaks, she reaches out to hold him, pushing past her own pain to comfort him in his. As we become more like Christ, we also become more like Mary, loving those who toil and suffer enough to give them the strength to go on. But it’s so easy to be repelled by their needs, afraid of the sacrifice we’ll have to make to love them. Who needs you right now to look past their disfigured face, to move past your discomfort and love them? Are you willing, like Christ, like Mary, to move beyond yourself and live for others?

The Fifth Station: Simon helps Jesus carry his Cross.

In turning to Simon for help, Jesus sanctifies our weakness. Simon of Cyrene is a Saint only because Jesus was strong enough to be weak. James and John are Saints because Peter and Andrew recognized their inadequacy and asked them for help.² Self-sufficiency is not a Christian virtue, particularly not in the area of combating sin. In what areas of your life do you need to humble yourself and ask for help? It won’t just give you support in carrying your cross–it may just make saints of the both of you.

The Sixth Station: Veronica wipes the face of Jesus.

She takes a great risk here, running through the crowd, pushing past the soldiers, and falling at his feet. She tenderly pushes the hair out of his eyes, mops the blood from his battered face, and comes away with his image imprinted on the cloth. For her selflessness, she is rewarded, not with wealth or fame but with the joy of having consoled the heart of Christ. To be a Christian is to be radical, to make people uncomfortable, to suffer for Christ. But when we choose to live with reckless abandon for the Lord, we find ourselves blessed beyond imagining with a peace that surpasses understanding.³ It’s just a matter of trusting that he will do what he said and living as we already know we should. When we do that, we will find ourselves–against all odds–bearing the true image of Christ to the world.

The Seventh Station: Jesus falls the second time.

By this time, I wonder if the soldiers aren’t annoyed. They have a job to do and this pathetic man’s weakness keeps complicating it. They roll their eyes, they jeer. They view the God of their salvation as an obstacle. If only we didn’t do the same. If only I saw the defiant middle-schooler as the purpose of Christ’s death on the Cross and not as a problem to be dealt with. If only I stopped resenting or tolerating people and started loving them. If only their weakness sparked compassion in me instead of exasperation. We expect the Lord to be strong in our weakness; what if we let him be strong in theirs through us?

The Eighth Station: Jesus meets the women of Jerusalem.

Crucifixion is the most painful and shameful way the Romans could devise to slaughter someone. It was so painful, they had to coin a new word to express the agony: excruciating. And yet, beaten within an inch of his life, dragging the instrument of his torture and death, Jesus saw nothing but others’ pain. “Do not weep for me,” he says, “But for yourselves and for your children.” It’s so easy to get caught up in our own suffering and ignore the pain of those around us, especially when their pain seems trivial. Remember, though, that the greatest pain a person has suffered is the greatest pain in the world. Live not just kindness but compassion, allowing your heart to ache for those who suffer–and then doing something to relieve that suffering, by physical aid, listening with love, or offering prayers and sacrifices. We become like Christ when we love like he did, even when we are broken ourselves.

The Ninth Station: Jesus falls the third time.

When Jesus fell the last time, there seemed no hope that he would rise again. He was spent, beaten and bloody, incapable of that last effort that would bring him to the top of Calvary. He could have just laid down and died right there, but he needed to be lifted up on the Cross for all the world to see. And so, in the face of hopelessness, he called on superhuman strength to persist. He kept going. And when he did that, he gave you the same power to let the Lord be strong in your weakness. There comes a point when we finally realize how completely inadequate we are to the task of holiness. We fall on our face, unable to resist the temptations or persevere in prayer. Then, at last, in our weakness he is strong.⁴ When we have nothing left to give, when we realize that we never had anything to give, then we allow him to be all in all. When we realize that we can never be good enough for him, we find that we already are good enough in him. Do not despair, my friends. It may be Friday, but Sunday is coming.

The Tenth Station: Jesus is stripped of his garments.

Jesus held nothing back. He suffered pain and loneliness, separation from the Father, and finally the shame and indignity of being stripped to hang naked as the crowds mocked. There was nothing he wouldn’t give for you. What’s your line? Do you offer him your Sunday mornings but not your Saturday nights? Are you willing to be martyred for him but not to be mocked? Do you hand over control of your relationships but not your internet habits? Allow him to strip you of the walls that you’ve put between your heart and his–your sin, your pride, your job, your standing in the community. The more you follow him, the more you will find yourself naked and unashamed in his piercing gaze. But you have to unclench the fists you’ve tightened around the garments you’ve clothed yourself with before you’ll ever find peace in him.

The Eleventh Station: Jesus is nailed to the Cross.

It was not nails that held him to the Cross. One would expect creation itself to rebel, the Cross to splinter and the nails to warp, when their Creator was crucified. But “Peace,” he told them, “be still.” Because even had the nails crumbled to dust, his love would have held him there. In his mercy, he became a slave to love and was never more free. You are not bound to stay in your marriage. Divorces are cheap and getting easier by the day. It’s not the law that keeps you there but your love. You are not bound to stay in your Church. God knows you wouldn’t be the first to leave. It’s not your obligation that keeps you there but your love. And so with your children and your job and whatever else may not seem worth it today. You stay because you are more free as a slave to love than you would be unshackled by all the relationships that hold you bound. And each moment that you choose love, each moment that you are crucified by your beloved, you will find that the nails bite less deeply as the pain becomes peace.

The Twelfth Station: Jesus dies on the Cross.

There is nothing in the life of Christ that is not also expected of his followers. So when he dies on the Cross, handing his life over for love of those who despise him, keep this in mind: you must do the same. This is the universal call to martyrdom, the requirement that all followers of Christ die daily to themselves in order that others may live. In order that Christy may live in them. We must die to our love of wealth that the poor may live. We must die to our love of rest that our families may live. We must die to our love of self that our neighbors may live. We must die to our love of mediocrity that Christ may live. Turning from laziness or pornography or Candy Crush or envy or rage or materialism or gossip or Twitter or complacency may feel like a crucifixion. That’s what you signed up for.

The Thirteenth Station: Jesus is taken down from the Cross.

Jesus’ corpse is pulled down from the Cross and lain in the arms of his mother. There is only one pain greater than the pain of a parent who has lost a child: the pain of a parent who has given a child. The Father knows that pain. Even though you mocked and betrayed him, even though you ignored and rejected him, even though you continue to deny him and will until you die, he thought you were worth it. And so he stepped back and watched his Son suffer for 33 years. And when it became almost unbearable for his sinless Son, he stepped back so far that God himself felt abandoned by the Father. He watched his Son die in agony and then looked at his broken, lifeless body and rejoiced. Because it was that misery that won him you. And you are worth it. Live like you’re worth it.

The Fourteenth Station: Jesus is laid in the tomb.

It is finished. Love has come and been slaughtered for his pains. Nothing, it seems, will be beautiful again. But Sunday is coming. In this moment of defeat, of silent agony and hope destroyed, lies the true joy of the Christian life: our God is bigger. He is bigger than death, bigger than divorce, bigger than sin and shame and shallow distractions. There is no wound he cannot heal, no death he cannot reverse. He may not triumph in the way you would have chosen, but know this: he will triumph. Know this, as you lie in your tomb, as you weep at her tomb, as you run from his tomb: for the Christian, defeat is merely the seed of victory. He will triumph.

Heb 12:2 [↩]
Lk 5:7 [↩]
Phil 4:7 [↩]
2 Cor 12:9-10 [↩]

Bipolar Faith and Its Antidote

I’m staying with a dear friend who knows me very well. Because she knows me so well, she was awfully excited to tell me that we were going to the Chrism Mass this week. I think she was rather taken aback when I wasn’t gleeful.

“Can I tell you a secret?” I asked. “I actually kind of hate long fancy Masses. Isn’t that terrible?”

I went to the Chrism Mass with her and spent the whole time reminding myself that it was okay that it was taking so long. I knew I shouldn’t be, but I was kind of annoyed that I’d spent an extra hour at Mass. I mean. come on. It’s not like I avoid time with Jesus. I just wasn’t really excited about an hour added to my usual (lengthy) prayer routine.

Yesterday, I found the only Saturday morning Mass in town. I left the church basement where I’d spent the night with a bunch of middle school girls and headed over there before 8. After spending Mass remarkably lucid (despite my 3 am bedtime), I was ready to get some prayer time in and then head back for coffee. But no. They pray a novena. And not the kind the little old lady in the front starts while people file out, either. Everybody stayed. Even the priest. And it was loooong. Like, at least 7 minutes. I tried not to be annoyed (because Mass had been short anyway), but I wanted to be done.

I had the same trouble last night. Heading to bed, all I could think about was how long Mass was going to be this morning. I knew it would be exhausting to stand through that epically long second Gospel–especially since there’s always a crowd on Palm Sunday. People always seem to show up when they know there are cool door prizes like ashes and palms. I was annoyed in advance because I was going to have to spend an extra 20 minutes with the Lord.

I make fun of other people when they do this. “Oh, you’re annoyed that Mass was 65 minutes? Good thing Jesus didn’t get down off the Cross after an hour.” “Oh, Mass is boring? You know what else was boring? Dying on the Cross!”¹

But somehow I think I’m allowed to be annoyed at long Masses and extra prayers because I’m already doing so much. “If this were my only Jesus time all week, I wouldn’t mind it being long. But I’ve already spent 2 hours at church today!”

Pharisee.

The Lord blesses me with extra time with him–time when I don’t have a single other thing to do–and I want to get out because I’ve already done my time. I stay because I have to, not because I’m letting him touch my heart. And I was there in the first place because I feel I have to be, not because I’m seeking him.

I’m shocked every year by the two Gospels from the Palm Sunday Mass, by how dramatically the tone changes and how the congregation is swung from one extreme to another. We walk into the church shouting Hosanna and waving palm branches, welcoming our Messiah with joy. Not 15 minutes later, we’re crying out, “Let him be crucified!” I thought it was strange, this bipolar shift from worship to betrayal. And then I realized it’s no accident, not just a convenient way to get the whole story into one Mass. It’s the life of a fallen Christian, crashing from praise into sin without even noticing the change. It’s my life.

I praise him at Mass and then roll my eyes when the little old lady in front of me is exiting the church too slowly. I receive Christ on my tongue and then use that same tongue to belittle the sketchy or dull or tone-deaf priest. I revel in his presence during my holy hour and rage at the person who was supposed to relieve me when I’m stuck an extra twenty minutes. Hosanna. Crucify. God help me, today wasn’t just a particularly interactive Mass–it was my life in a nutshell.

I think it’s all of us, especially those of us who are good. When we’ve been sitting around all day playing Candy Crush, it’s not so hard to get up and change a toddler’s sheets. After all, it’s about time we did something worthwhile. But when we’ve played with them all stinking day and made dinner and washed the dishes and put them to bed and someone wants a drink we’re about ready to go NUCLEAR on their cute little tooshies.

When we’ve only spent 5 minutes with Jesus and someone asks us to pray a rosary, it seems like a good opportunity; when we’ve already prayed a rosary (and a chaplet and a holy hour and the Office…) it’s just too much.

Satan’s a clever one, isn’t he? He lets us pray and do good works, sure, but he makes very sure we only do the ones we want to do. And anything done because it’s your will is always less beautiful than something done out of humility and submission. My self-centered holy hour is far less pleasing to God than my reluctant Hail Mary. Hebrews tells us that Jesus was made perfect by obedience in suffering.² Of course he was already flawless, but humanity is perfected only in obedience. And so he was obedient to Mary and Joseph, obedient to Caesar, obedient to Pilate and the Sanhedrin, obedient unto death.³ Our powerful God opened not his mouth,⁴ submitting to torture and execution not despite having done nothing wrong but because he had done nothing wrong.

As Lent gears up this week and comes crashing to a bitter end tinged with Easter glory, join me in asking yourself: what am I holding back? What crosses am I refusing to bear because they aren’t of my choosing? How has my self-congratulation gotten in the way of my hearing God’s voice? Get to confession and then make this resolution for Holy Week:

I will thank the Lord for every cross. Even the ones that are just minor annoyances that become crosses when I reject them. This week, I will live in the Hosanna. When my life cries out for him to be crucified, I will bite my tongue until I can muster the strength to thank the Lord for his mercy in allowing this red light or betrayal or stomach bug or extra litany or terrifying diagnosis or awkward conversation or rejection or commercial break. I will rejoice in the small inconveniences and allow him to break down the walls of selfishness I’ve built around my pious practices and nice deeds. I will let my piety become prayer by letting him direct it; I will let my kindness become charity by stopping at nothing. This week, I will be a saint.

And next week I will do the same. Hosanna.

Yes, I’m kind of a belligerent jerk. You must be new around here. [↩]
Heb 5:8 [↩]
Phil 2:8 [↩]
Is 53:7 [↩]

Reading the Bible through in a Year!

Aside from daily Mass and a commitment to silent prayer, the most important spiritual practice I’ve adopted as a Christian has been spending time in Scripture every day. Even having read the Bible 12 times, I still have to read with a pencil in hand. I’m always finding new insights, being shown new connections, and falling more in love with the Lord as I come to know him better. For me, it’s not enough just to read the books that I enjoy or the readings offered me by the liturgy–I need to wrestle with the hard stuff and find meaning in the boring stuff. And I need to know it all–not just so I can argue with it but so that I can live and breathe and love it. I need to replace the Beyoncé in my head with some Baruch and the Frozen (much though I love that movie) with Philippians. The only way that’s going to happen is if I’m in the Word every day. So that’s what I do.

The first time I read through the whole Bible, I started at Genesis and read till Revelation. It took me 5 years. Every subsequent time, I’ve managed it in a year. The problem with my cover-to-cover approach (among others) was that I’d get bogged down in Leviticus or Ezekiel and it was hard to motivate myself to keep going. When I switched to a yearly Bible schedule, I had a few chapters of Numbers each day but also a Psalm and half a chapter of a Gospel to keep me motivated. Plus the readings were associated with dates, so I couldn’t afford to get behind. I’ve used that schedule¹ ten times and it’s served me well, particularly since it’s loosely linked with the liturgical year.

But people have been asking me for years how to start reading the Bible, and my trusty old schedule wasn’t it. I began to realize that zipping through all of the Epistles in a month and then trudging through the Pentateuch wasn’t the best way to get much out of either. So I sat down and wrote out a whole new schedule. This one still gets you through the whole Bible in a year (and the Gospels twice), but it goes chronologically through the Old Testament (more or less) with New Testament books and fun books like Ruth and Jonah interspersed throughout to mix things up. It also gives you a chapter of some poetic stuff every day instead of dragging you through Proverbs for 200+ days. This schedule is more user-friendly, more reasonable for those who haven’t read the Bible before, and can start any day of the year. So now I’m passing it on to you!

I will warn you: I didn’t start with the easy stuff. I can ease you into the Bible by giving (relatively) simple, pleasant stuff first. My approach here wasn’t to leave the hard stuff for the end but to put it in an order that made sense. So if you’ve never read the Bible before at all, you could take two days for each day on the schedule or start with just the Psalms and the Gospels. The important thing is to start.

If you print this schedule double-sided, you can fold it up to fit in your Bible. And when you print it, do yourself a favor and print out my Bible timeline, too. It’s one piece of paper that I keep in my Bible at all times–a quick explanation of how everything in the Old Testament connects to everything else. So when you’re reading Hosea, you can take a quick look and see that Hosea was prophesying to Israel before the Assyrian Exile. And you can even see that there are two kingdoms in the Old Testament, a fact that I missed until my third time through the Bible.

Bible Timeline

Download the document here.

Halfway through Lent (Laetare!) probably isn’t the best time to hand this to you guys, but Easter doesn’t mean the end of prayer, fasting, or almsgiving. Maybe you can start this schedule on Easter? Or any other day of the year. Or read the Bible through using some other schedule. But if you’re a Christian and you haven’t read the whole Bible, I really think you need to change that.

One Year Bible Chronological

Download the document here.

Which I got off the internet and don’t have a source for, unfortunately. [↩]

A Money-Making, Grace-Filled Game-Changer

When you go to something like 100 parishes a year, you see a lot of different attempts at wooing youth. There’s a lot of pizza and a lot of awkward games and a lot of good people trying to lead a lot of reluctant teens (and some interested ones) closer to Christ. I’ve seen some great youth ministers and some great Bible studies but the most beautiful community of youth that I’ve encountered was at a random parish in Southern Maryland.

Two years ago (as I remember the story) the pastor of St. John’s in Hollywood, MD walked up to the youth minister. “I hired two teens for the summer, so…we need to find something for them to do.”

Fr. Ray and Rich started brainstorming and wondered: “What would happen if we got young people going to Mass and adoration every day?”

So they did. They set up a day camp for that summer and started hiring 16-22-year-olds to staff it. But this isn’t just a job for these young people: it’s a mission summer. Yes, daily Mass and a holy hour and a theology class are written into their contractual day. They have to go. But there are events every evening of the week, too: pool parties and encyclical study groups and girls’ nights and bowling nights. Some of them are intense and intellectual, others more concerned about building community; all are optional. But the staff knows coming in that their summer job is not a 9-5 deal. They’re there to serve and they’re there to be transformed.

Even on paper, it makes so much sense. Here’s a Catholic school standing empty all summer–why not use the facility? Struggling with low enrollment in your parochial school? Draw families in during the summer and they’ll become part of the community.¹ Can’t afford a youth minister? Camp fees pay the summer program staff plus a full-time youth minister year round. Families coming in for Mass on Sunday but not part of the community? Build community for them. It’s easy to fill your rosters because you can charge less than any other camp or daycare in the area while still paying all your bills–and once the price tag draws them in, the Holy Spirit will do the rest.

Wouldn't you want to go to a camp where you could take lego robotics? Or American girl dolls? Or paper making or chess or film production or soccer or cooking or creative problem solving or "Exploring Religious Life" or anything you can imagine? — Wouldn’t you want to go to a camp where you could take lego robotics? Or American girl dolls? Or paper making or chess or film production or soccer or cooking or creative problem solving or “Exploring Religious Life” or anything you can imagine?

But you guys, this is so much more than just what is practical and reasonable. This program is transforming the parish. The families know each other so their kids want to be at church events. Some kids have been received into the church as a result of their experience with the summer program; other families started at camp because it was cheap or convenient and are back practicing the faith again after years away.

The biggest impact, though, is on the staff. These kids take a summer to serve and they come away transformed. They learn theology in their classes and discussion groups, but they also learn it in their conversations with their peers. They learn to pray both by being expected to do it every day and by being led deeper by leaders and friends. They learn what true friendship looks like by building community with the staff–community that lasts well past the end of camp.

It doesn't hurt that they're surrounded by priests, seminarians, and religious.... — It doesn’t hurt that they’re surrounded by priests, seminarians, and religious….

And it’s not just relationships with their newfound friends that last. During that first summer, two of the staff discerned a call to enter seminary and one discerned a vocation to religious life. Two more will enter religious life this fall, strengthened by the support of this incredible community. The ones still in high school are volunteering as catechists and itching to get back to camp. Those who are off at college are generally going to daily Mass and spending serious time in prayer. Honestly, they challenge me, when we’re all hanging out and they suggest that we go to the chapel instead. Or when I tell them they can read the whole Bible in a year in just 20 minutes a day² and they ask if that’s really enough time to meditate on it.

I’ll be real with you: I’ve never met young people with such hearts for Jesus. And it’s all because someone asked them to be holy. I’ve always thought the best way to reach young people was with truth and goodness and beauty, with the meat of the faith not pizza and cozy relativism. This summer program does it: no gimmicks and nothing washed down, just solid theology, intense prayer, and the expectation that you’ll give everything. Once you go all in, you’ll be amazed at what God can do with your meager gifts.

All you have to do is fill in the talent. Hey look, it's me! — Just fill in the talent. Hey look, it’s me!

Why am I telling you all this? Because you can do the same thing–and way more easily than they did. St. John’s believes in this program so much, they want you to have it, too. They’ve done all the legwork for you. They’ve put together all their resources: camp schedule, classes and curriculum, payroll info, even the forms you have to fill out to be accredited in Maryland. And they want to give it to any Catholic parish. For free.

Seriously, all you have to do is take the work they’ve poured into this money-making, grace-filled game-changer, write your name at the top, and sign at the bottom. They’ll help you through the whole process, simply because they see what the Holy Spirit is doing through their program. Will you think about it? Take a look at the St. John’s website to see what their camp is like, and maybe glance at St. Joseph’s, which is starting a camp this summer modeled after St. John’s. Then go see what they’re really all about and send the info to your parish. All you have to do to have access to literally all of their resources is contact the camp director and ask for the password.

I’ll be honest: I’m not sure how this camp will translate under different leadership. I think a lot of the transformation of these kids comes from the fact that their pastor and their youth minister are holy men with hearts for youth and no apparent need for personal time. But if you’ve got godly leadership on board, this summer program could do more than use your space wisely. It can strengthen your parish and make saints of your youth all while putting your parish back in the black. Sounds like a pretty sweet deal to me.

And if you’re near Southern Maryland, check out the classes they have to offer:

In 2 years, the camp has brought in at least 9 new students to the school. [↩]
Speaking of which, I just revamped the schedule to give you a better sense of Biblical history, spread out the hard stuff, and generally make it more awesome. Expect that post next week, God willing. [↩]

Ordinary Holiness

The very first talk I gave to a large group was when I was in high school. I stood up in front of our Fellowship of Christian Athletes huddle¹ during Advent and talked about how Christmas hit me harder than Easter because Easter told me Jesus died for me but Christmas told me he lived for me. “I’d die for Jesus,” I said confidently. “Honestly, I want to be a martyr. But it’s not because I’m brave. It’s because I’m lazy. I figure I can be holy for 5 minutes; it’s the prospect of another 70 years of holiness that terrifies me.” I’ve been giving some variation of that talk for the past 15 years and it’s never more powerful to me than when I’m meditating on the Annunciation.

The Annunciation by Carl Bloch. It's an odd way to begin such an ordinary life. — The Annunciation by Carl Bloch. It’s an odd way to begin such an ordinary life.

Our feast today celebrates a God who became ordinary, born to an ordinary mother in an ordinary town. Oh, of course we know there wasn’t anything ordinary about them–and yet for thirty years, their holiness consisted in the dull monotony of everyday life. Jesus’ Passion, Death, and Resurrection were the culmination of a life of quiet sacrifice, of dirty feet and skinned knees, of sweat and stomachaches and boredom and rejection and chores and loneliness. Mary, the Queen of Heaven and Earth, spent 30 years sweeping floors, fetching water, consoling neighbors, and getting sassed by her many (spiritual) children. St. Joseph sawed and sanded and carried out the trash and all three gave glory to God by the very ordinariness of their lives.

How many of us are content to be ordinary? We want to be marvelous and impressive, to have the world look on in awe at our holiness–or we want to be mediocre and comfortable. We see our options as daring, terrifying lives of holiness or everyday, ordinary adequacy. But the Annunciation tells us that holiness lies in the ordinary and that the ordinary is supremely sanctifying.

The great saints weren’t hobos or martyrs or visionaries–or at least not above all else. Above all else, they were mothers and brothers and lovers and friends. They were made saints by changing diapers, listening to complaints, shoveling snow, forgiving, begging forgiveness, chopping vegetables, wiping away tears, grading papers, and loving. Always loving. It wasn’t St. Gianna’s death that made her a saint; thousands of mothers have made the same heroic choice. It was loving her husband and washing dishes and sympathizing with her patients. Thomas Aquinas didn’t become a saint by being the greatest mind the West had ever known but by recognizing how small he truly was. Mother Teresa wasn’t a saint because she won the Nobel Prize or founded a successful religious order but because she loved one child of God. And the next. And the next.

The Annunciation by John William Waterhouse

This morning I was blessed to attend Mass at a beautiful Dominican parish where I received Jesus kneeling at the altar rail. Like Mary, I did nothing to deserve this gift. Like Mary, all I could do was say amen, let it be done unto me, not even reaching out my hands but just opening myself to receive. And now, like Mary, I am sent out to bear Christ to the world, not to kings offering gifts or to angels crying Gloria but to shepherds and widows and pagans and friends and enemies. I am theotokos to the cashier and the fussy baby and the man without hope. It’s everyday, ordinary, change-the-world holiness. It’s day-in, day-out, dull, radical holiness. It’s my cross and my crown, it’s tedious and glorious. It’s time I stopped looking for holy wars to fight and started looking for a holy life in what I’ve been given. I am an ordinary woman following an ordinary God, a great saint-in-the-making following a great saint-maker.

Fiat mihi. Let’s go be saints.

No, I was not an athlete. It seems to be rather a misnomer. [↩]