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.

I Surrender All

I was on retreat this weekend with 800 kids from Indiana.1 I wasn’t giving any talks, just getting down in the trenches with some relational ministry and it was awesome.

Being in the audience, I got to participate in all the ridiculous games that MCs make you play. Turns out I’m not half bad at Simon Says. So we’re down to maybe 20 people in the whole gym and Simon Said “Don’t smile.” Y’all, I am incredible at not smiling. It’s probably my greatest skill of all time. I was the 1995 St. Mark’s Summer Youth Wave Darling-I-Love-You Champion, and if you’ve ever played that game, you know I’m for real. When told to keep a straight face, I have not once in my entire life cracked a smile.

So there I am, not-smiling, and assured of victory in this game2 when Manny pipes up behind me, “Miss, if you smile I’ll go to confession.”

Done. I turned to him and grinned. He looked rather taken aback: “But now you lose, Miss!”

“Ah, but your soul is worth more to me than victory.”

It got me thinking about all the many deals I’ve made with kids. When it comes to objective grace, I’m not above a little encouragement (read: bribery). I think that if all it took to get you to go to confession was my promise to buy you an *NSYNC3 t-shirt, you were probably looking for an excuse to go anyway. So if I can make a deal with you to get you to make good choices, I’ll do it.

I once told a guy I liked I’d take him to dinner if he went to confession.4 I ate a wasabi peanut for a kid who promised he’d do his homework for the rest of the year.5 I even had a kid tell me she’d save sex for marriage if I’d smoke a cigarette with her after graduation. Abso-freaking-lutely, darling.6 Just before I entered the convent, I offered a friend 10 grand to stop sleeping with his girlfriend. Ten thousand dollars. He said no. I guess you can’t win them all.

So I was sitting in the bleachers after this game of Simon Says congratulating myself on all the sacrifices I make for the kingdom when I realized how paltry they are. “If you do this for me,” I say, “I will surrender control over a very small aspect of my life.” A wasabi peanut? Seriously? Here I am thinking I make a darn good junior Messiah when I’m offering so little–and then only on the contingency that I trust someone to follow through on his end of the bargain. The real Messiah offered everything.

via flickr
via flickr

I was rather overwhelmed by this thought, that Jesus offered himself completely to us even knowing that we wouldn’t follow through on our end of the bargain. It kept coming to mind over the weekend. And then Saturday night, all 800 youth knelt on the gym floor for 2 hours as Father came around to each person with the monstrance. When Jesus approached me, I was staring at him with Father’s face just behind him when Father began singing along with the worship team: I surrender all to you, all to you. Jesus sang to me, “I surrender all to you.” Helpless and ridiculed in the Eucharist, he reminded me once again what his presence here on earth has always meant.

Jesus didn’t offer only his hunger or humiliation or suffering or even his death. Jesus offered every moment of his life. And when he rose, he offered it again. And when he ascended into heaven, he still wasn’t done. He came back for us in the Blessed Sacrament. And today, he waits for us in the tabernacle. He waits for every one of us–not just the worthy or the holy or the immaculate. He offered himself for you and for me, even though he knew we would betray him. Even though he knew we would ignore and reject and forget him. He didn’t die only for those who are good soil–the rocky and thorny and hard-packed ground are his, too. He died for obedient sheep and wandering sheep and black sheep and goats and sparrows and anyone who’ll have him and even those who won’t.

Christ on the Cross by Francisco de Zurbaran
Christ on the Cross by Francisco de Zurbaran

Each Lent, I’m reminded by my hunger that every moment is the Lord’s, that every sacrifice is for love of him. This year, I’m thinking especially of all that I hold on to, keeping it “safe” from a God who surrendered all for me. The pride and envy and security and control that I think I need, that I cling to even when the Lord tries to loosen my grip–how pathetic, compared with the glory he surrendered for me. I offer the Lord so much but I hold back. “Lord, I will pray a rosary every day for the rest of my life, but seriously don’t ask me to pray an extra one with those kids or I will freak out.” “God, I’ll give you an hour in adoration, but if the next person is 5 minutes late, you’d better have a good explanation for why I was stuck here.” “Lord, I can love everyone except that kid. Nobody could love that kid.”

It’s easy to congratulate ourselves on what we’ve given to the Lord. When we start to see what he’s given to us, our paltry sacrifices don’t seem quite so impressive. Praise the Lord that he doesn’t ask what we have to give before offering us his very self, body, blood, soul, and divinity. He surrendered all for us. He surrenders all for us. Forget all those little sacrifices–let’s meet him in the Eucharist and offer our lives to him.

  1. South? Central? Wherever Carmel is–I never did look at a map. But I did figure out that I was on Eastern time, so that’s a plus. [↩]
  2. Have I mentioned that I’m wildly competitive? [↩]
  3. Definitely had to google that to see how to capitalize/punctuate it. [↩]
  4. Score! Grace and a date. [↩]
  5. He didn’t turn in a single thing, I’m still bitter. [↩]
  6. A year and a half later, still a virgin. So maybe she breaks her promise–at least I got her to think twice about it. [↩]

“Cheating” on Sundays

This isn’t entirely relevant, but check out the awesome Lenten manicure I got! I know it should be purple, but we were at a pink party, so deal. Seriously, though, how amazing are the crucifixes on our thumbs? And I have crosses on every finger. Basically, Madi who did my manicure is my favorite ever.

I’m sure this is old news to you, but you can eat whatever you want on Sunday. Sundays are considered days of rejoicing in the Catholic Church, each one a “little Easter.” On the first day of the week we celebrate the resurrection, most importantly by going to Mass but also by feasting. Because of this, Catholics are traditionally considered to be relieved of their Lenten penances on Sundays.1 Solemnities, too, are days of feasting, so enjoy your chocolate-covered bacon on the Solemnity of St. Joseph and the Annunciation, even if they do fall on Friday.

But the idea behind feasting on Sunday is not that we celebrate the resurrection with gluttony, that we indulge in some of the sinful behavior we gave up for Lent, or that we don’t pray as we’ve promised to. If you quit cursing for Lent, please don’t wake up Sunday with a resounding “@#*%@$^#$!!” Likewise, if you’re praying a rosary daily, Sunday is not the day to take off. But if you gave up sweets, there’s nothing wrong with celebrating the Lord’s resurrection with a slice of cake and a few pieces of chocolate.

Before you call me lame or a cheater or a heretic,2 take a minute to recall how long Lent is. That’s right, 40 days. But how many days are there between Ash Wednesday and Easter Sunday? Well, shoot, there are 46! Take out Sundays and you’re back to 40. See?

Sunday in LentNow, you’re not obligated to feast on Sundays; maybe Lent is more meaningful to you if you’re in the desert the whole time rather than taking dessert breaks. But a little Sunday feasting can be a good idea if you can be reasonable about it. I think the occasional indulgence makes fasting that much more of a sacrifice. If you’re on a juice fast, for example, you eventually stop getting hungry. Resetting your fast every week makes it more sacrificial. And feasting on Sunday reminds you all day long that this day is set apart. I never really lived the liturgical year until I started feasting on Sundays, Solemnities, and Feasts.3 Now, I always know whose feast it is and what’s coming up and I really long for these liturgical celebrations, It’s not just about a little bit of chocolate–feasting makes these days feel like the Feasts that they are.

But Sunday being a little Easter cuts both ways. Our Sundays ought to look different from the rest of the week all year long–obligatory Mass attendance being the most obvious distinction–but particularly in Lent. So as the first Sunday in Lent approaches, consider how you can celebrate Sundays.

If you’re a student–or a teacher, or anyone else who’s got a tone of work to do at home–I highly recommend taking Sunday as an actual Sabbath. That’s right, no work. I first did this in college and never quit afterwards because it was such a blessing. Think about it: you wake up Sunday morning and literally the only thing you have to do is go to Mass. So you go to Mass, have a leisurely brunch, and get coffee with a friend. As your roommate works frantically on his lab report, you kick back and read a book. As your boyfriend holes up in the library to finish a paper that was assigned 6 weeks ago, you make a chapel visit and then watch a chick flick. Now, you may have done those things anyway, but you would have felt guilty. The beauty of the Sabbath is that you have to rest–you couldn’t be doing anything productive even if you wanted to!

I know that most of you feel that you have entirely too much work to do to take Sundays off. Give me a break. With very few exceptions, if you refocus your whole week so that Sundays are free, there’s plenty of time. Maybe you can’t go out Friday or Saturday nights because you’re in finishing an assignment for Monday. Maybe that’s good for you. In the two and a half years that I did this, I think I may have had two Sundays where I had worked my butt off all week and still couldn’t finish. So I got the work done early Sunday and had the rest of my Sabbath to nap, pray, and visit with friends. There’s a reason God gave us a day of rest–it’s amazing! So why not at least give it a shot?

If you’ve got a family, try making Sunday family day. Shut the computer off all day and go out to a movie or a museum or the park. Bake cookies to celebrate the fact that you can eat sweets on Sunday. Pray a family rosary or have a family Bible study. Rejoice in the fact that you’re not fasting, yes, but rejoice in faith and family as well.

If you’re single, Sunday’s a great day to make a holy hour, get a documentary about a Saint on Netflix, or go to your mom’s house for dinner–and bring the meal. Or just turn off your phone and your computer, put away the work you brought home with you, and sit around doing nothing. If you’re anything like me, you don’t do enough of that.

Because the only obligatory fasts in our Church fall on a Wednesday and a Friday, it’s entirely up to you whether or not you break your fast on Sundays. Take some time to pray about it: could you avoid being gluttonous? Would your feasting truly be a celebration of the Resurrection? Would fasting all the way through make Easter more meaningful for you? But do take this Lent as an opportunity to begin a more intentional celebration of the Sabbath. The day of rest was given us as a gift–accept it and rejoice!

  1. In much the same way, every Friday is a “little Good Friday”–which is why all Catholics are obliged to make some sort of sacrifice every Friday of the year. The U.S. bishops recommend abstaining from meat. [↩]
  2. Which may all be true, just not in respect to chocolate on Sundays. I’m really not making this up. [↩]
  3. The real ones that are technically called Feasts, not any random memorial of a Saint. [↩]

10 Reasons We Fast

Image via flickr

I love my kids, and I always loved teaching, hard as it was, but I am not sorry to be missing the whining today. “Oh my gosh, I can’t believe we have to have pizza today! Why can’t I just have a hamburger? This is so stupid! The cafeteria should at least serve meat so people have the option to choose. Why does the Church get to tell me what I can and can’t eat? Am I really going to go to hell if I have a little bacon? That’s not fair!” You think I am exaggerating. I am not.

I’m always amazed at how we can sit before a God who was stripped, beaten, and nailed to a cross for us and say that anything is “too much” to ask. Oh, I do it, don’t get me wrong. But when you think about the size of our sacrifice compared to the size of his, it seems rather pathetic to deny him. And yet when it comes to food (and sex), we are decidedly ready to.

Now, I love food. But the Lord drew me to fasting from almost the beginning of my walk with him. I was 15 when I started making significant sacrifices outside of Lent and 17 when I first really fasted–not the unimpressive one-regular-meal-and-two-small-meals rule that most of the world just calls eating, but the kind where you don’t eat for more than 8 hours at a time.1 At first, I was just being obedient to the promptings of the Spirit, but as the years have gone by and the Lord has led me to fast in many and various ways, I’ve begun to see just how much fasting can teach us.

In this world of food television, fast food, and gatherings that always and everywhere center around food, it can be hard to see the point of real fasting. Sure, I can give up chocolate so that I know I’m a good Christian, but what does it actually accomplish? If you’re just doing it because that’s what good Christians do, I would imagine it accomplishes very little. But if you’re submitting in obedience, uniting your sacrifice to Christ’s, or seeking the meaning of the practice, there is so much the Lord has to offer you through the gift of fasting.

  1. When you fast, you tell the Lord that you love him more than food.
    I think this is the most basic level, the first thing we understand about fasting as a child. Every piece of candy we don’t eat, every meal we skip is a love letter to the Lord. Early on, it’s very hard, but gradually we begin to put Christ first so that a snack or even (God help us) a piece of bacon seems nothing compared to Christ.
    .
  2. Fasting helps to detach you from your psychological dependence on food. I think Americans especially are obsessed with food; we let it rule us. The idea of having enough self-control to skip a snack, let alone a meal, is astounding to us. But when you choose hunger for love of God, you begin to realize that hunger isn’t so bad. After years of fasting, I don’t have to plan my life around food.2 Food is a gift or a detail, never the driving force in my life. There’s great freedom in that.
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  3. Fasting makes eating worshipful. If you’ve ever been really hungry–I mean really hungry–you know that the first bite of stale bagel is rapturous. That whole first meal, really, is the best thing you’ve ever tasted. Far from running from food because the world is evil, fasting teaches us to find God in the good things of creation. And if you fast frequently, you get in the habit of worshiping when you eat.3 Every good food becomes a prayer and soon you see the whole world as sacramental–which, after all, is the point.
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  4. Fasting gives you mastery over your body. More than just helping you to rule your appetite, fasting teaches you to rule your appetites. When you fast, you discipline your body and learn to be its master, not its slave. I don’t know how people can be chaste when they haven’t practiced self-mastery in the arena of food first. If you can learn to deny yourself in what is an actual need, your ability to deny yourself a great desire is strengthened dramatically.
    .
  5. Fasting unites you to the suffering Christ. I’m not just being flippant when I say “Jesus suffocated to death for you; I think you can handle skipping snack time.” During Lent, we walk with our suffering God through the desert, up the hill, and onto the Cross. When our Lenten journey is more than inconvenient, when it’s actually painful, to a degree, we can offer our hearts to him and learn to love him better. We suffer for love of him, which consoles his bleeding heart and teaches us just how deeply he loves us.
    .
  6. Fasting teaches you to accept every cross, not just the ones you choose. I once found myself furious because I had been looking forward to lemonade and my table was given tea instead. It took me a minute to realize that I would gladly have chosen to go the whole day without food but I just could not accept not getting a drink that I didn’t even particularly like. For many of us, the great difficulty of our particular cross is that it is chosen for us. The more we learn to take up the crosses of our choosing, the more we learn to embrace the one that is thrust upon us. True fasting makes me decrease and him increase. I learn to rely on his strength at work in me; if he can carry this little cross I made for myself, he can certainly carry the big one he picked out for me.
    .
  7. Fasting changes your attitude to discomfort. Before I started fasting, hunger was misery, an occasion for whining and self-pity. After years of training, my automatic reaction to hunger is to pray. There are even times when I find myself praising God for the hunger before remembering that I’m not fasting, I just haven’t gotten around to eating. When hunger is prayer, it’s not hard to make pain and exhaustion and other physical discomfort prayer. We adjust our attitudes by surrendering our bodies to God and before long we find that virtue isn’t as hard as it once seemed.
    .
  8. Fasting teaches you to live in solidarity with the poor. I hear people say “I’m starving” all the time. “No,” I want to shout, “You aren’t!” You know who’s starving? Orphans in Africa and lepers in Calcutta and even, God help us, some people on our streets here at home. But you? You’re barely even hungry. I know the difference, because I’ve tasted that “starving” you throw around. Not starving to death, no, and not by necessity but by choice. It’s not the same and I don’t want to pretend that the hunger I took on is as crippling as the tragedy of poverty and hunger in this world. Still, I’ve felt a hunger so deep that you stop being hungry. When you’ve experienced that type of hunger, it’s hard to be swayed by missing a meal. And it’s easy to ache with love for those who don’t choose starvation. Now I’m not recommending that you starve yourself by any means, but if you’ve been really hungry–even gone 24 hours without food–the word “starving” will come less easily to your lips and aid for the poor will come more readily out of your pocketbook.
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  9. Fasting humbles you. When you’re awkwardly turning down food without telling people why,4 you’re humbled. When you realize how addicted you are to Pop Rocks, you’re humbled. When you’re so hungry you get light-headed and you have to break your fast to honor your body, when your hunger makes you cranky, when you realize just how little control you have over your body or your mind, when you realize how much you take for granted, you’re humbled and humbled and humbled again.
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  10. Courtesy of Kelly.

    Fasting strengthens your prayer.  The testimony of Scripture is clear on this issue: “this kind comes out only by prayer and fasting.” Fasting purifies our intentions and puts force behind our prayers. When you’re fasting for an intention, you’re telling God how much you mean it. This Lent, will you consider adding one sacrifice (food or otherwise) to your list of resolutions specifically for the Holy Father and the conclave that will elect his successor? It doesn’t have to be anything much, but every time you’re tempted, throw up a prayer for our German Shepherd and the man who will step into his large, holy shoes.

Now, there are many people who can’t fast in an extreme way, for whatever reason. If you can’t skip a meal, there are favorite foods you can cut out. If you’ve struggled with an eating disorder, though, your penance will be to eat. For you, dear one, that is penance enough.

Go to Focus for the whole infographic

For the rest of you, I’d like to challenge you to pray about stepping up your game this Lent. If you’re psychologically dependent on snacks, give them up. If you “need” 3 square meals a day, try cutting back to two on Fridays. Go vegan for Lent or just cut out meat. If you’re being led to something more extreme, I’ll assume you’re working with a spiritual director and don’t need my ideas. I’m only beginning to learn the lessons that I’ve listed above–I’m certainly no expert on fasting or holiness or prayer or really anything at all. But I feel so blessed to have been led to fast and thought I ought to propose to you all that there is more to fasting than just skipping your snack and calling it a day. It’s not too late to up the ante this Lent.

If nothing else, though, you’re looking at one regular meal and two small meals today and Good Friday and abstinence today and every Friday in Lent.  The Church in her wisdom has required these minor sacrifices of us; let’s offer them joyfully to the Lord and see what he has to teach us.

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This song by Jimmy Needham (love him!) is a beautiful meditation on today’s first reading. Enjoy–and happy Lent, friends! May the Father strengthen you to persevere in your penances; may the Son rejoice in your heart as it suffers with and for him; may the Spirit bring you wisdom and clarity through the sacrifices you make for love of him.

 

  1. I’m not going to go into details. I usually don’t talk about fasting in a way that will give people any idea about how I fast, but I think I should today. Just know that I’m healthy and prayed up and that you should discuss anything ridiculous with a spiritual director. [↩]
  2. If you’re diabetic or hypoglycemic or have struggled with eating disorders, this is not something to aspire to. Be where you are–God loves you just there. [↩]
  3. Not what you eat, although breaking your fast with the Eucharist can be just incredible. [↩]
  4. Do try not to tell people why. If you’re telling everybody how hard your fasting is, you might as well just start eating again. That’s the point of today’s Gospel: fasting is between you and God, not you and God and your friends and your frenemies and Facebook…. [↩]

I’m Glad Pope Benedict Is Resigning

I’m always creeping people out talking about how cute he is, but come on! How can you not love that face??

I loved JPII. He was the pope of my conversion, the pope whose eyes shouted love for me. There were moments in my youth when I believed the lies the world tells about the Church’s misogynistic and antiquated ways, times when I felt that perhaps it was just some patriarchal bureaucracy. But I knew that my Papa loved me–not loved everybody, but loved me. When I couldn’t believe that God loved me, this Pope who responded to cries of “We love you!” with “Perhaps I love you more”–he showed me the love of Christ in a powerful way.

When he died, I sobbed. And then I rejoiced. I had loved him for so long but I knew that, as much as he loved me, he would never know my name. I studied in Rome for a semester to be near him, but 5 seats in from the aisle was the closest I was going to get. In death, he knew me. In death, he listened to me. In death, he sat beside me at the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass.

I was fully prepared to love his successor, but I knew that I would never adore him the way I adored John Paul.

And I was right. I don’t love Pope Benedict that way–but I love him just as much. See, JPII is my number 2 crush of all time. No joke, I see pictures of him at 60 and I think he’s the handsomest man I’ve ever seen. I don’t even notice that he’s old. I don’t feel that way about Papa Benny; I don’t swoon over his pictures or get butterflies in my stomach when I think about him. He’s not exciting–not the rock star John Paul was–but he feels like home. When I look at his picture or read his words, I know that I am held in the Father’s embrace. I suppose I loved JPII like I love Christ. But I love Pope Benedict like I love the Father.

So this morning’s news stunned me. Not only are we losing him, in essence, but he’s choosing to go. And yet I feel no sense of betrayal, not even confusion. There may not be a holier man in the world today; if he feels the Lord has asked him to abdicate, I trust him.

Nor does any man more deserve to retire to a life of prayer. For 85 years, Pope Benedict has poured out his life for the Church. In recent years, he has prayed and written and spoken and traveled and suffered ridicule and abuse and yet still he loves us. A dear student of mine was blessed to meet him once; she told me that she has never in her life felt more loved than when he looked in her eyes.

Even in stepping down, he is serving us.

And now he feels that he is no longer capable of giving the Church what she needs. I have a hard time believing that any man alive would be better at this work than he, but I trust him. I’m stunned by his humility in acknowledging his limitations, most particularly by his entreaty: “I ask pardon for all my defects.” That such a man would forgo weeks of interviews and accolades from his adoring faithful and instead speak quietly to the Cardinals, proclaiming his weakness and begging their forgiveness–this is the reason the world stands shocked. Not because he resigned, but because even his resignation is not about him. Sr. Mary Theresa of the Dominican Sisters of Mary, Mother of the Eucharist put it beautifully: “Pope John Paul II remained in office so that he might show us how to suffer and how to die. Pope Benedict XVI is leaving the Papal Office so that he might show us how to live in humble honesty.”

The Holy Father’s resignation is a great loss to our Church. But it is also a great gift–a gift of humility, of prayer, of discernment. In stepping down, our beloved Pope continues to teach us to live in the Father’s will. I’m glad he’s teaching that lesson. I’m glad he’s living such humility. But most of all, I’m glad he will have some years of peace at the end of his life. The gates of hell will never overcome the Church of Christ; may God bless us with another saint as Vicar.

 

Aggie Catholics has a great piece on why this is a good thing. Fr. James Martin tells us what this teaches us about discernment. Tim O’Malley explains how this lesson in seflessness should change us all. Jimmy Akin‘s first thoughts help clarify the situation. And my dear friend Christina Grace is just mourning the loss.

100 Things to Do for Lent

Do you realize how soon Ash Wednesday is? Shoot, y’all, it’s time to start praying on what you’re going to do for Lent.

I’ve always loved Lent. It’s like Jesus Boot Camp–6 weeks of hardcore prayer and fasting, but then you get 7 weeks of Easter, praise the Lord, to gain back all the weight you lost in Lent.1 I’ll write more about the gift of fasting later, I’m sure, but for now, let’s get really practical.

What the heck are you going to do for Lent?

You probably know that the three pillars of Lent are prayer, fasting, and almsgiving.2 Did you know that you’re supposed to do all three? Did you know that you can do more than one thing in each category? Did you know that giving up regular Coke and only drinking Coke Zero, Diet Coke, and Caffeine-free Coke is a totally lame-o way to go?3

Lent is not the time to go so hard that you die–or make others wish they were dead because you’re so cranky. It’s a time to discern what the Lord is calling you to, what he wants you to be more detached from, what sin he’s calling you to abandon, how he wants you to lean on him and love his children. But it can be hard sometimes to come up with something more fruitful than giving up soda, so I thought I’d give you some options.

Fasting is the most obvious. Even non-Catholics will ask you what you gave up for Lent. For some of us, Lent is an opportunity to root out some of the evil in our lives. Maybe it’s time to give one (or a few) of these sins up.

  1. Drunkenness
  2. Gossip
  3. Pornography
  4. Complaining–try accepting the cross you’re given instead of objecting that you’d rather choose your own.
  5. Smoking4
  6. Masturbation5
  7. Calling your sister an alien6
  8. Negativity
  9. Being snarky or short or cold or whatever it is you do that makes talking to you an act of charity
  10. Laziness–try exercising for Lent
  11. Arguing
  12. Being picky–eat whatever is set before you
  13. Judging people
  14. Comparing yourself with others
  15. Anger
  16. Immodest clothing
  17. Impure books/television/movies/music
  18. Lying
  19. Cursing
    .
    Or maybe there’s something good in your life that you’re too dependent on. Or even something good that is healthy for you but that you could offer to the Lord for 40 days. Fasting can help you grow spiritually in so many ways. How about:
    .
  20. Snacking
  21. Television
  22. Lunch
  23. Facebook
  24. Makeup
  25. Soda
  26. Chocolate
  27. Shopping (the frivolous kind, anyway)
  28. Secular music
  29. Sweets7
  30. Hitting the snooze button
  31. Secular reading
  32. Meat
  33. Naps
  34. Junk food
  35. Fast food
  36. A reasonable diet8
  37. Coffee
  38. Cream and sugar in your coffee9
  39. Social media
  40. Sarcasm10
  41. Scratching
  42. Your pillow
  43. Hot showers
  44. Hot food
  45. Salting your food
  46. Staying up stupid late–give yourself a bedtime!
  47. Wasting your life on the internet
  48. In that vein: youtube
  49. Wearing your favorite color
  50. Alcohol
  51. Kissing11
  52. Gum
  53. Checking your smartphone when you’re with people12
  54. Driving when you could walk
  55. Idle curiosity–try not reading every sign you pass or googling every question you have. If it doesn’t matter, be content not to know.
  56. Anything that’s about popularity–checking your blog stats, posting things on facebook that are clever but not edifying
    .
    Prayer should be at the center of your life all the time, but especially during Lent. Try one of these 50 ways to talk to God on for size, follow this daily Lenten prayer schedule to ease you in to a holy hour, or go for one of the below–altering amount and frequency if you like.
    .
  57. Daily Mass–maybe even daily!
  58. A chapter of the Bible a day. You can get through all 4 Gospels if you read 2 chapters a day and don’t skip Sundays.
  59. 10 minutes of meditation a day
  60. Chaplet of Divine Mercy
  61. Join a Bible study at your parish
  62. 20 minutes of Spiritual reading a day
  63. The Rosary–a decade or even a whole Rosary each day
  64. Go to your Church’s Lenten mission
  65. Stop by an adoration chapel on your way home each day
  66. Don’t turn on music while you drive–pray instead
  67. Subscribe to some solid Catholic blogs
  68. The Liturgy of the Hours–once a day or seven times, if you like. My favorite is the Office of Readings (Matins).
  69. Wear a crucifix
  70. Spend the time you would have spent watching TV reading the lives of the Saints or watching documentaries on the Saints
  71. Go to confession–every week, every other week, for the first time in 30 years….
  72. Pray the Stations of the Cross every Friday
  73. Get up early to pray13
  74. List 5 things you’re grateful for every day
  75. Journal
  76. Blog!
  77. Be intentional about your time–make a schedule (with prayer featuring prominently) and stick to it
  78. Go to an art museum or a botanical gardens once a week and just rejoice in beauty
  79. Break your fast with the Eucharist every day–don’t eat until you’ve been to Mass
  80. Pick a virtue to strive for each day
  81. Spend 10 minutes each night talking to the Lord about your day–thanking him for the good and the bad, apologizing for how you fell short, asking for the grace to be better the next day
  82. Listen to Christian music while you drive
  83. Listen to Catholic CDs while you drive
  84. Pick a Saint to be like and do it
  85. Lectio Divina
  86. Pay attention at Mass
    .
    Almsgiving isn’t always as easy as giving money to the poor. Figure out how you need to love the people around you and do it.
    .
  87. Donate the money you would have spent on whatever you’re fasting from
  88. Spend the time you would have spent watching TV with your family
  89. Visit a nursing home–and bring your little ones if you have them. Nothing takes the awkward out of talking to old people you don’t know like a baby.
  90. Step up your tithing game from 10% to 15%
  91. Invite a priest or religious to dinner
  92. Do that rice bowl thing
  93. Save up all your change (and maybe even your singles) and give them to charity.14
  94. Write letters to your grandparents
  95. Call your mother
  96. Volunteer once a week–soup kitchen, shoveling snow, the nursery at church, whatever!
  97. Give someone a compliment every day
  98. Take someone to lunch every week–a lonely coworker, a neighbor you don’t always love, one of your children
  99. Perform an act of charity every day–do the dishes when it’s not your turn, take your kids to that awful playground they love so much, talk to your parents in multiple-word sentences, pick up litter
  100. Tell someone about Jesus

Here’s a printable list that’ll  help your family (or community) decide together what to do for Lent.

Shoot, friends, that’s a lot of stuff–what else would you recommend?

More ideas from LifeTeen here and here. Nick did me one better with his 101 Lenten practices–but he wrote it three years ago, so I can’t be bitter. Any other sites with good suggestions?

Well, shoot, I added this post to Haley’s Little Holy Days linkup–my very first linkup ever–and totally forgot to add a link back to hers and all the other great Lent posts! And now we’re almost a week into Lent and probably done with any serious traffic on this post,15 but you should click over and see what other people have to say about Lent. Enjoy!

  1. This is how I know my fasting is not just dieting–because while I may lose weight during Lent, I gain it all back (and then some) during the Octave of Easter. [↩]
  2. Giving to the poor [↩]
  3. I’m looking at you, Nathan. [↩]
  4. Not necessarily a sin, but it’s fair to call it a vice, anyway, right? [↩]
  5. Yeah, I went there. [↩]
  6. Or, more broadly, making fun of people. I didn’t do Lent growing up, but I did make this New Year’s resolution once. You’re welcome, Rosie. [↩]
  7. Stephen Colbert hadn’t tried his own ice cream flavor because he gave up sweets for Lent. Love him. [↩]
  8. Options include: going vegan, a juice fast, bread and water, or (my favorite) gray and tasteless. I actually went an entire Lent eating only plain, flavorless foods like oatmeal and dry toast. Consult your spiritual director–and maybe your doctor–before doing anything that ridiculous. [↩]
  9. The only time I’ve ever had black coffee was during the Triduum. How do people drink that stuff?? John Paul (my nephew, not the pope) says it tastes like sidewalk and orange peels. I think it tastes like regurgitated tar. [↩]
  10. Yes, I’m counting this as a good thing. Did you read my post on 1 Corinthians? That thing was awesome. [↩]
  11. Probably a bad call if you’re married. [↩]
  12. Maybe this should go in our first category…. [↩]
  13. I do not recommend combining this with giving up your snooze button. If you’re anything like me, one of them will have to give. [↩]
  14. If you do this, switching to your credit card for every purchase is cheating. FYI. [↩]
  15. Except for the slackers out there–hi! [↩]

A Modern Translation of 1 Corinthians 13

via flickr

Since we all know the Bible is, well, out of date,1  I thought you’d appreciate a more modern and relevant reading of the old wedding standard. I don’t know about you, but all that talk of selfless, patient, trusting love makes me a little nervous. Wouldn’t it be better if we updated it so that it talked more about romance and being in love instead of all that nasty suffering and virtue we always have to hear about? Try it this way:

If I speak in human and angelic tongues
but am not in love,
I am a resounding gong or a clashing cymbal.
And if I have the gift of prophecy
and comprehend all mysteries and all knowledge;
if I have all faith so as to move mountains,
but am not in love, I am nothing.
If I give away everything I own,
and if I hand my body over so that I may boast
but am not in love, I gain nothing.

Isn’t that a nice start? Just a little shift so that we know that really, it’s romance that makes life worth living. And just in time for Valentine’s Day, too!

Love is tolerant, love is nice.
It is not demanding. Love is not needy,
it is not hard, it is not dull,
it does not outlast romance,
it is not faithful, it does not forgive when wronged,
it does not challenge or correct
but lets the beloved be comfortable.
Love improves all things, tolerates many things,
ignores some things, endures nothing.

See what I did there? This passage gets read so often at weddings, but I don’t think modern Americans want to be thinking about jealousy and rudeness and wrongdoing at a wedding! Isn’t it better to take all that messy stuff out and put in those nice sentiments about how we’re all just going to feel good forever now that we’re in love? Let’s not get all bogged down by the old notion that love is challenging or, God help us, that it’s not an end in itself. A path to holiness? No, no, holiness is hard and if love gets hard, well it just isn’t love anymore, is it?

Love feels good.
If there are major differences, they will be brought to nothing;
if fertility, it will cease;
if unchastity, it will be brought to nothing.
For we love partially and we are loved partially,
but when the wedding comes, the partial will pass away.

So forget your mother’s objections! Don’t listen to the studies that tell you that cohabitation will mess up your marriage! Who cares if you can’t trust your fiancé? Marriage will fix all this! Just walk down the aisle in a dress worth more than your grandparents’ first home, say the magic words, and you, too, can live happily ever after!2

Then there’s some funny stuff about kids and mirrors, which is stupid because weddings aren’t about kids unless you mean the flower girl, and hopefully her mother took her out of the church the minute she walked down the aisle because she sure as heck better not be messing up your perfect day. And mirrors–well, weddings are definitely about mirrors, but no need to call anyone’s attention to the fact that you spent more energy on your makeup than you did on your pre-nup. Hey, at least you got a pre-nup, right? Of course you did–you’re not stupid.

At present I love fully;
then I shall love less, if I am less loved.
So success, money, love remain, these three;
but the nicest of these is love.

Remember, friends, love is a feeling. Now go out there and find someone to make you feel good! Then enjoy it as long as it’s nice and easy. Don’t worry what anybody else thinks about your partner or your behavior–this is just about you two (or three–no judgment here). Make sure you have a good friend to complain about your partner to, somebody who’ll take your side and bash him right along with you. But never actually communicate about your frustrations. That wouldn’t be fun or pleasant and love is all about pleasure, isn’t it? Guilt-free, consequence-free, self-gratification. So go grab yourself a mate or you’ll be alone and empty–but don’t actually *mate* unless you’re financially comfortable and emotionally stable and you actually want kids. (And really, who wants kids? Except as an accessory, I suppose.) Then stick around as long as you’re having a good time. That’s all anyone can ask of you.

  1. Before anyone gets mad, let me make it very clear that this entire post is completely sarcastic. And, lest you be offended, I assure you that I’m not making fun of you. Unless you’re completely shallow and secular and saccharine and over-sexed. In which case, hi! Welcome to my blog! Please read absolutely everything on here. [↩]
  2. Unless things get too hard and then you can start over. [↩]

My Favorite Place

One question I get a lot these days (almost as much as “Do you really live out of your car?“) is “What’s your favorite place you’ve spoken?”

Well, friends, that was a tough question. Let me give you a quick run-down of my life over the past 8 months:

  • Started in Kansas
  • Stopped over with friends in Indiana
  • Spent the night with a family in Pennsylvania
  • Babysat for my sister in Virginia, spoke at the diocesan work camp
  • Overnight in PA
  • South Bend for a wedding and some time with friends
  • Back to Virginia to MC a junior high work camp
  • A girls’ retreat in Georgia, then a youth leader retreat
  • An overnight in Ohio
  • First vows with the Sisters I entered with in Michigan1
  • A few more days in Pennsylvania
  • Visited friends in New York City and Western New York
  • Back to Indiana for a while
  • Breakfast with one of my kids in Indiana, lunch with another in Illinois
  • Time with friends in Wisconsin, Iowa, Kansas, Oklahoma, Texas, Louisiana
  • Got stuck in Alabama–glad I was there
  • Ave Maria, Florida, to speak to a few Bible studies, a youth group, and a gathering of would-be apologists
  • Left Alabama in the morning, not knowing where I’d stay. Ended up with a friend’s sister’s husband
  • Taught classes at my old school in Kansas, spoke at Benedictine College
  • Theology on Tap in Omaha
  • Retreat with the University of Evansville in Indiana
  • Back to Virginia for some babysitting and a little volunteering
  • Down to Georgia for a chastity retreat in Winder, a youth group meeting in Athens, and a lecture on the Reformation at Georgia Tech2
  • Hightailed it up to Virginia, getting there right before the twins were born. Spoke to a junior high group
  • Ran to Delaware right quick to talk to young professionals on the New Evangelization
  • Back to Virginia to babysit, with a quick hiatus for a lock-in in Maryland and a talk on the Mass at Old Dominion University
  • Christmas!
  • Hawaii, where I spoke after three Masses, to two youth groups, two women’s groups, two informal gatherings of moms, three volunteer sessions, and a group of adults who gave up a whole Saturday for my Apologetics Boot Camp
  • Back to Georgia for a Theology of the Body talk at Georgia Tech (videos to follow) and at a high school youth group (and at Georgia College and State University tonight)

With a list like that, with that many cities and venues and homes, it’s no wonder I had a hard time deciding what I’d liked the best!

Well, no more. Hands down, Hawaii.

Hawaii Beach
This is what I did with my Tuesday afternoon. NBD.

Of course, there’s the weather. Leaving cold, gray Virginia for sunny Hawaii was definitely a perk. And you can’t beat a warm beach in January. And then there’s the landscape–it’s like God had finished creating the world and he decided to make one more spot, just in case the Alps and the Adriatic coast and Australia’s coral reefs and Angel Falls3 weren’t enough to convince us he loved us. Just to be sure, he made one more string of islands and shoved as many ecosystems as he could right up together to show his creative genius, to shout his love. Gorgeous beaches run up against prehistoric forests4 with jagged mountains wreathed in clouds just a stone’s throw away. It’s unreal.

That thing I’m doping with my hand is called a shaka. Around my neck is a fuzzy lei.5 On my head is a homemade lei that I think was also supposed to go around my neck but it was made by children who underestimated the enormity of my head, so I wore it like a crown. For the entire talk. Because I’m that dedicated.

But so much more than the island itself, it was the people I worked with at St. Damien’s. The ladies who opened their hearts so quickly, who are my friends now. The children who fell asleep in my lap. The families who picked me up early in the morning, drove me around, fed me, and then gave me donations on top of all that. The women who showed up over and over again–even twice a day–hungry for God’s word and eager to make me feel welcome. The lady who spoke to me on the phone after I left, telling me honestly how she’s hurting and listening when I tried to show her how the Lord wants to heal her. The man who told me the boot camp left him more confused about his faith than ever–stunning me until his wife told me he was a Baptist. And of course there was the wonderful woman who arranged my trip, picked me up from the airport, housed me, fed me, planned my week, sat up nights talking with me, and even made sure that everyone who picked me up was planning on feeding me. All of these beautiful military families–they cooked and drove and listened and prayed and spread the word and took notes. I was treated like a princess–and humbled, humbled, humbled by their openness and love.

I think this is the same kind of card they give to their own members when they leave for a new assignment.

I have never felt more welcome anywhere in my entire life. After just a few days, that community became home, and by the time I left, my new friends were hatching a plan to put my picture on a bucket and carry it around asking for donations so I could come back. And you know what? Whether I go back to Hawaii or not, I’ll see those women again. In Colorado or Alabama or Alaska6 or wherever. I spoke to the women’s groups about how desperately God loves them–and these ladies reminded me how true it is by making me one of them.

And then, as if meals and beaches and conversations and a paycheck and cards and gifts and friendship weren’t enough, they recorded most of my sessions on Friday–and then gave me the video camera! That’s right, gone are the days of cell phone videos. I am officially the owner of a Sony Bloggie Waterproof camera for all my deep sea speaking needs! I’m linking to the videos below so those of you who didn’t get to attend7 can live vicariously. Or so you can take these videos to your pastor/DRE/whoever and get me to your parish!

The first talk defended the existence of God and the divinity of Christ:

After discussing what unites Christians, I explained what divides us:

Later, we hit the Eucharist and confession:

And ended the day with some intense morality issues:

Obviously, these videos don’t cover all 6 hours of the boot camp, but they should give you a pretty good taste. Plus, my friends in Hawaii are so awesome, they had a professional television editor come in to tape the whole day. I have no idea what the final product is going to look like, but I know it won’t happen for a few months. Be sure I’ll let you know when it does!

So no brilliant point today, just joy in the generosity of the people of God and some videos to keep you busy. Because these ladies taught me that even when I feel like all I have to give is pathetic, God is doing great things for his glory.

My new medal of St. Damien–given to me by St. Damien’s Church in Hawaii–on my keys so I remember the blessing of that week.

********

If you haven’t been over to Bonnie’s yet to vote for your favorite Catholic blogs, please do! Voting ends today at 6pm Central, but I think she’s tallying the votes manually, so please don’t vote more than once. Do vote for me and for my sister if you read her–which you should. She’s “A Blog for My Mom” and she’s funny and her kids are amazing and probably way harder to deal with than whatever is exhausting you these days, so at least take a look when you feel overwhelmed and remember that whatever else is going on, you (probably) don’t have 4 kids under 4!8

  1. This confuses people. I did not profess vows. I just went to celebrate with them as they did. [↩]
  2. Georgia Tech is definitely high in the standings for favorite place. [↩]
  3. That alliteration was totally accidental! [↩]
  4. I may just think they look prehistoric because they remind me of Land of the Lost. [↩]
  5. Which I’m giving to my niece. She’s going to die of excitement. [↩]
  6. In the summer, please! [↩]
  7. You poor mainlanders, you. [↩]
  8. Not that we’re comparing, it’s just sometimes a relief to think that other people have it rough, too. And to think how much rougher it could be. But not to downplay our suffering in the face of someone else’s crazy life. Oh, whatever. You read my post the other day. You don’t need me to explain that I don’t think my sister is better than you. Even if I kind of do. [↩]

Why I Don’t Volunteer at Soup Kitchens

When I was a teenager and even more obnoxious than I am now, if you can believe that, I was obsessed with the poor. Actually, that might be too generous. I was obsessed with what everyone else was doing to help the poor.

Righting wrongs that are none of my business since 1984.

I was born with a violently strong sense of justice1 and raised without much money. Even though we didn’t have much when I was very little, I have distinct memories from childhood of giving to the poor and even volunteering as a family to feed the poor. So I suppose it’s no wonder that with the advent of a more significant allowance came a sense of obligation to help those in need. Which would have been a good thing had I not felt the need to beat people over the head with it.

I distinctly remember sitting in my car after youth group one night sobbing because the people–even the adults–didn’t understand that they had to help the poor. I had even broken it down for them, making it as simple as I could: “If you have two blenders, you should give one away. Nobody needs two blenders.” No, they said, yours might break, and then you’ll need the other one. “Then you can buy another one! Why would you hoard extra things on the off chance that you’ll need them in the future??” But they didn’t care. All I was trying to say was that that they ought to give some of their excess away. But they couldn’t hear it.

In college, I got more extreme. I wouldn’t pay more than $20 for anything but a plane ticket and I judged those who did.2 I didn’t chill out until my wise roommate pointed out to me, “Meg, someone has to minister to the country club.” Oh, I thought, well if it’s wealth for the sake of ministry, I guess that’s okay. But I still brought up the plight of the poor with regularity. After all, as St. Ambrose says, “The rich man who gives to the poor does not bestow alms but pays a debt.” Giving to the poor, he says, is not optional.

But despite my absolute conviction that all Christians have an obligation to serve the poor, I can’t remember the last time I was in a soup kitchen. Or a food pantry. Or a homeless shelter. Or really any place devoted to serving the poor.

I realized my first year of teaching that for all I was telling people to feed the hungry and clothe the naked, I wasn’t doing a lick of it myself. So I resolved to get more involved, do more, be more available to serve the poor.

First year teaching kind of looks like this–overwhelming chaos that you can’t do anything about. Definitely adding another activity was the way to fix that.

You read that right: I decided during my first year of teaching that I wasn’t doing enough for Christ and his people. Somehow, I thought that 14 hours of ministry a day wasn’t enough. I decided that my weekends shouldn’t be spent recharging3 but doing more.

Praise the Lord, he stepped in and stopped me before I drove myself to a nervous breakdown. And I had to realize, in all humility, that I can’t do it all. I can’t sing in the choir and lector and be an EM–I have to choose.4 I couldn’t be a first-year teacher and spend my weekends at the soup kitchen. At a certain point, I had to recognize where my gifts lay and where God was calling me and let the rest go.

There will always be more good work to be done for the Kingdom, but you don’t have to do it all. What you have to do is the work that the Lord has put before you today. And the beauty of the Body of Christ is that when you put us all together, we do all the work that must be done. Some of us feed the poor directly, others by tithing. Some of us catechize directly, others through the witness of our lives. Some of us are missionaries, others pray for missionaries, take missionaries into their homes, comment on missionaries’ blogs.5

The gift of this messy, beautiful, holy, fallen Church we’re in is that we don’t all have to be elbows or noses or pinky toes.6 At this point in my life, the Lord has called me to evangelize day in and day out. It doesn’t leave a lot of time for slinging hash. But I can’t be holier than the Lord has called me to be–if he wants me on the front lines for faith and working the supply chain for works, I can do that. Insisting on being in the trenches for every cause that matters is just pride–and stupidity.

Which book do I read? I’ll never read them all! My life is so hard!!!

One of the great temptations when you start getting serious about following the Lord is comparison. You start looking at how people around you are serving Christ and you take your eyes off him. But God doesn’t want cookie-cutter Christians! He wants you to be you and to do the particular work he’s given you. And when we look at all the work we’re not doing or the prayers we’re not praying or the books we’re not reading, it’s easy either to get discouraged or burnt-out. If you’re anything like me, the result of comparing yourself to holy people–not prayerfully emulating Saints but analyzing their resumes–is sin.

There is great humility in saying, “I love the poor but God hasn’t called me to that ministry.” You’re acknowledging your limitations and avoiding the Messiah complex that I’m so prone to. If it’s honest, if it’s truly a result of prayer and prudence, if you’re giving of yourself through some other work or ministry or relationship, it’s a blessing to be able to say no.

My friends, the freedom of being saved by grace is that we don’t have to do everything. We have to do something, certainly (faith and works), but we don’t have to do anything but the work that the Lord has set before us. So stop letting the image of other people’s holiness stress you out. Just because she has 10 kids doesn’t mean you’re a bad mom because you’re struggling with 3. Just because he reads the Bible every day doesn’t mean that has to be your devotion. If you’ve got your hands full with prison ministry, you don’t have to volunteer with the youth group, too.

If this picture doesn’t make you want to do something, you might need an attitude check. But the something you do might not be as obvious as ladling soup.

Now, if our Church weren’t serving the poor, we wouldn’t be the Church of Christ. And if the way you live isn’t informed by the plight of the poor, if you’re not conscious of fair wages and living simply and giving to the poor, then you’re ignoring the Gospel. But each of us is called to serve the poor–and the doubtful and the lonely and the imprisoned and the ill and the sinner–in our own particular way. Sometimes being at peace with that limitation is harder than any mission trip or morning at the shelter.

I’m still kind of obsessed with the poor–Jesus told us we had to be. But I’m not so judgmental any more, and I don’t feel so guilty that my work isn’t directly focused on the poor. Because holiness isn’t about doing everything. It’s about doing what you’re called to do.

So what about you? What are you called to do? And what other ministry do you have to sacrifice to do it?

**********

While you’re wandering the internet wasting time, why don’t you head over to see Bonnie and vote on your favorite Catholic blogs for the Sheenazing Blogger Awards?7 See, I got nominated–twice! Coolest blogger8 and most inspiring, can you believe it? I’m kind of floored. But anyway, you can go vote for me (or somebody else) if you want to and then whoever wins gets to put a cool meme of Fulton Sheen on his or her blog. At least go scroll through the ballot and find some awesome new blogs to read. Because you didn’t have enough going on.

And make sure to check out Bonnie’s miracle baby while you’re there. Stillborn, with no pulse or respirations for 61 minutes, he came back to life and is a normal, healthy little boy today. Incredible!

  1. Particularly as it relates to how other people treat me, but that’s a matter for another post. [↩]
  2. Ironically, I was shelling out a gazillion dollars a year on my education…. [↩]
  3. Or, more likely, grading. [↩]
  4. Or have the choir chosen for me, as often happens. Once, I was passing through a town on Good Friday and stopped in at a church for the liturgy. I literally stashed my suitcase under a pew, I was so transient there. Within 5 minutes, I was standing at the front of the church in a choir robe. Another time, I went to a church I’d only been to once or twice before. I started Mass in the pew. By the offertory, I was cantoring. How do these things happen to a person??? [↩]
  5. Thanks for all the blog love, by the way. I pray for y’all daily! [↩]
  6. You caught the reference, right? 1 Corinthians 12? [↩]
  7. It’s Sheen–Fulton, not Charlie–plus amazing. Get it? It took me four or five times, too. Don’t be ashamed. [↩]
  8. These people have clearly never met me. [↩]

On Human Life

Hi! My name is Meg. I’m 29 years old and, by many definitions, an adult.

Yes, that’s me headbanging and playing the shovel. You really wish we were friends in real life.

Before I was an adult, I was a teenager.

Here I am at my senior prom–how cute!

Before I was a teenager, I was a tween.

Leotard and a kilt. At least I’m not rocking Rosie’s floral print and vest.

Before I was a tween, I was a child.

A grimacing child with awesome lopsided pigtails.

Before I was a child, I was a toddler.

I learned to talk before I was a year old. Here is photographic evidence that once I started, I never shut my mouth again.

Before I was a toddler, I was a baby.

The earliest baby picture I’ve ever seen of myself, courtesy of my lovely Aunt Miriam.

Before I was a baby, I was a fetus.

Clearly, none of the rest are pictures of me. My lame parents don't have any pictures from before I was born.
Clearly, none of the rest are pictures of me. My lame parents don’t have any pictures from before I was born.

Before I was a fetus I was an embryo. EmbryoBefore I was an embryo, I was a blastocyst.

The next three images are from the Yale Fertility Center.

Before I was a blastocyst, I was a morula. Morula Yale

Before I was a morula, I was a zygote.

Zygote YaleBefore I was a zygote, I was nothing. I was never an egg. I was never a sperm. The creature that I am began at a very specific moment in time. I began the moment my DNA began–not at birth, not at viability, not at implantation. I began at my conception.

You see, there’s no ontological difference between a fetus and an infant. The only real difference is location. A baby at 9 months gestation and a full-term newborn are exactly the same in every way except location.

before birth after birth

And while viability might sound like a firm line–saying that those who can survive without help are people and those who can’t aren’t1–we can’t actually know which babies will survive. I know a man born at 22 weeks who’s perfectly fine. He even has a master’s degree. But most laws set viability at 24 weeks. And, of course, viability varies from place to place–how could we possibly say that one fetus is a person and the other isn’t simply because one is in Brussels and the other is in Brazzaville? It’s a fuzzy line at best and a heinously immoral one at worst.

Neither birth nor viability is a moment at which a lump of tissue changes into a person. The person you are now is the same person you were in your mother’s womb. There’s no genetic difference, no difference in anything but accidentals.

When you were in your mother’s womb, you were genetically human–and a different human from your mother. You were biologically alive.2 You were you when you were a fetus. You were you even when you were one tiny little zygote, smaller than the head of a pin. We can trace your existence back in time all the way to your conception and no further. You began at your conception. Your life began then–not at birth, not at viability. At conception. You were already you.

And so is every baby, wanted or unwanted. She already has a soul, a future, a place in the world. If you know she’s there, she may already have a heartbeat (22 days) or even brainwaves (40 days). But whatever stage that baby is at, she has her very own unrepeatable identity. She will grow and develop and become more and more herself. But her self does not begin at self-awareness or birth or viability or implantation or any other arbitrary line. Wanted or unwanted, she was herself from the moment of her conception. Would that we had the courage to love her just as she is.

*************

If you’ve had an abortion, I ache for you. I don’t judge you or hate you or condemn you. I love you. Really, I do. I am so, so sorry that I couldn’t help you. But I want to help you now. Project Rachel is a post-abortive healing ministry–no judgment, just beautiful women who will weep with you when you are ready to weep. Please know that your Church loves you–your God loves you–and we want you back. More than anything, he wants you back. He has already forgiven you, even if you haven’t yet asked.

And if there is anyone who makes you feel unwelcome in the arms of Mother Church, you let me know. I’ll kick butt and take names. You are my sister and I want you home with me.

  1. You can tell that’s a problem already, can’t you? [↩]
  2. Walker Percy–who apparently was a doctor? Who knew?–explains this in an interesting way here. [↩]

Forgiven and Loved

There are so many things I’ve wanted to tell y’all about since I’ve been in Hawaii but God has been blessing me with such full days that there’s no time for anything. Tonight, though, I have to set aside everything I’ve wanted to say about the grandeur of God and the irony of giving a talk on humility and the inadequacy you feel when you’re working for the Lord. Because tonight, God showed up.

This visit has been incredible for so many reasons, but I think the greatest joy hasn’t been the beaches or the food but the opportunity for ministry. I’ve had at least one talk every day and I’ve seen so many of the same faces. These women, these incredible Army wives who stay behind as single mothers while their husbands are out serving their country—after only a few days, I’m so proud to call them my friends. They are strong and beautiful and holy and desperate to live in God’s will and I’m humbled by their service and their hospitality and their fellowship and honesty and brokenness. Again and again I’m amazed by them.

This morning, I had a room full of these incredible ladies for one of my very favorite talks on knowing that you are beautiful and loved and resting in God’s embrace. Friends, it was powerful. We ended with an Ignatian meditation on the woman who anointed Jesus’ feet and women were sharing what the Lord had shown them in prayer. I could really tell that the Holy Spirit had been working.

So I wasn’t totally looking forward to tonight’s meeting. It was all women again and I wanted to give the same talk but I knew it wouldn’t be the same. When it goes so well in the morning, it never feels right in the evening. Besides, some of the ladies had come for round 2 and I didn’t want to bore them. But the Lord is in control, so I started talking, knowing that he would lead.

The talk went pretty well—knowing that God loves you, trusting that he’s working through your pain, accepting that you don’t have to earn his love. I sang “If You Want Me To,” by Ginny Owens, and moved into a meditation on the woman caught in adultery.

Woman caught in adulteryNow, I’ve given this meditation plenty of times. Every time, I get the same reactions. The girls are usually the woman, the boys bystanders. Occasionally I find a Pharisee in there, but it’s pretty clearly a meditation on how God forgives people and that’s how people interpret it.

I knew something was up when I looked up after the meditation and almost everyone was crying. Then we started talking about our experiences.

“I was so angry at the Pharisees. I was so, so mad—I’m still mad. I don’t have any idea what it means, but I’m mad.”

“I stood with Jesus and just looked at the woman. I looked at her and I loved her.”

“At the end, Jesus left, but I didn’t go with him. I knelt down by the woman and just stayed with her.”

“When they brought her in, I went and stood in front of her. I was going to shield her from the stones with my body.”

Almost every woman there shared that her meditation was focused on loving the sinful woman. I thought it was strange until the last woman shared.

“I was her,” she said, in a broken voice. “I was her and I don’t feel any better.”

And she sobbed. And we sobbed. And I looked around the room and realized that these women had all along been sitting in a circle around their heartbroken sister. During this meditation, they were surrounding her. In their hearts, not knowing what her struggle was, they were fighting her enemies, defending her, loving her, consoling her. For these women, in this moment, fellowship looked a little less like coffee hour and a little more like prayer warriors going into battle for each other. The Lord put these reflections on their hearts so that she could hear that not only has God forgiven her, so have they. And as we talked and prayed, they prayed and cried and loved her.

Apparently when Army wives say fellowship, they don’t mean it quite the way civilians do.

This, my friends, is what it means to be a Christian. We fight for each other and bleed for each other and weep and live and die for each other. We’re not called the Church Militant for nothing, and these Army wives know it. It’s so easy for women’s groups to become middle school girls’ groups, to be filled with drama and judgment and competition. Today, the Lord worked a miracle to show his mercy. “Neither do I condemn you,” he said. “Neither does she condemn you. And she won’t abandon you. And that one’s ready to go nuclear on anyone who does. Because you deserve it.”

This woman is beautiful and funny and loving. She is an incredible mother and has a husband who loves her desperately. She’s been forgiven. But her heart can’t hear it. So tonight, the Lord raised up a community to speak truth to her heart.

As she drove me home, this song came on the radio, sending that message of forgiveness once again:

All my life I have been called unworthy
Named by the voice of my shame and regret
But when I hear You whisper, “Child lift up your head”
I remember, oh God, You’re not done with me yet

I am redeemed, You set me free
So I’ll shake off these heavy chains
Wipe away every stain, now I’m not who I used to be

If you’re where my dear friend is right now, hating yourself, feeling worthless, certain that God couldn’t really forgive you, please hear this: When God washed you clean, heaven rejoiced. In that moment, the record of your sins was obliterated. Our God is so consumed by his love of you that who you were never crosses his mind. “Though your sins be as scarlet, I will wash them whiter than snow,” he said to David. To David. Like, send-others-to-risk-their-lives-for-me, use-my-office-to-make-a-married-woman-sleep-with-me, send-her-husband-to-his-death-to-cover-it-up David. White as snow.

He could have redeemed you with one drop of his blood but he wanted you to know what you were worth. And so, stripped and beaten, the God of the universe stretched out his arms between heaven and earth to tell you that he loves you, he forgives you, and he longs for you. Not because he had to–because he wanted to. And he’d do it again.

I would stake my salvation on this fact: no matter what, you are loved. I only hope you have a community around you that shows you.

Today, please stand with me and this community, swords drawn, to surround our sister in prayer. Pray with me for comfort for her broken heart. And praise God with me that she is forgiven, redeemed, and made new in Christ. How great is our God.