The only life worth living is a life worth dying for.
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.
So far, I’ve spoken after 3 Masses, given a talk on evangelizing in a relativist world and one on the Eucharist, led a discussion on leading people to Christ, and met some seriously amazing army families. With another dozen or so talks still on the docket–including my very first Apologetics Boot Camp–I don’t have a ton of time to write anything for y’all, so I’ll just give you a taste of Catholicism Hawaii style:
Can you see that Joseph is wearing a lei and a rosary and that Mary is wearing a lei and holding some cool flower?
And now I’ll send you off to read my sister’s blog. This is a beautiful post about how each of her children is her favorite–I know we’ve got a lot of moms out there who will relate. And then you can read all the ridiculous things my nephew does. It sounds like bragging when I tell these stories, but when she blogs them she’s just recording them for posterity (or the canonization process), right? But seriously, go read it. You’re going to love it.
In case you’ve been wondering what’s going on over here, the internet and I are at war. My website keeps going down and then my sister’s awesome amazing incredible brother-in-law fixes it and then it freaks out again. So send a prayer to St. Isidore for me but (more importantly) offer a prayer for Michael. He’s been so kind and gracious and I’m wildly grateful to him. If it weren’t for him, I’d be seriously freaking out all the time because I don’t understand any of this crazy computer nonsense at all!1
In other news, I’m driving to Atlanta today2 and flying to Hawaii tomorrow. If you’re in Hawaii, shoot me an email and I’ll let you know the details of all my engagements out there. Or follow me on facebook–I may remember to post everything I’m doing there, too.
And now, since I feel bad posting without a picture, enjoy:
My niece (whom I already miss desperately) dressed as the BVM in Advent. See how she’s pregnant and wearing a veil? Her idea.
Seriously, it gets so broken I can’t even log on to see that it’s broken. How on earth does one deal with that?? [↩]
This post brought to you courtesy of McDonald’s Dollar Menu and free wifi [↩]
On Christmas morning,1 Father gave a homily that focused on the weakness of the infant Christ. Since I had custody of a 3-year-old and an infant at the time, I didn’t hear much, but I’ve been meditating on the weakness of the omnipotent one a lot since then.
I tend to focus on Christ’s weakness and poverty as a manifestation of his desperate love for us, that he was willing to suffer anything to be united to us. And certainly that’s true–he wanted to be like us in every way but sin2 and so he began with that most basic of human conditions: weakness. And yet I think there’s so much more than that to learn from a God who can’t hold up his head–in the manger or on the cross.
Now isn’t that just the prettiest vicious instrument of torture and execution you’ve ever seen? By the way, go shop at Hobby Lobby, especially this Saturday January 5th–they’re really fighting the good fight with this HHS business.
There’s something about the helpless baby Jesus that draws us, something about his very weakness that appeals to what is good in our humanity. We turn from Christ stripped and beaten, take him off our crucifixes or at least wash off the blood, but we can’t help but approach the little God-child in the manger. In his weakness, he calls to us as his strength never could.
You see, our God is terrifying. He’s anything but approachable. In the moment of the Fall, Adam and Eve saw God through the eyes of sin and hid from him. And in spite of everything God sent to our ancestors to draw them back to him, in spite of floods and plagues and prophets, in spite of the Song of Songs and the temple restored, still they hid. The only god worth worshiping is a God who holds galaxies in his hands, a God who rends mountains and smites nations. But who would dare love that God? So the Israelites did what was logical–they worshiped the true God with incense and sacrifices and then went home to pour their hearts out to their weak little household idols.
Because a god who can do nothing is at least a shoulder to cry on but a real God, one with real power? That’s not something to be trifled with.
Our God would not be distant from the hearts he so loved, though, and so he fought for us. The entire Old Testament is a history of God’s attempt at wooing man. But whatever he did, still we hid and cowered and held him at arm’s length. Despite our need for him, we ran from him.
Cicely Mary Barker: Madonna and Child
And so the almighty, immortal, all-knowing God chose to need us. Not in any real sense of the word, of course. But he became that most needy of creatures: a human infant.3 Because we would not approach his majesty, he became supremely approachable in the form of a soft, sweet, chicken-legged little baby who needs to be held and rocked and loved. Through his weakness, he draws us to himself. We would not love him reigning in heaven, so he asks us to love him powerless on earth. Our beloved Holy Father spoke about this at Midnight Mass this year:4
Again and again it astonishes us that God makes himself a child so that we may love him, so that we may dare to love him, and as a child trustingly lets himself be taken into our arms. It is as if God were saying: I know that my glory frightens you, and that you are trying to assert yourself in the face of my grandeur. So now I am coming to you as a child, so that you can accept me and love me.
And in becoming weak to draw us close, he dignifies weakness. He teaches us that suffering and poverty and even shame have value and meaning. He teaches us that the weak are not despised by God who himself became weak.
And if we are Christ-lovers, then we must become lovers of the weak, the scorned, the poor, the abused. We must love him in them not simply because he told us to (Mt 25) but because in the womb of the 13-year-old girl waiting for her bus with swollen ankles and a more swollen belly we see our Savior, threatened from the moment of his conception by a world that thought he had no right to exist. In the little boy whose daddy is being deported, we see our God in exile with no legal right to safety from the terrors of what should have been his home. In the little girl who’s three years behind in school, we see the Word illiterate, learning to read at his mother’s knee. In the losers and the freaks sitting alone in the cafeteria, we see Love rejected and despised. In the homeless, the unemployed, the terminally ill, the criminal we see Christ. And if we’re serious about this Jesus thing, we fight to love them not despite their weakness but because of it.
Still it gets harder–further up and further in, after all. We love God in his weakness and so we love people in their weakness and so we must love ourselves in our weakness as well. We refuse to be discouraged when we are lonely because, after all, Christ was lonely. We weep beside him, hunger beside him, long to be loved beside him. The God of power and might did what seemed impossible–became weak–not only to show his love or call out for ours, not only to dignify weakness or teach us how to love others. He shivered and cried and toddled and fell and lisped and stank and suffered and died in order that we might not grow weary and lose hope.5 To give us patience with ourselves, to remind us that he’s not done with us yet. Tonight, I am weak and a little discouraged. And maybe as the world makes lists of resolutions, what we need isn’t more gym memberships or book lists but the simple promise that when we fail, it will be okay.
God became weak for us. Maybe weakness isn’t something to be ashamed of after all.
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If you’re in the Mobile, Alabama area, make sure to check out Vino and Values, a women’s evening with speaker Hallie Lord. Free wine, cheese, door prizes, fellowship, and a fabulous speaker–what’s not to like? (And if you’re not in Mobile, at least check out this great article by Hallie on how being hard is what makes marriage great.)
Merry Christmas! It’s not Christmas day anymore, but it’s still Christmas. [↩]
Hebrews 4:15–did anybody hear me talking about Hebrews on the radio the other day? [↩]
Believe me–we’re dealing with two right now and we’re all just a little bit crazy from all their neediness. [↩]
Thanks to Christina for helping me find this quotation! [↩]
Lately, I’ve been pulling my darling nephew onto my lap and snuggling him.
“Guess what,” I say.
“I love you,” he responds, because that is how this game goes.
“How much do I love you?”
“A dillion.” This is, apparently, an enormous number. It’s bigger than a trillion. A dillion squared is a sillion. That’s all we know.
“Will I love you forever?”
“Yes.” He’s smiling.
“No matter what?”
“Yes.”
“What if you do something really bad? What if you kick Cecilia hard? Will I still love you then?”
The first time I asked a question like this, he wasn’t quite sure. He just looked distressed. But now he knows. “Yes.”
“What if you’re really mad at me and you hate me? Will I still love you?”
“Yes.”
“What if you hate Jesus and you never go to church?”
“Yes.”
It goes on with different questions each time. He smiles the whole time, giggles sometimes–not because anything’s funny, just because he’s happy. I tell him over and over that I love him and he knows it but he still needs to hear it.
If you need to hear it tonight, let me tell you. God loves you. Forever and for always, to the moon and back. He loves you more than you could ever imagine and he will never stop loving you. Not if you are cruel to the people who love you, not if you reject him and hate him and nail him to the cross over and over. He will still love you. No matter what.
And since you maybe don’t hear him when he sings it in symphonies and paints it in wildflowers and suspends it in a monstrance, I’ll say it again.
Whatever you’ve done, wherever you’ve been, whoever you are, whatever the cost. Deeply, madly, desperately he loves you.
I don’t know about y’all, but I have a hate-hate relationship with New Year’s Eve. I mean, it’s the most important night of the year. Your social life is pretty much defined by how awesome your New Year’s Eve is. I’m not even talking about the need to kiss someone at midnight–I never understood the appeal of kissing somebody random, even at my most teenage.
Thank you Facebook for this evidence of how little I enjoyed that party.
I’m talking about the fact that people are in Times Square and on yachts and dancing with Beautiful People and I’m hiding from Y2K in the mountains or watching Shrek 3 with my little brother or sitting in my friends’ living room by myself because they’re in bed. I’m not even kidding. Other highlights include watching Mamma Mia,1 taking an hour to drive 3 miles because my mother insisted that I would be killed by a drunk driver if I drove on a highway at 11pm on New Year’s Eve, playing catchphrase in a hotel lobby, and sitting around at a party full of people I didn’t like.
Can you see why it’s not my favorite day of the year?
You think it’s gonna be like this.
I mean, you spend weeks either planning something awesome that ends up not being that awesome (underage wandering around Georgetown looking for something cool to do and ending up in a pub where the manager gave a speech from 11:58 to 12:02) or feeling lame for not having anything planned. And either way you’re miserable because your New Year’s Eve wasn’t the best night of your life. Why on earth would it be? It’s just a random day!
But it always ends up more like this.
So last year, I decided to shout a big “Forget you” to the culture I’ve been trying to satisfy and finally just embrace the fact that I’m not a socialite or a sorority girl or even a person with friends who throw New Year’s Eve parties. You know what I am? Of course you do. I’m a Jesus freak. And I’m happy with that every other day of the year. So last year, I decided to do what made me happy on New Year’s: I went to Mass.
Oh, my kids thought I was lame. But for the first time ever, my New Year’s Eve lived up to my expectations.
I got all dressed up and headed out the door around 11 for some good prayer time before midnight Mass. There must have been a hundred people there. When we sang, it was a cappella Christmas carols and the congregation split into harmony. Father preached on the term theotokos! I was in heaven. And when half the East Coast was trying not to puke in the cab, I was savoring the Bread that has all sweetness within it and offering my life anew to the One who gave it to me.
When I was a kid, New Year’s Day was the only Holy Day of Obligation I knew about.2 I honestly thought that the Church had established it as a Holy Day so that people couldn’t get too drunk on New Year’s Eve.3 But the Solemnity of Mary the Mother of God isn’t on New Year’s so that you can’t have fun–it’s so that our year is consecrated to Christ through our Lady. It’s so that you start each year off at Mass. It’s so that there’s a chance you’ll reflect on your New Year’s resolutions in the sanctuary rather than the bar.
So why not skip it all for this?
If you’ve got a midnight Mass or an adoration chapel you can get to, might I suggest foregoing the lame evening that’s all about hype and spending your evening with the Lord instead? If you’re cool enough that your evening is usually fun,4 feel free to go out afterwards. But even the Kardashians can’t outdo the wedding feast of the Lamb. Come midnight, I’ll be surrounded by incense, my voice raised in praise of the One to whom all time belongs, preparing to receive him in the flesh. Watching a giant crystal ball drop very slowly on a television screen–without Dick Clark, no less–well, you’ll excuse me if I don’t think it compares.
Merry Christmas! (Yes, it’s still Christmas. Praise the Lord and eat something peppermint!)
To recap for anyone who might be new around here:
Back when I was a white girl pretending to be an island princess. (Okay, it was for a play. I still look ridiculous.)
Since I was 15 years old, all I’ve ever wanted to do was lead people closer to Christ.1 I felt led to be a high school religion teacher, so I went and got not one but two degrees in theology from Notre Dame. I taught in Atlanta for three years, spent three months in the convent, then taught in Kansas for two years. Last spring, I realized that God was calling me to be an evangelist in a more dramatic way, so I packed everything I own into the trunk of my car and now I’m traveling the country speaking to youth and adults at schools and parishes, giving retreats, and blogging along the way.
In the seven months since I hit the road, I’ve spoken in 8 states, stayed in 18, and driven through 29. I’ve spoken on conversion, the Eucharist, confession, life in Christ, Scripture, the Mass, the Resurrection, the HHS Mandate, lectio divina, chastity, discernment, the New Evangelization, the Blessed Virgin Mary–you name it. I’ve worked with middle-schoolers on up and it’s been a great blessing.
But I’ve had a lot of down time, too. And while it’s nice to get to visit friends and family, I get frustrated when I’ve got any stretch of time when I’m not meeting new people, speaking God’s word, and trying to lead souls to Christ.
You guys have been amazing–from kind comments and emails to the prayer I trust I’ve got coming from you to incredible hospitality and generosity, you are such a blessing. Is it too forward to call on the body of Christ for a little more support? I just really want to be working for the kingdom–anywhere and everywhere–and I bet you guys know people who’d like to bring me in. Is anybody willing to put in a good word for me?
In January, I’ll be headed to Hawaii,2 then back to reality in Georgia and Florida. From Florida in early February, I’m headed up to Indiana, then over to Cleveland with a possible trip to New York in between. Then back down to the DC area in March before I head out to Kansas in the middle of the month. At that point, I’m wide open. I’m toying with the idea of heading west to Colorado, maybe Nevada and California, but I don’t have anything lined up until some summertime stuff in Ohio.
I must be a big deal if I speak in venues where people have to sit this far away, right? (Please ignore the empty seats.)
So this is where you guys come in! So many of you have told me that you love my blog or that you’d love to hear me speak. Well, let’s make it happen! If you know anyone who’s involved in Christian education or ministry, could you put in a word for me? I’m not picky–you don’t have to have money or big numbers or even an official ministry.3 If you live anywhere near where I’ve got plans to be, let me know and I’ll swing by. Or if you’re somewhere else, we can figure out a time when I can head out your way. Shoot, y’all, I’m going to Hawaii–wherever you live couldn’t possibly be less convenient.4
Seriously–I will drive to Montana for your Sunday school class, to Maine for your Golden Years coffee hour, or to Oklahoma to talk to your daughter about her sketchy boyfriend. If you feel led to help me out, you can send your DRE or youth minister5 or whoever to my basic speaking page or this page with tons of poor-quality videos. This page talks about the apologetics boot camp that will be premiering in Hawaii next month. If you want to give them something more official, you can contact me and I’ll email you my press kit.
I hate to ask for help, and I hate it even more because I feel like I’m asking y’all to help me in my career. But I promise it’s about ministry, not money–you literally don’t even have to give me any money if you don’t have any in the budget. So please don’t feel pressured or taken advantage of, just do me this favor: spend 30 seconds in prayer asking the Lord if there’s anything he wants you to do to bring me to your area. If there is, awesome–I can’t wait to meet you! If not, no worries–we can still be friends. And as always, I appreciate your prayers like you would not believe. So whether you’re going to nag your boss for me or not, please keep the prayers coming!
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I’ll be on Spirit Catholic Radio in Omaha on Thursday morning at 8am CST. We’ll be discussing Hebrews 2–listen live and let me know what you think!
Do you know about Goodreads? It’s like Facebook for books–it’s my new favorite thing! You can keep track of what you read and how much you liked it and get book recommendations and see what other people are reading. I’m kind of obsessed. You should friend me–especially if you like YA princess books–and see how impressively juvenile my choice of literature really is.
While we’re being random, if you could spend the Triduum anywhere in the country, where would it be? My Easter looks pretty open and I want to go somewhere where I can really pray rather than squeezing Jesus in between social obligations. Any recommendations?
Also, to be a rock star, have a million kids, and eat everything made of white chocolate that I ever encountered. But mostly the Jesus thing. [↩]
God can never be outdone in generosity, right? How ridiculous is that? [↩]
Last night, I left my poor sister alone with the fussy twins because there is very little that can keep me from Midnight Mass. I knelt before Mass soaking in the last chapters of Isaiah. My soul was stilled as the Christmas Proclamation cut through the silence and my heart echoed with joy when the choir sang out “Adeste Fidelis.” I smiled as a little girl with leggings under her Christmas dress laid the baby Jesus in the manger and ached at the beauty of “What Child Is This.” I fell to my knees as I professed my faith in the incarnation and meditated on life as a pilgrim, an outsider conforming to the Center of all being who became an outcast for me.
And then I approached the altar. I bowed before Christ incarnate and went forward to receive my God. As usual, I closed my eyes and opened my mouth to receive the kiss of my Lord. As usual, his touch was gentle. And then I heard him say, “Come closer to me.”
Not a locution, though for a moment I thought it was. Father, having given me communion, was telling the altar server to move closer to him with the patten. But with my eyes closed and Jesus on my tongue, I heard it as I think the Lord intended it:
“I have come close to you. I have taken on flesh that you might know me more fully. I have embraced your weakness and your poverty. I have wept for your consolation, been stripped and beaten and killed that I might win back your heart. I have returned and come for you, waiting for you day and night, calling to you from the tabernacle. I have subjected myself to indignities beyond belief to be close to you. Now you, dear heart. Come closer to me.”
What a grace–this Christmas, I am praying that you and all those you love will be flooded with grace to come closer to Christ. Let us kneel at the manger and worship, kneel at the altar and receive. Merry Christmas, my friends.
Our Christmas in a nutshell: Cecilia is wearing the crown I made her and one snowflake mitten; I’m wearing her Blessed Virgin Mary veil and John Paul’s crown. I told her to pose for a picture and she brought the baby Jesus rubber duck from their awesome rubber duck nativity and said, “Wet’s kiss Baby Jesus.” Yes, of course.
O Emmanuel, king and lawgiver, desire of the nations, Savior of all people, come and set us free, Lord our God.
Anybody remember Animaniacs, that cartoon that was on in the 90s? I was a big fan and still sometimes get lines from the show stuck in my head. I vividly remember watching one episode in particular (the episode itself I can barely recall, but I remember the experience of watching it). It involved an Indiana Jones-style quest to find the meaning of life. I couldn’t have been more than ten years old, but I remember knowing even then that this was the question. I sat riveted to the screen, convinced that at the end of the show, I was going to know what the meaning of life was. When they got to the end and couldn’t find the answer (or whatever happened), I was furious. My little agnostic self was desperate, even at ten, to know the meaning of life. I understood that if there wasn’t some objective answer to the question our existence poses, the whole thing was futile.
In retrospect, I suppose I’m glad that they didn’t give an answer. I was so hungry for truth, I’m sure I would have taken whatever nonsense Warner Brothers came up with as Gospel. My ten-year-old heart knew that there had to be something more than the mundane experience of life that seemed universal. Like everyone, I wanted to know that I mattered, that there was some purpose to my life, that there was some objective morality, and that ultimately–eternally–I could be happy.
This is a yearning common to all humanity. We see it reflected in the desperate attempt to capture beauty on canvas or pedestal. We find it in the longing for romantic love and the music that glorifies it. We recognize it in the adolescent need either to stand out or to blend in, the hunger for success, the human tendency toward self-obsession; even the rampant materialism the permeates our society shows that we’re empty and we know it. We are driven to find meaning and purpose, to be accepted, to be seen and known and loved just as we are. That is the desire of every human heart.
And in just three days, the Desired of all nations will come. God with us, our Creator who is the way, the truth, and the life.1 The divine lawgiver who shows us what it means to love God with all our heart, soul, strength, and mind and our neighbor as ourselves.2 Christ our brother who makes us more than family.3 The Divine Word who knows everything we’ve ever done,4 never condemning but encouraging us to sin no more.5 Love incarnate who, in spite of everything, loves us as his Father loves him.6 The Son of God who will welcome us on the last day into the joy prepared for us from the foundation of the world.7
Blessed John Paul the Great puts it so simply: “Jesus Christ is the answer to the question posed by every human life.”8 When you gorge yourself on comfort food, it is because you hunger for the Bread that satisfies. When you look desperately and indiscriminately for your next romantic relationship, you are seeking One who will complete you. Your drive to do better and be greater comes from the fact that you were made to be perfect and you long to hear him say, “Well done.” When you feel alone or abused or unloved or vulnerable it’s because your identity rests in yourself or others, not, as it should, in Him. Your heart is restless until it rests in Him.
From heaven he called and shouted, sending patriarchs, prophets, and psalmists, but his children–who were looking for him in every brothel or pagan temple or market–couldn’t hear his love thundering through creation. Since the dances of the stars weren’t enough, he sent one star. Since his words of love weren’t enough, he sent one Word.
And on that barren night in Bethlehem, the long-awaited Messiah came quietly into the world to whisper what he had been shouting since the earth was a formless wasteland:
Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest9 because I love you.10 I do not condemn you11 but I have come that you might have life and have it to the full.12 I have told you this that my joy might be in you and your joy might be complete.13 And take heart,14 for no one will take your joy from you.15 I give you my peace.16 Do not worry,17 I will not leave you orphans; I will come to you18 for you are precious.19 Keep my commandments20 and abide in my love21 and I will come back for you so that you may always be with me.22
Everything you’ve ever wanted will be laid in a manger on Monday night. Every longing of your heart is drawing you to Jesus. Your soul wants to belong to the One by whom and for whom it was made. Let your restless heart be captivated by the newborn King who brings the meaning it craves. The Desired of nations, the meaning of life: Emmanuel, God with us. Maranatha.
Another brilliant piece by peggy aplSEEDS. You have GOT to click through to see how this Madonna and child is actually an illustration of the Jesse tree. Beautiful!
Oh, come, oh, come, Emmanuel,
And ransom captive Israel,
That mourns in lonely exile here
Until the Son of God appear.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to you, O Israel!
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Things I have learned from this series:
I’m not so great at praying when I’m praying, but I’m pretty good at praying when I’m writing or talking. My meditations on these antiphons were awfully shallow in the chapel, but I think I really like how they turned out here.
I’m incapable of mediocrity. Okay, I guess I’m mediocre in a lot of areas. But when I know I can do something well, I will do it well, even when it means sacrificing a lot of other things. I thought I could just throw things together and post them but I spent hours on each one of these–as usual.
The absolute hardest part of blogging is finding good pictures to break up the text.
I could have written half a dozen posts on each antiphon–there’s so much in there!
I will never again (barring a direct command from God) commit to seven posts in seven days when I only have two free hours a day anyway!!!
Or, in greater detail, “It is Jesus that you seek when you dream of happiness; He is waiting for you when nothing else you find satisfies you; He is the beauty to which you are so attracted; it is He who provoked you with that thirst for fullness that will not let you settle for compromise; it is He who urges you to shed the masks of a false life; it is He who reads in your heart your most genuine choices, the choices that others try to stifle. It is Jesus who stirs in you the desire to do something great with your lives, the will to follow an ideal, the refusal to allow yourselves to be ground down by mediocrity, the courage to commit yourselves humbly and patiently to improving yourselves and society, making the world more human and more fraternal.” [↩]
O King of all the nations, the only joy of every human heart; O Keystone of the mighty arch of man, come and save the creature you fashioned from the dust.
If you’ve been in a mall in the past month, you know Christmas is coming. For that matter, if you’ve turned on the radio, been on the internet, or even driven through your neighborhood, you know. The world is preparing for the joy of Christmas. They’re consumed by it. And it may be more about consumption than it is about Christ, but the fact remains that the secular heart is often turned more towards Christmas during December than is the Christian heart.
As in so many things, our world gets a lot right by accident. Just like people know that marriage is important enough to merit an enormous celebration, they know that Christmas is a huge deal. And they get that it’s about joy–joy to the world and all that. Watch Elf and tell me the message isn’t that Christmas is all about joy and love.2
But why must Christmas be joyful? Is there something about evergreens indoors, colorful lights, and excessive consumerism that triggers a release of seratonin? Is it just because we give gifts and spend time with family? Or maybe the world is recognizing something real here: the only joy of every human heart.
I love that they’re flocking to him with an eagerness we rarely see outside of Black Friday and Justin Bieber concerts.3
Christ is our joy, most especially at Christmas because this is the moment when his coming was declared to the world. For nine months, Mary kept the knowledge that God had come to save us in her heart, sharing it only with Joseph, maybe, or Elizabeth. But at Christmas, the angels sang GLORIA and shepherds bowed their heads in worship, the lowest of men chosen to bear witness to the humility of God. The magi bent their knees before a no-name child in a a no-name village in a no-name province. On Christmas, God who had come near cried from the rooftops that he was here for us.
And this is joy–because God loves you, my friend–not y’all, but you–so deeply, so desperately that while you were still in sin, he came for you. For 33 years, he breathed for you and sweated for you and endured taunts and bug bites and emotional teenage girls for you. For you he preached, for you he suffered, for you he died. But he rose for you, friend, and returned for you in the Eucharist. All for you–with joy, for you.
In this we rejoice–that the God of the universe, the creator of galaxies and molecules, the God who has no need of our praise, this God wanted you. Threw aside the 99 righteous sheep to scour the hillsides for you. This God glows with pleasure when he hears his name on your lips. The God whose ways are as far above ours as the heavens are above the earth seriously does backflips when you go to confession.4
Can you imagine? Can you even begin to fathom what Christmas means? Unending love that will stop at nothing even though he knows every nasty corner of your soul. My God saw you filthy and cruel and awful and came running, shoving aside every obstacle, fighting Satan to the death and beyond, so that he himself could clean you and tend you and teach you and nurture you and endure further mockery and mistreatment at your hands. And he rejoices to do it.
This is what it means to be a Christian at Christmas. Pure, unbounded, awestruck joy.
This lady came out of the waters of rebirth screaming “Hallelujah!” I think she lives in Singapore but I really want to be her friend.
I know there’s so little time left for cleaning and cooking and shopping and wrapping and all the other little things that we really must do in order to bring Christmas joy to those we love.5 But if you’re not overwhelmed by this joy I’m describing, do something about it. Watch The Nativity Storyor put on some hardcore Christmas hymns a few days early or take a nap or go to adoration or go to confession6 or buy Christmas candy before it’s on sale and enjoy it early–I’m all about the suspense, but if you need a running start to leap up to “in excelsis” where the angels will finally be singing the Gloria on Monday evening, you have my official blogger permission to do what you have to do.
Even my 3-year-old nephew seems to have some spiritual preparation yet to complete. This morning, he came downstairs to find his Little People Nativity set up in a new location. He ran to it excitedly saying “Jesus???” But Jesus is still hidden until Christmas morning, so he exclaimed (with some relief) “Ohhhh Mawy’s still pwegnant!”7 I don’t know what he’s got in the works, but apparently it’s important. Like most of us, he needs every bit of Advent he can get.
Because you can have the most perfect Jesse Tree in existence or know every verse to “O Come, O Come Emmanuel” by heart in Latin or wear liturgically appropriate colors all season8 and your Advent will be a failure if Christmas doesn’t find you exulting. Every last moment of his life was for you. Take a page from the Target ad and rejoice.
Oh, come, Desire of nations, bind
In one the hearts of all mankind;
Oh, bid our sad divisions cease,
And be yourself our King of Peace.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to you, O Israel!9
No, I will not let up. Come on, every Catholic Church in the whole world–or at least a whole stinking lot of them–has confession this morning or this afternoon. You can pick the time of your choice using www.masstimes.org. Just go! [↩]
Believe me, I know it. Anyone remember why I decided to write a blog post every day and crochet multiple Christmas gifts for each niece and nephew and keep on babysitting non-stop and try to hang out with Jesus to get ready for his birthday? Basically, I have crocheted zero things in the past week which leaves me at .9 out of 9 gifts made. God help me, this is going to be a ridiculous weekend. [↩]
Shut up. It’s my goal in life to convince people to go to confession. Why have a blog if not to do whatever the heck I want? [↩]
Totally stolen from my sister’s facebook page, but I was with him for pretty much everything else he said all week, so I don’t feel even one bit guilty. [↩]
Yeah, I wore a sparkly purple sweater for the first two Sundays and pink for Gaudete. Bring it. [↩]
Really, I think both this and “O come, O come Emmanuel” go with tomorrow’s antiphon. But the best I can tell, the other is supposed to go with the”O Emmanuel,” so then there’s nothing left for today so…whatever. [↩]
O Radiant Dawn, splendor of eternal light, sun of justice: come, shine on those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death.
I knew a girl once who had been raised Catholic but had rejected the faith. At 20, she was pretty militantly anti-religion, although I don’t think I realized it until our small talk one day turned into something more.
She was asking me about my work, so I explained her that I was a high school religion teacher.
“Wait, so do you teach them all religions? Or do you just teach them yours?”
“Well, it’s a Catholic school,” I replied affably, “so I teach Catholicism.”
The look on her face was like I had told her that I drop kick babies for sport. “How can you do that? How can you force onto young minds the idea that your beliefs are right and everybody else’s are wrong?”
I was rather taken aback by this reaction–she really thought I was doing something evil when I tried to draw young hearts to Christ. I’ve had plenty of people think my attempts to evangelize were dumb or naïve but never cruel. So I didn’t have a pat answer at hand as I do with most of the challenges I get from non-Christians or non-Catholics. Fortunately, the Holy Spirit is always on his game.
“What if you had a friend who didn’t like music?” I asked this music major.
“What do you mean ‘didn’t like music’? Who doesn’t like music?”
“This guy. He’s a friend of yours–a good friend–but he just doesn’t care for music. Any music at all.”
“That’s ridiculous! I mean, has he listened to Rachmaninov? Or the Beatles? Everybody likes some kind of music.”
There was a time when the foul, flat, nasal, tinny music from this book was the only thing that would get my nephew to stop screaming. We called it “Awful Book.” Eventually we decided that the screaming was preferable.
At this point, I’m wondering how on earth she hadn’t picked up on where I was going with this. But I kid you not–I might be fudging some details, but the trajectory of the conversation is 100% accurate.
“Actually,” I put forward, “he’s never really listened to any music. Or maybe he has, but it was all electronic stuff out of awful plastic toys. But he’s never experienced anything real, anything beautiful or moving or even catchy and pleasant. Could you be friends with him?”
“I guess I could,” she said, embracing the hypothetical. “But–I’d make him listen to music! I mean, how can he live without it? I can’t imagine life without music–it would be…worthless.”
“Because you love music that much? And it brings you that much joy, right? Not because he’s a stupid jerk for not loving music?”
“Of course not,” she said. “It’s not about being right. It’s about wanting to share something that makes me happy with someone I love.”
“Exactly.” I swear to you, she didn’t see where I was going until that moment. She started to object, but then stopped to think. I gave her a minute before continuing. “I don’t evangelize because I want to tell everybody they’re wrong and fix them so they can be like me. It’s about love. I’ve found something–someone–so beautiful that brings me so much joy. What kind of person would I be if I didn’t want to share it? I teach people about Christ and his Church because I love them and I want them to be happy.”
My music analogy didn’t convert her–as far as I know, she’s still not a Christian–but it got her thinking. And tonight, it’s got me thinking, too.
Why do I evangelize? Why do I live this crazy life? Because I know him in whom I have believed. But more than that–because once I didn’t.
Tie-dyed shirt tucked into high-waisted jeans with a watch threaded through my belt loop while hanging on some boy and desperate for attention? Definitely a recipe for popularity.
I was raised with Jesus, but I rejected him early on. I didn’t know him until I was 13. And I was miserable. Cry-my-eyes-out, wish-I-was-dead miserable. The only meaning I could find in life was getting other people to like me and I wasn’t very good at that. And so, from at least 3rd grade, I spent most of my life feeling sorry for myself and wondering why I bothered to get up in the morning.
But then–oh, friends–light. I had walked so long in darkness and when I found Christ, I found meaning and joy and purpose and hope and the world was new. I had to give up all of my favorite vices. I made myself a target for the people whose approval still meant so much to me. But, incredibly, I was happy. Today, I’m a homeless, unemployed nomad. I have no husband or children. I have nothing that this world says will make me happy, but I am. Deeply, irrevocably so. Despite my tendency to freak out and my propensity for making myself miserable, my life is built on Christ and his comfort gladdens my soul.
I’m going to speak for a moment to those of you who may be reading my blog, for whatever reason, who haven’t experienced this Radiant Dawn I’m so in love with. I get it. It’s hard to believe, hard to accept what you think you can’t see. Maybe Christianity is too demanding. Maybe you enjoy your life just as it is.
The Nativity, by Gustav Dore. In modern images, the light in the stable tends to come from the star. Traditionally, the light came from Christ, the true Light of the world.
But for many of you, I think there’s a darkness. There’s an emptiness, a longing that you can’t quite seem to satisfy. Oh, maybe you’re okay right now–maybe your love for your family or your service to your community or your success or whatever has taken the edge off your hunger. But I think it will be fleeting. I think you know, like I did, that something’s missing.
Forgive me for being so forward, but I can’t help it. Whether I know you or not, I love you. I really do, and I want you to be happy. I want you to be at peace. Forget the fact that I’ve been intellectually convinced of the truth of the faith–I’ve found joy and love and hope and beauty and I can’t keep that to myself. I need you to know that he loves you and longs to draw you gently into the light of a life lived in joy and peace and love. I’ve been where you are. I wouldn’t go back. Not for anything.
For the rest of you, thank God that he has brought you out of darkness into his marvelous light. If you’re like me, consider who you were and praise the Lord that he’s brought you so far. If you’ve never felt that deep, terrible darkness of the shadow of death, praise the Lord for having claimed you even in your youth. Wherever you were, recognize that you’re not there yet.
This is what Advent is about–reflecting on the darkness dispelled by Christ and the darkness that remains. There are still many dark places in my life, deep crevices that I keep hidden from the light of Christ. But daily he pushes me, stretches me, and brings joy and peace even there.
If you don’t know him yet, maybe now’s the time to try.
Oh, come, our Dayspring from on high,
And cheer us by your drawing nigh,
Disperse the gloomy clouds of night,
And death’s dark shadows put to flight.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to you, O Israel!
Here’s an early Christmas present for you:
Same outfit the next day only I swapped out my mom’s really old sweatpants for the jeans and tied an oh-so-chic sweatshirt (with a large teal sparkly spot made from puffy paint on the sleeve) around my waist. This left me with no belt loops from which to hang my watch.1 No problem! Just hang it from a chain around my neck and off I go with my mismatched socks to pose very awkwardly by a tractor. This was a day when I was hoping to make new friends.
If only there were some way to attach one’s wristwatch to one’s wrist…. Seriously, what was wrong with me?? [↩]
And if we are Christ-lovers, then we must become lovers of the weak, the scorned, the poor, the abused. We must love him in them not simply because he told us to (Mt 25) but because in the womb of the 13-year-old girl waiting for her bus with swollen ankles and a more swollen belly we see our Savior, threatened from the moment of his conception by a world that thought he had no right to exist. In the little boy whose daddy is being deported, we see our God in exile with no legal right to safety from the terrors of what should have been his home. In the little girl who’s three years behind in school, we see the Word illiterate, learning to read at his mother’s knee. In the losers and the freaks sitting alone in the cafeteria, we see Love rejected and despised. In the homeless, the unemployed, the terminally ill, the criminal we see Christ. And if we’re serious about this Jesus thing, we fight to love them not despite their weakness but because of it.
Lately, I’ve been pulling my darling nephew onto my lap and snuggling him.
Anybody remember 
And in just three days, the Desired of all nations will come. God with us, our Creator who is the way, the truth, and the life.
