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.

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.

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.

Meg grinning on a tricycle — 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.

Sleeping 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. Before 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.

Before I was a morula, I was a zygote.

Before 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.

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.

You can tell that’s a problem already, can’t you? [↩]
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.

Now, 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.

Quick Update from Hawaii

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.

Trouble in Internetland

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. — 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 [↩]

Weakness

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.

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.

Jesus loved the outcasts 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.

*********

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! [↩]
Hebrews again–12:3 this time. [↩]

Unconditional Love

love 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.

Jesus snuggling a lamb

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.

Hallelujah.

Best New Year’s Eve Plans EVER

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?

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!

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.

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.

P.S. Merry Christmas!!

Which I hated [↩]
You know that, right? That you have to go tonight or drag yourself out of bed tomorrow morning? [↩]
Apparently I hadn’t heard of vigils…. [↩]
I’ve got no problem with parties. Seriously, if you enjoy New Year’s, that’s awesome. Hit up a different Mass. [↩]

With a Little Help from My Friends

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!

*********

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? [↩]
Moms’ group anyone? [↩]
Or more awesome, but that’s not the point I’m making. [↩]
or Adult Faith Formation Coordinator or principal or campus minister or RCIA director or religion department chair [↩]

“Come Closer to Me”

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. — 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

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!

**********

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!!!

Jn 14:6 [↩]
Mk 12:30-31. [↩]
Jn 13:34 [↩]
Jn 4:39 [↩]
Jn 8:11 [↩]
Jn 15:9 [↩]
Mt 25:21, 34 [↩]
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.” [↩]
Mt 11:28 [↩]
Jn 15:9 [↩]
Jn 8:11 [↩]
Jn 10:10 [↩]
Jn 15:11 [↩]
Jn 16:33 [↩]
Jn 16:22 [↩]
Jn 14:27 [↩]
Lk 11:29 [↩]
Jn 14:18 [↩]
Lk 12:7 [↩]
Jn 14:15 [↩]
Jn 15:9 [↩]
Jn 14:3 [↩]