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.
I’ve always been fascinated by conversion stories, the moments of grace and truth that pull people out of themselves and into the romance of faith. Lauren Winner points out in an essay on staying Christian that learning about the great cannonball moments of people’s lives isn’t enough. Faith isn’t about watershed moments and voices from heaven—it’s a long, slow, subtle series of whispers and inklings and dried tears and rest.
I’ve mentioned briefly that my conversion happened in an awkward confession in middle school. But Lauren’s right: I’m not a Christian because I felt good about Jesus fifteen years ago. My life with Christ is constantly being nourished—and challenged—by the people and the worship and the beauty and the books and the music and the hardships of every day.
I am a Christian because this world shows me evidence of design and its beauty strikes me as gift.
I am a Christian because I’ve never yet found a better explanation for the empty tomb.
I am a Christian because every little thing I encounter tells me that this is true. I’ve read and researched and argued and I’m just convinced. As with most things, Chesterton said it best:
The difficulty of explaining “why I am a Catholic” is that there are ten thousand reasons all amounting to one reason: that Catholicism is true. I could fill all my space with separate sentences each beginning with the words, “It is the only thing that . . .” As, for instance, (1) It is the only thing that really prevents a sin from being a secret. (2) It is the only thing in which the superior cannot be superior; in the sense of supercilious. (3) It is the only thing that frees a man from the degrading slavery of being a child of his age. (4) It is the only thing that talks as if it were the truth; as if it were a real messenger refusing to tamper with a real message. (5) It is the only type of Christianity that really contains every type of man; even the respectable man. (6) It is the only large attempt to change the world from the inside; working through wills and not laws; and so on.
I am a Christian because I believe in goodness and I can’t for the life of me find any source of objective morality outside of God.
I am a Christian because there is nothing more still than the silence of the sanctuary. There’s a peace that’s almost tangible when Christ is present in a room. I’m too melancholic not to be convinced by the way his Real Presence calms my heart.
I am a Christian because by nature I am sullen and self-pitying but by grace I am filled with joy. Only God could break my shriveled heart and make it new in such a spectacular way.
I am a Christian because the embrace of Christ is the only place where I am completely known and even more completely loved. I fought for so long to be good enough and pretty enough and smart enough and then one day realized that I had been enough all along. When I see myself through his eyes, life is worth living. Otherwise, God help me.
I am a Christian because I know that I’m not good enough—he builds me up, strengthens and forgives me, and sends me into the world to do the impossible. And somehow I do.
By God’s grace, I love him more today than I did in the passionate throes of my adolescent conversion. Because love at first sight ain’t got nothing on decades of passionate faithfulness. Back then, he was exciting and intriguing; today, he’s everything.
What about you? Are you still coasting off a moment at God camp 30 years ago? Or does he strengthen your faith daily, as he does mine? I’d love to hear why you’re a Christian today.
For a good ten years, I didn’t confess being judgmental. Not because I was a saint or because I was too hardened a sinner, but simply because of a poor definition. I thought that “judging” someone meant condemning him to hell and I’m really good at not condemning people to hell. I’m so aware of God’s mercy and his desperate desire for each soul that I’m not even willing to consign Hitler to hell with certainty–and the Church is with me on this one.1
But I’m starting to realize that judging–the sinful variety–is broader than that. And so pervasive. Reading through the comments on my post on kids at church (which has 15,000 unique visitors and 1000 facebook likes and I’m seriously freaking out over here) has been moving and powerful and convicting. But it’s also shown me just how easy it is to get caught up in what other people are doing wrong.2 This got me thinking about Mother Teresa’s famous quotation:
It’s so hard not to be angry at someone when all you see is how his behavior falls short of what you think it ought to be. And the angrier you get, the harder it is to love him or even to love yourself. I’ve found, in a few specific relationships particularly, that it became nearly impossible not to be constantly furious at people until I changed. I had to stop praying that their behavior would change and start praying that I would stop obsessing over it.
I realized in prayer today that I am a super-judgmental person. I’m just judging hearts, not souls.
Yeah, that makes it okay.
But I judge everybody all the time. I judge you on your grammar and your wardrobe and the book you’re reading and, yes, how your kids behave at Mass. And I saw in the comments on my post that so many people were upset with somebody–their kids or someone else’s kids or other parishioners or a pastor or church in general. Most people were clearly trying to love and forgive and work through it, but it just got me thinking.
Your goal in life is to be a saint. God willing, you’ll bring other people along with you, but you can’t fix the people around you. You can love them and support them and even sometimescorrect them, but focusing on other people’s vices, even when they are very real and obvious and hurtful vices, isn’t generally going to help anyone.
I knew a guy once who was just sulky. I hated him for it until it occurred to me that maybe his options were to sulk or to rage. Maybe his sullenness was actually a demonstration of heroic virtue. Here I was thinking he was a rotten person because he wasn’t trying to be chipper when he was upset, and maybe all along he was earning a white martyr’s crown because he wasn’t screaming at anyone.
So I began to wonder–is it possible that everybody’s really doing the best they can?
Maybe the reason they don’t correct his quiet talking in church is because the alternative is screaming and they’re actually quite proud of him.
Maybe she pointed out the cry room because she raised kids in a church without one and really thought you’d appreciate the option.
Maybe he was up all night hearing the last confession of a dying man and doesn’t realize how harsh he was.
Maybe she really has no idea how short her shorts are.
Maybe he’s homeless and the jeans he’s wearing to the Easter Vigil are his best clothes.
Maybe he wanted to complain 50 times since walking in but only let himself say that one thing.
Maybe she only says those things about other women because she’s terrified that she’s worse than they are and gossip seems the best way to hide it.
Maybe she’s from small town Mississippi and doesn’t have any idea that you stand-right-walk-left because she’s never even been on an escalator before.
Maybe he’s not turning–even though the light’s been green for a full 4 seconds–because his son’s in the hospital and he can’t see through his tears.
Maybe she keeps talking during Mass because she really thinks it helps other people enter in when she adds her commentary.
Maybe he smokes like a chimney because the alternative is a much harder drug.
Pinterest thinks Plato said this. I am not convinced.
Now maybe I’m a little ridiculous in concocting these elaborate explanations to excuse people’s behavior, but I’ve found that I’m less angry and more loving when I start to imagine that there’s some reason that people are doing things I wouldn’t do. And really, there are reasons. Maybe there aren’t explanations that completely excuse everything, but I can’t know what you’re struggling with that makes you whine or dress or parent or drive that way. And when I recognize that, I’m so much happier because I’m letting go of my anger and just trying to love.
Perhaps if I were a saint, I could love people without having to exercise my imagination so liberally. Maybe then I could see only that they’re children of God and not feel the need to analyze and categorize.
But this is where I am right now. Instead of looking down on you, I’m going to try to assume the best, to see how hard you’re trying. Because I want you to see my efforts, not my failures, I’ll try to do the same for you. I’m doing the best I can. I think most of us are.
We know for certain that there are people in heaven. It’s hard not to believe that Judas is in hell given Mark 14:21, but while the Church teaches that there is a hell, there’s no official teaching that there’s anyone in it. Private revelation in spades, but nothing dogmatic that I’m aware of. If you’re interested in this, check out von Balthasar’s Dare We Hope That All Men Be Saved? [↩]
No, I’m not talking about you. It was nobody in particular. Blame the Holy Spirit. I’m not judging you, I promise! [↩]
One of the coolest churches I went to in Europe was this itty bitty (by Roman standards), dark thing covered with scaffolding. A few blocks from St. John Lateran, Santa Croce is a monument to the work of St. Helena, mother of Constantine and patron Saint of archaeologists. She actually carted back a few shiploads of dirt from her time in the Holy Land so that this church could be built on holy ground.
The interior is rather lackluster, but around a corner and through to the back is a display of relics unlike anything I’ve seen elsewhere–including the Holy Land itself.1 There’s marble from Bethlehem, Calvary, and the tomb; the cross beam of the good thief’s cross; a nail; a thorn from the crown of thorns; pretty awesome, all.
On the left. I remember it grosser than this.
But the clincher for me was this: St. Thomas’ finger.
EW!
Okay, yeah, but if you’ve been Catholic in Europe for any time at all, you’ve gotten used to the veneration (never worship) of shriveled body parts. This isn’t just a finger, though. This is “put your finger in the holes in my hands.” This is the finger that probed the wounds of the risen Christ, the finger that proved the Resurrection.
Or maybe it’s just some old nasty finger. The point here isn’t the authenticity of the relic but the truth of the Gospel.
Because prophecies and miracles and centuries of conversions aside, it really all comes down to this: the pierced hands. The pierced hands tell us that this man was truly crucified. And the living flesh that surrounds the holes declares that he rose again.
If Jesus claimed to be God2 and he rose from the dead, he’s God. The resurrection is the ultimate proof of Christianity, as Jesus himself told us (Mt 12:38-42). So when Thomas touches the holes in Jesus’ hands and side, he knows with certainty that Jesus rose from the dead. And if he rose from the dead, he can’t just be some great moral teacher, as C.S. Lewis so brilliantly explains in Mere Christianity:
“I am trying here to prevent anyone saying the really foolish thing that people often say about Him: I’m ready to accept Jesus as a great moral teacher, but I don’t accept his claim to be God. That is the one thing we must not say. A man who was merely a man and said the sort of things Jesus said would not be a great moral teacher. He would either be a lunatic — on the level with the man who says he is a poached egg — or else he would be the Devil of Hell. You must make your choice. Either this man was, and is, the Son of God, or else a madman or something worse. You can shut him up for a fool, you can spit at him and kill him as a demon or you can fall at his feet and call him Lord and God, but let us not come with any patronizing nonsense about his being a great human teacher. He has not left that open to us. He did not intend to.” ((Among my favorite things ever written, if you’re keeping track.))
So when Thomas sticks his hands in the side of Christ, he doesn’t just know that this man was crucified and verified dead. He doesn’t just know that this crucified man is walking around happily 2 days later, teleporting between Jerusalem and Emmaus and walking through doors. (And I’m not talking alohomora throught the door, I’m talking Casper the Friendly Ghostthrough the door.) No, Thomas doesn’t just know that this Jesus guy is something special. In that moment, with that intimate gesture of love and proof, Thomas knows that Jesus is God. Creator of the universe, ground of all being, our origin and destination. No big deal.
Whatever they may not have understood before the Passion, the Apostles knew at this point that Jesus’ claims were radical, so radical they were revolutionary, for good or for ill. There was no going back to regular everyday Judaism if this Jesus was for real, and he was. This was no ghost, no impressive con artist “Walking” on “water” and “healing” the “blind.” This guy was d-e-a-d dead. And now he’s fine. There’s was no going back to life as they knew it.
Not that they didn’t try. Thomas doubts so seriously that he needs physical proof. I’ve met more than one Thomas in my day, claiming that he’ll believe in God if God shows himself. “Blessed are those who have not seen but have believed.”
Peter believes, he just doesn’t know what to do about it. So after the Resurrection, Peter goes fishing. Jesus rose from the dead, but for Peter it’s just another day at the office. How many of us have been there, moved by the Spirit one moment and then back to gossiping and lying the minute the retreat is over?
Both of these men are called out, Thomas by being reprimanded for his unbelief, Peter by being reminded that his mission is far greater than fishing. But there’s something so sweet about their correction. Jesus could easily have ignored Thomas, saying that if he wasn’t ready to believe, that was his problem. He could have let Peter be a mess and chosen the much holier John instead. But God doesn’t cut his losses when it comes to souls. He does whatever it takes.
Caravaggio–dude knew his stuff.
I’ve often wondered if Thomas wasn’t the whole reason Jesus rose with holes. His glorified body was healed of the signs of his scourging, but the holes in his hands and side remained. What if the God of the universe chose to spend eternity in a “damaged” body simply because that’s what Thomas needed? What if that line in the Gospel is really there only for you? What if the Holy Spirit inspired that composer centuries ago just so that you’d hear that song today? What if God created lilacs just so the smell of them would remind you of his love? It’s not impossible.
See, we serve an infinite God who manages to dwell in the human heart. Somehow, he’s able to be for everyone and for each one all at the same time. For Peter, he built a charcoal fire.3 For Thomas, he rose with holes. What are the pierced hands he holds out to you to prove his love? I’d love to hear about them in the comments.
As an aside, some people have been asking where to find my official facebook page. It should be in the top right corner of your screen, but if you’re having trouble finding it, click here. Follow me on Pinterest and Twitter, too!
For those who aren’t familiar with the concept, a relic is an item associated with Christ or a Saint–a body part, more famously, or a prayer book or item of clothing. They’re not magic, but God often uses them as means to help us identify with a Saint and grow in holiness. He sometimes even uses them as channels of miraculous grace. This is Biblical: see Acts 19:12. [↩]
While he never said the words outright, it’s hard to read Jn 8:58, Jn 14:6, or Jn 17:5–among many others–any other way. [↩]
A charcoal fire only shows up twice in the Gospel: Jn 19:15-18 and Jn 21. Peter’s denial and his reconciliation. Coincidence? HA! [↩]
I was at a holy hour the other night, totally focused and immersed in my thoughts, when from the back of the church came the sound of a wailing toddler. Just like that, I lost it. I was completely distracted by some kid who was far too young to be stuck sitting in a church.
And thank God for that.
See, I was totally focused on planning the rest of my night. I was coming up with a packing list and deciding which posts I could update before I headed out in the morning. I was thinking about the songs I have on my new smartphone and wondering if the USPS would forward the package I had shipped to the house I was staying at in time for me to get it at the house I was staying at next. Yeah, I was focused, all right. Focused on me.
Then that kid started screaming, and I snapped out of it. I heard the dulcet tones of a toddler tantrum and couldn’t help but thank God for the luxury of silent prayer. I heard footsteps and a door opening and offered a prayer for the patience of that poor parent. I prayed for those who were really angry about the disturbance. I prayed in thanksgiving for the gift of life.
Parents, I know all too well the frustration of taking little ones to Mass. I calculated this evening (when I should have been praying) that I’ve taken little ones 4 and under to Mass by myself at least 200 times. So while I’m not a parent, I know the frustration and awkwardness and even shame of that experience.
Case in point: John Paul isn’t so great at first person pronouns. He refers to himself as “you.” This was great when he was potty training and announced at the top of his lungs during the Eucharistic prayer, “You awe weawing undewweaw!!” There were definitely panty line checks all around the sanctuary.
I’ve gotten plenty of dirty looks. But more often, by God’s grace, I’ve gotten affirmation. People thank me for bringing “my” kids and compliment me on their behavior. Once after John Paul threw a particularly loud fit at Mass, an elderly man came up to me and told me it was the holiest sound he’d heard all day. “He reminded me that I’m alive,” he said with a smile.
But more often than not you don’t notice the smiles. You notice the rolled eyes and raised eyebrows and dirty looks and you think that at best you’re not making anyone angry. But that’s not true–at best, you’re making the people around you saints. You’re pulling them out of their self-obsession and reminding them that being at Church is about emptying ourselves for God and each other.
Prayer is so often just a veil for narcissism. We talk and talk and talk about ourselves and then slap an “Amen” on the end and consider ourselves holy. When your kids start screaming, it distracts us from ourselves. We start praying for you. Or for them. We pray for single parents. We pray in thanksgiving for our grown children or we beg for screaming children of our own.
I was visiting with my grandmother the other day and mentioned that Cecilia shouted stream-of-consciousness for the entire Mass today. She said, “Oh, do they let children in the church?” Needless to say, she’s not Catholic. But it’s an attitude I’ve found from some Catholics. “Until they’re old enough to sit quietly,” they say, “leave them at home.” Or maybe “You know there’s a cry room, right?” As if the Mass is their personal property and they get to decide who stays and who goes.
Jesus embraced children, folks, and so does our Church. If you don’t want to hear them cry, the solution is not to remove the holy little ones from the church. The solution is for you to go to the 7am quickie Mass or the solemn high Mass that takes 3 hours. Find a Mass kids aren’t going to and shut yourself up in that one.
Or maybe offer up your distractions and frustrations for their parents, who are so much more distracted and frustrated than you. Take this as a sign that God is calling you out of yourself.
Ooh look at her shoes! I wonder how many states have more vowels than consonants. How far is it from here to Maine? I should make a pie this afternoon. 3.14159. What would I even do with a giant mouse suit?
Because if the normal noises of normal children are going to distract me, I was going to be distracted anyway. By cute clothes or cute men or split ends or whatever1. And nobody’s suggesting that we wear burqas to Mass or segregate our congregations or require frequent trims. Unlike most of the thoughts that grab my easily-distracted mind, the screams of your children are a distraction that draw me to deeper prayer.
So take them to the cry room if you want–or stay in the pew. Lord knows that at many churches if you’re in the cry room you’re practically not at Mass, it’s such a circus in there. Keep them as quiet as you can however you want to–I won’t judge. They’re going to be ridiculous and you’re gong to be embarrassed, but taking them to Mass gives them grace, earns you years off of purgatory, and breaks my hardened heart just a little bit.
On behalf of those of us who don’t understand the sacrifices you make to bring your kids to the wedding feast, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for judging you and being annoyed at you and rolling my eyes and everything else that focuses on me instead of on us. Your kids are a very important part of us, even–especially–when they won’t stop yelling.
Because yes, your kids are distracting me. They’re distracting me from my narcissism. They’re distracting me from the idol I’ve made of worship, making me encounter God as he really is, not as I want him to be. They’re distracting me from the endless series of irrelevant thoughts that occupy my “praying” mind.
Your screaming kids are distracting me. Thank you for that.
I’m not kidding. I seriously examine my hair for split ends during the penitential rite. Really, your toddler is the least of my spiritual worries [↩]
Sometimes I have to drive 40 minutes each way. Sometimes I have to walk in 100 degree weather. Sometimes I have to skip a meal. Sometimes I have to get up at 5:30. Sometimes I have to take two cranky children. Sometimes I have to go in Arabic or Polish or Korean. Sometimes I have to drive through the snow. Sometimes the homily is terrible. Sometimes the priest is so sketchy that it barely counts as Mass. Sometimes I’m sick or tired or just cranky. Sometimes I don’t pay attention at all.
Last week I asked y’all for some help and I’ve been so grateful for the responses I’ve gotten. I know I asked a lot, though, so I thought I might just ask for a few clicks today. Would you mind answering a few opinion questions for me? Skip any that you want and don’t feel any pressure to write any comments, but if you have any opinions about any of this, I sure would like to hear it so I can improve.
“What man among you having a hundred sheep and losing one of them would not leave the ninety-nine in the desert and go after the lost one until he finds it?And when he does find it, he sets it on his shoulders with great joy and, upon his arrival home, he calls together his friends and neighbors and says to them, ‘Rejoice with me because I have found my lost sheep.’ I tell you, in just the same way there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous people who have no need of repentance.” -Lk 15:4-7
6 weeks ago, I had facebook, email, a borrowed computer, and a go phone with no data or texting. Now I’ve got facebook, a facebook page, email, my own computer, a smartphone with a few dozen apps, twitter, linkedin, and a website. The world is very different.
I held out for as long as I could–I didn’t get a cell phone at all until I was out of grad school and then it was one of these models:
20 years later, I still think he’s cute
But after going cold turkey when I entered the convent (and for about 9 months after leaving), I discerned that it was time to enter the 21st century. A big part of my discernment of the vocation to consecrated virginity (God willing) was that I feel that I’ve been called to be in the world. Religious1 are called to leave the world, however much they might have to interact with the world for the sake of their ministry. They have the luxury (and discipline) of rejecting many good things in pursuit of something greater. Consecrated virgins, like diocesan priests and lay people, are called to be in the world but not of it, to use the world but not use it fully (1 Cor 7:31).
I began to realize, both in the convent and in the months after leaving, that the Lord has blessed me with the ability to be fairly detached from material things. I’m able to listen to secular music without being affected, really, by what it glorifies. I’m able to be sarcastic without being hurtful (I hope). I’m able to be online without being a hot mess. A lot of the way I connect with people to do God’s work involves being in the world.
With this new step into full-time blogging and speaking, I figured I had to be more connected. And now here I am with everything in the world at my fingertips and so much to procrastinate–help!
So I’ve come up with some technology guidelines to help me keep myself in check. I know it’s ridiculous to publish a list of smartphone rules when I’ve had mine for, like, 15 seconds, but I’ve been judging people’s smartphone habits since the things first came out, so I’ll do it anyway. Adults, some of these will be obvious to you. They are not obvious to your children.
1. Be present. Oh my gosh, put your phone away! I’ve had kids arrange to meet with me and then pour their hearts out to me while checking their text messages.
Love this.
First of all, RUDE! If I’m not worth your time, why are you wasting mine? Second, how can you really engage in this conversation and be open to what I have to say if you can’t shut everything else off for 20 minutes?
This is the reason I’m writing this days ahead of time–when you read it, I’ll be on a mission trip. I’ll have wi-fi, but I want to be present to the people who are there, so I’m going to try not to use it. So make the same rule for yourself–put your phone away when you’re with friends or family.
My rule for my students on the way to and from retreats has always been that if they’re using a phone or ipod or whatever together, it’s fine. But if they’re plugged in alone, we’ve got a problem. Once they shut the world out, they’re missing real life for their virtual world. If whatever you’re doing in real life is worth your attention, don’t divide yourself.
2. Don’t replace human interaction. I’ve actually had teens tell me that the reason they drink is because they don’t know how to have a conversation. Everything “meaningful” in their lives takes place over text message or twitter. Tell me again how relationships can develop in snippets of fewer than 140 characters?
I’ve known kids to start dating, have a “relationship,” and break up all via text. So when they’re in a room with actual human beings and expected to engage in social behavior that people have been engaging in for millennia, they panic and supplement their electronic awkwardness with awkwardness of the good, old-fashioned drunken kind.
Oh, and then post all the pictures on facebook so they don’t have to tell anyone the next day.
All this social media can be great, but it’s easy to use it to hide from real life. Have real friends. Have conversations. Have evenings with no cell phones. You’ll find you have plenty to talk about.
3. Be alone with yourself sometimes. A while back, I was with a bunch of kids in adoration. One of them prayed for a while, went to confession, prayed a little more, then pulled out his cell phone. When I called him on it, he told me he didn’t like to be alone with his thoughts so he had to find something to fill the silence. That’s a problem! The more you fill your life with good things–music and games and texting and facebook–the worse those things become.
There’s a reason people are still taking off to “find themselves” at 30 or 40–they’re so scared to be alone with themselves that they’ve filled their lives with noise so they don’t have to deal with their real issues.
Avoid the quarter-life crisis: take some time every day with no phone, no music–just you, yourself, and you. I recommend inviting God, too.
4. Pretend you’re not dependent on technology. Don’t google everything. If you can’t remember who played Zack Morris, wait 30 seconds before you look it up! Seriously, your brain will atrophy if you don’t use it every once in a while. And don’t rely on spell check. It will fail you, your teacher will fail you, and your parents will fail to sympathize. Also, “u” is not a word. If you use it again, I will punch you in the face. It’s two extra letters. It won’t kill you.
No idea what movie this is, but it’s funny.
5. Do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus. (Col 3:17) All this new media is great for feeding your soul and spreading the Gospel, but you have to make an effort if you want to jump on board with the New Evangelization. Follow some Christian blogs along with Cakewrecks and Paula Deen. Tweet about today’s Saint. Share good Christian articles on facebook–this guy knows how it’s done. Get some of the many sweetapps with prayers or readings or Saint quotations. How cool would it be if your iphone made you a Saint?
On that note, run, run, RUN from anything impure. Get yourself some serious porn protection so that your firewall is strong when your flesh is weak. Tape pictures of your sister and the Blessed Virgin Mary to your computer if that keeps you from losing your soul. You know what you need to do.
I think it comes down to this: as in all things, be intentional. Technology can be addictive (case in point: it’s 1am. I have to pack up everything and be out the door at 7:30. But–but–Pinterest!) but it can also be a great gift. Choose when to be plugged in and when to unplug and be still. Make specific rules for yourself if that helps–no facebook after 10pm, only an hour of Angry Birds a day, never ever ever click “Popular” on Pinterest, that sort of thing.
Be in the world, but not of it. Use the world, but don’t use it fully. Don’t let social media and cell phones dictate who you are and how you live. It’s easy to let the internet run your life. You’re better than that.
Because Catholics are awesome and have patron Saints for everything, let’s ask for some help from the patron of the internet. St. Isidore, pray for us.
I’m offline until June 29th. The posts will keep coming, but I won’t reply to anything for a while. Be patient with me 🙂
People who take vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience–nuns, sisters, monks, etc. [↩]
If you’re connected to the Catholic world at all, you’ve probably picked up on the outrage surrounding the HHS mandate.
In case you’re not, let me summarize (in overly-simplified language–try this if you want more details):
Department of Health and Human Services: All employers have to provide insurance that covers contraception and sterilization.
Catholic Church: Except us, right?
HHS: No, you, too.
CC: Freedom of religion?
HHS: Okay, fine, if you employ and serve only members of your religion, you’re exempt.
CC: So you’re saying that to follow our consciences, our hospitals have to turn away all non-Catholics? Our schools can’t educate non-Catholics? Not going to happen. We’ll just shut everything down.
Obama: Sorry, folks! How about a compromise? You don’t have to cover the contraception. You just have to pay for insurance that does.
CC: Seriously? We’re still paying for it if we’re paying for other people to pay for it.
Most of the US: What’s the big deal? They’re not saying you have to use contraception, just that you have to provide it to others.
CC: Cool, well, you don’t have to kill those toddlers, you just have to pay for the bullets.
Even if that were true, we’re not trying to restrict access to birth control. Just refusing to pay for it.
US: Why is the Catholic Church so anti-woman? Why are you taking away our rights? Are we going back to the Dark Ages?
CC: Whoa, we’re not even saying contraception should be illegal, just that we’re not going to buy it for you.
US: You have to! It’s a basic human right not to get pregnant!
CC: We didn’t want to do this, but…sued!
Hope that catches you up.
The U.S. Bishops have been united on this issue–something that may not have happened in the history of our nation. And they’re calling all Catholics–and all other Americans, religious or not–to take a stand against this violation of the First Amendment. Today begins what the Bishops have called a Fortnight for Freedom. They’re asking for prayer, fasting, education, and action from today, the vigil of the feast of Sts. John Fisher and Thomas More (martyred by their government for refusing to violate their religious convictions), through Independence Day.
They’re so sweet–how could you upset them?
This is huge. This isn’t about contraception–as far as I know, we stopped fighting that in the secular arena after Griswold v. Connecticut in 1965. This is about being compelled–as an institution and as individuals–to violate our consciences. This is about the government making a law prohibiting the free exercise of our religious conviction against contraception. It’s a direct violation of the first amendment,1 which means this isn’t just a Catholic issue. Protestants, Jews, even Atheists should be concerned when the Bill of Rights is being ignored. And they are.
.
I don’t think the Obama administration was expecting anything like this. Theologically, the Catholic Church is a bastion of strength in an ever-changing world; politically, American Catholics (and our bishops) have been compromising for generations. I think everyone expected some grumbling and then a mass submission to the mandate. After all, 98% of Catholics use contraception anyway.2
But this time we seem to have been pushed too far. God has strengthened our shepherds and they are refusing to compromise on this. A mandate that required employers to allow women to opt in and pay for their own contraception we might have compromised on. But we’re not going to define contraception as “preventive medicine” because we’re not going to define pregnancy as a disease. And we’re not going to allow a nation built on the free exercise of religion to prevent us from exercising ours–indeed, to force us to violate it.
We’re not imposing our views on anyone here. If you want contraception, there are any number of ways to get it cheap or even free. If you want your employer to pay for it, find a different job. The Church’s refusal to submit here doesn’t make it impossible for other people to sin. It just means we’re not funding it.
“What will happen?” my students asked once they realized the gravity of this situation.
Cardinal Dolan: Fines and imprisonment? Bring it, Mr. President.
“Oh, we’ll take the government to court. And I think we’ll win. But if we don’t, we still won’t do it. We’ll pay the fines until there’s no money left. And then our bishops will go to prison en masse. It’s happened before.”
There was a glow in their eyes when I said that–they weren’t scared, they were excited. I can preach the Passion till I’m blue in the face, but it’s not real to them. The idea of people they know going willingly to prison rather than betray God? That got their blood pumping.
Is anybody else kind of excited about this? I mean, we’re talking institutionalized persecution here. And if nothing else, persecution separates the wheat from the chaff. No more of this cultural Catholicism or cafeteria Catholicism. When we have to suffer for Christ, we may lose a lot of Christians but we’ll gain a lot of saints. After all, the blood of the martyrs is the seed of the Church. Now I can’t imagine anyone’s going to die over this. President Obama doesn’t look much like Diocletian or Elizabeth I. No, it’ll just be fines and censures and maybe imprisonment for the really important folk. On this issue, anyway. But for the first time in living memory, American Catholics are really going to have to decide: Christ or the world.
So it’s fitting that the Fortnight begins on the Vigil of the English Martyrs. St. Thomas More‘s refusal to sign the Act of Succession didn’t disinherit the unborn Princess Elizabeth. It didn’t hurt anybody but him. He suffered for it. We might suffer, too. But I’d rather be headless in the company of the Saints than gutless at the right hand of Henry VIII or President Obama. And so we fight.
In the words of our bishops, “We cannot–we will not–comply with this unjust law.” Please join me in fasting, praying, and working for freedom.
*I don’t necessarily agree with everything said in the pages I link to above, just think they’re worth considering.*
Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances. [↩]
Which, by the way, is a made up statistic that involved polling only sexually active women of childbearing age who wanted to avoid pregnancy. Besides (to quote someone, I’ve forgotten who), “100% of Catholics sin, but the Church isn’t changing her position on that, either.” [↩]
I’ve always been very independent. My dad says that my first day of “school” (at the ripe old age of 2), I didn’t even hug him goodbye. There were people to meet, after all, and things to do–who needs Dad? I distinctly remember learning to pump on the swings, probably around age 3, and thinking to myself, “This is great! I don’t need anything from anyone anymore. I can do it all myself!” Friends, I even got excited when I had my first headache in second grade because I thought that made me an adult. Really, I was born 30.
So I’m sure it comes as no surprise that I like to be master of my own domain. I like to call the shots. I’ve pretty much been in charge of everything I’ve ever done; it’s that type A thing again. The problem is that on top of being bossy and opinionated, I’m almost pathologically lazy. Which means that, while I want to be in charge, I don’t actually want to do anything or even really make any hard decisions. Basically, I was born to be a princess–run everything except when I don’t want to.
This back and forth between doing everything and doing nothing makes me a big fan of Augustine’s line, “Pray as if everything depended on God, work as if everything depended on you.” Except that Augustine (and Ignatius of Loyola after him) meant for the two to be done simultaneously–hard work and complete trust in God. I have a tendency to do them sequentially. First, I work my butt off without asking God for any help at all. Then when I fail miserably, I sit on my worn-out butt and pout until he swoops in and fixes it all. I make ridiculous deals with him like, “If you want me to have a car, you’ll just have to give me one.” Like he’s Bob Barker or something. Either I do everything and you can sit the and watch, God, or you do everything and I’ll put my seal of approval on at the end. No collaboration, here. Either autonomy or ease.
But whether I’m in the working portion of the cycle or the praying portion, I’m doing it all myself. I hate asking for help. It’s not that I hate being helped–remember that I’m lazy–I just don’t want to seem needy. I think it stems from a deep-seated fear I have of being too much. I’m loud and awkward and obnoxious and emotional–everything about me is just big.1 Sometimes it feels as though I’ve spent my whole life being told to be quiet or sit down or calm down or go away and I’ve really bought into the lie that I’m just too much.2 So to cope, I want to give and give to people but I don’t ever want to take because then maybe they’ll hate me. I hate doing dishes more than almost anything (except running and bananas, as you’ve probably realized), but I’ll do dishes at other people’s houses because I don’t want them to think I’m a freeloader.
Why, God, why???
But God loves me too much to leave me the mess that I am. So after I gave away everything I owned and entered the convent, thinking, “Ah, now I never have to ask for anything again because everything will be given to me,”3 the Lord led me out of the convent. Oh, and told me not to get anything–a car, a phone, a place to stay. I spent the next 7 months completely dependent on the incredible generosity of my sister and brother-in-law. Theoretically, I was learning that I deserve other people’s help. Nope, just felt guilty and in the way the whole time.
Then I got a job, but still no car. I spent two and a half years mooching rides off people (in the suburbs and a small town–zero public transportation) so that I could learn to ask for help. Instead, I just didn’t go anywhere. I lived off of ramen rather than ask for a ride to get fresh food. By the time I finally got a car, I’m pretty sure I had scurvy.4
I know intellectually that we’re supposed to be community and that I at least need to trust that the people who love me want to help me. I’m trying. I really am. But whenever I ask for something (or even feel that by my very life I’m asking for something), I feel ashamed. And afraid that this will be the last straw, that after this ride from the airport or this stopover in your guest room or this visit for lunch you’ll realize that I’m just too much. I know that people love me and they want to help me and that most of the time they don’t even see it as help but as friendship. But this is the lie Satan has convinced me to believe: pretty much anybody who spends time with me is doing me a favor and I’d better not ask for too many favors. Is anybody with me on this? Am I just neurotic?
It all comes down to pride, of course. Everything does. In my pride, I don’t want to need anyone else. I want everyone to see me as self-sufficient because then I can be the magnanimous one in the relationship and they can be the peons graced by my presence. And when I can’t do that, well, I’d rather just suffer.
Humility doesn’t suffer in silence–humility asks for help. Jesus asked for help in carrying his cross; why do I think I’m strong enough to carry mine alone? When people love me and offer to help me, why can’t I rejoice in their friendship? Why do I have to obsess over my guilt?
So right now this is what I’m really struggling with: balancing my efforts, my trust in God, and other people’s help. I’m inclined to spend hours a day on the internet putting my whole life in order. Which will leave me exhausted and miserable and with no idea of where to go or what to do. On the other hand, I’m inclined to sit back and let God make things happen for me. I know he can, I’m just pretty sure that he won’t. He refuses just to live my life for me, more’s the pity. I’m not at all inclined to ask people for help. But when I took a break from work to get in some pray, the word I got was “help.”
So I’m going to try to grow in this area by asking for help. People have been so generous with this whole new life of mine and I’m so grateful. But some people have been asking how they can support me, so I’m going to swallow my colossal pride and tell you what I really need:
Prayer: Duh.
Speaking engagements: I’m loving the blogging–I’m actually shocked at how much–but I feel so drawn to public speaking. I’m not too proud to speak to confirmation classes or groups of church ladies. I can do youth or adults and I can talk on pretty much any topic. Plus, you only have to pay me if you want to, so you really can’t lose! If you work at a school or work at a church or go to a church or know someone who does one of the above, do you think you could set something up for me to come speak? I’d really appreciate it!
Connections: I know a lot of people in education and ministry, but if you know someone I don’t, do you think you could pass my blog on to them and suggest that they ask me to come speak?
Publicity: I know some of you must have been sharing my blog because I’m getting more and more hits on it. Don’t just share it because you’re my friend (which I think most of you are at this point), but if I post something that really moves you or convinces you or makes you laugh, could you share it with your friends? I’ve got nifty sharing tools down at the bottom for you. If you’ve got a blog yourself, it would be amazing if you’d link to mine. Apparently search engines really care about that. Or you could like me on Facebook–click the facebook “f” at the top of the sidebar.
Computer geek stuff: My C++ teacher would be ashamed of me if he knew how technologically inept I am now, but the SEO business is killing me. Why are there over 2000 results for “Meg Hunter-Kilmer”? Why doesn’t this page show up till page 4? Why can’t I google all my individual posts? Why doesn’t googling these questions get me decent answers??
Advice/suggestions: Maybe you started a career like this and you’ve got some thoughts. Or maybe you know how to use social media to advertise yourself. Or maybe you’ve never made it to the end of one of my posts and want to tell me to keep it short. Bearing in mind that I can be appallingly sensitive, could you give me your thoughts? I can be reached through the contact me page or via facebook.
I hate asking for help. But I can’t do this without it. Feel free to ignore and just keep reading the blog–even the one hit your click adds to the stats that I check obsessively is a help.
You guys are the best!
Especially my head. Have you ever noticed that? I can’t fit into a single hat at Target. Also, I might have lice now. BTW.<–my mother wants me to make sure that everyone knows that this is just a joke about how you’re not supposed to try on hats. I don’t have lice. [↩]
John and Stasi Eldredge do a great job of explaining how every woman is afraid that she’s either too much or not enough–or both, for many women–in their book Captivating. I really recommend it. [↩]
My friend Nick had scurvy. I thought it was an STD that pirates got and I was really embarrassed for him. Then he told me it came from a vitamin C deficiency and I was really embarrassed for me. Probably should have known that. [↩]
I am a Christian because there is nothing more still than the silence of the sanctuary. There’s a peace that’s almost tangible when Christ is present in a room. I’m too melancholic not to be convinced by the way his Real Presence calms my heart.
