Goodness Archives - Page 3 of 7 Held By His Pierced Hands

100 Ways to Serve Your Church

Now, we’re all called to serve. And we’ve all got gifts (or so I’m daring to claim) that the world needs. We’ve talked about ways to be pro-life and ways to be a missionary before. But we’re also part of a local church, a parish that we want to help make into more than just a group of strangers who worship together. Ideally, it wouldn’t just be your church, it would be your church home. But how can you, normal and “untalented” as you are, work to build up your parish? Let’s brainstorm:¹

Fix the heinous parish website.²
Spearhead the capital campaign.
Strip and seal the pews.
Painting in some church in Illinois that was unlocked on Easter Sunday afternoon. Props for the art and the hours.

Make good Catholic art.
Buy someone else’s good Catholic art to put in the sanctuary.
Iron the altar linens.
Invite your priests to dinner at your home.
Introduce yourself to the mother of littles and ask if she’d like some help during Mass.
Direct traffic in the parking lot after Mass.
Organize refreshments for the parish mission.
Podcast the homilies.
Start a parish Facebook page.
Cook dinner for the youth group.³
Apologize when you’re wrong.
Revamp the parish database to make it more searchable and user-friendly for the office staff.
Take pictures at parish events.
Host a supper club.
Start a system of supper clubs where every new parishioner is invited to two or three different groups to find a good fit and build relationships.
Buy copies of your favorite Catholic books to hand out.
Start a club for anything you enjoy–knitting, fantasy football, ultimate frisbee, macrame,⁴ you name it. You’re building community!
Sign up for an extra holy hour or six.
Tell the parish office that you’re happy to drive people to Mass who can’t make it on their own.
Arrange flowers for the sanctuary.
Take blood pressure readings for the elderly one Sunday a month.
Go to confession. Take your kids. Take your neighbors. Take a stranger.
Pray over the list of sick and recently deceased parishioners.
Never complain except to somebody who could do something to fix the situation.
Volunteer to babysit during the moms’ prayer group.
Throw a baby shower for an unwed mother.
Teach a class on something you’re good at–financial planning or modest fashion or cooking on a budget or web design.
Start a group for the unemployed or underemployed in your parish where you can help each other improve your resumes and interview skills.
Lead a monthly children’s holy hour.
Reorganize the parish library. Toss the heresy and set up a display on a featured topic or author each month. (Think May: Mary; June: Sacred Heart; November: Holy Souls.)
Drive the bus for youth group trips to camps or conferences.
Organize a social hour after a different Mass each week.
Offer 5 hours a week of free counseling to parishioners.
Congratulate parents on their children’s behavior during Mass–even if it wasn’t flawless.
Harmonize.
Mine is a very big name, but not in quite the same way.

Foot the bill to bring in a big name speaker.⁵
Thank Father for a good (or better than usual) homily. Point out specifically what encouraged or challenged you.
Get to know the people going through RCIA. Invite them out to coffee or over for dinner even after they’re received into the Church.
Write an article for the parish bulletin.
Share good Catholic reads on Facebook.
Lead arts and crafts at Vacation Bible School.
Offer to deep clean the super-pregnant mom’s home.
Ask your pastor if there’s anyone in the community who could use a good friend right now.
Schedule a biannual parish blood drive.
Revamp the parish’s business model.⁶
Offer to spend an hour every night (or a few hours once a week) guarding the church so people are able to come spend time with Jesus.
Organize a fundraiser–a talent show or auction or gala or something. Make sure your poor parishioners can come.
Fix the church’s sound system.
Start a book club where people actually read the books. (The Well-Read Mom is a great one for women.)
When I drove up to St. Anastasia in Troy, MI, I knew that they wanted me there. How can you make your parish welcoming?

Introduce yourself to people after Mass.⁷
Get a group together for a weekly or monthly service project.
Recommend little-known movies with good themes for more articulate writers to review.
Start a blog with icebreaker ideas for youth ministers–yours specifically.
Do all the advertising for a big event.
Repair the church’s 15-passenger van.
Run for parish council.
Give little toys to all the kids after Mass on holy days of obligation.⁸
Repair Father’s worn-out cassocks and albs.
Find all the parishioners who live in the same neighborhood and put them in touch with each other.
Go door-to-door inviting people to Mass.
Train Sunday school teachers in classroom management.
Be a sign language interpreter at Mass.
Give a guest lecture on stem cell research or global warming or some other sciencey thing.
Girls’ Night in Jefferson City, MO.

Host a girls’ night. Teach hair and make-up. Or self defense. Or improv. Or wilderness skills. Whatever.
Teach a Catholic parenting class to go along with baptism prep.
Volunteer to be the “funny guy” at youth events. Skits, emceeing, getting pied, eating toothpaste, you’re up for anything.
Design a logo for your parish and other graphic design stuff that I know I need without even knowing what it is.
Organize a summer program for kids in the area.
Dress like Sunday Mass is the highlight of your life.
Tell the parish office about your language skills and offer to serve as an interpreter for parishioners who struggle with English.
Make first communion dresses for underprivileged girls.
Tell people about your experience as a foster parent/organ donor/AA sponsor.⁹
Don’t be Pollyanna. Share your struggles while still focusing on joy.
Be present in the moment to each person you meet–even if they’re making you late for Mass.
Here’s how my niece and nephew did Pentecost. The faces are a response to this prompt: “Smile like the Holy Spirit is descending on you!”

Wear liturgically appropriate colors.
Start meetings with prayer.
If you work in the parish office, treat each person who walks in the door like an immortal soul ransomed by the blood of Christ. Nothing you’re doing on the computer is more important than the child of God standing before you.
Study the history of your parish and give tours of the building.
Put together a survey for the parish polling people on daily Mass and confession times. Compile the data and submit a recommendation to Father.
Look at daily Mass times for all parishes in the area and suggest a schedule to help meet the needs of more people.¹⁰
Design and build a Mary garden.
Start a ministry to reach out to those who have recently lost a loved one.
Organize a winter coat drive.
Set up a Lighthouse Catholic Media kiosk at your parish.
Get to Mass early to pray.
Bake for funeral receptions.
Be a sponsor couple for engaged couples. Invite them to your home and share your difficulties as well as your wisdom.
Divide interested parishioners into small groups based on schedule, location, age, and state in life.
Schedule events for senior citizens to build community.
Start a pro-life group. Remember that being pro-life is more than being anti-abortion.
Make awesome t-shirts for the youth group.
Both shirts by my awesome friend Lindsey (who is available to do design and illustrations, particularly for Catholic stuff) but only the good photo. (She also does photography in N. Carolina and Northern Indiana)
Make a promotional video for your parish–particularly highlighting your RCIA or Catholics Come Home program.
Invite a non-Catholic or lapsed Catholic to Mass.
Stop by the Church every day to pray. You’ll be amazed to see how it encourages people to see others praying outside of Mass.
Listen to music by different Christian artists. Give out CDs from your favorites.
Trick out the youth room with homemade stadium seating, a stage, and a Nerf arsenal.
Figure out where your gifts and the Church’s needs intersect. Do that.

I know a lot of these sound trivial. But take directing traffic. You may think, “Any fool can direct traffic. I’m just standing here waving my arms like an idiot.” But I know souls that would be saved if someone were facilitating the madhouse of the after Mass rush to brunch. Think how appreciative you would be if someone just took that in hand. And maybe you’d be more likely to come back. And maybe you’d approach that person and thank him and strike up a conversation and develop a relationship and strengthen the Church.

Many of these are little things. Or things that don’t seem very Churchy. But if the Church is a home, a family, the Body of Christ, then it’s going to be made up of all these little parts. And the little things work together to make a beautiful community. Don’t think you don’t matter. You matter. Now quit sitting around and make your church a better place!

Help me out here, folks. I’m doing the best I can with a mind that’s very oriented to certain kinds of service and not at all to others. What would you add to this list? Share your outside-the-box ideas in the comments!

Obviously, get permission from the powers that be for any of this. [↩]
I think the next edition of the Code of Canon Law should stipulate that all parishes in first world countries must have websites with Mass times–Sunday and daily–prominently featured on the homepage. I wonder if there is anybody in the world who spends as much time frustrated on parish websites as I do. [↩]
Not lasagna. Every youth group in the country eats pizza or baked pasta whenever there’s dinner. Give them something different! [↩]
What even is that? [↩]
Not me. I mean, go ahead and foot that bill, but I’m free, so the footing of the bill won’t be terribly impressive. [↩]
Is that even a thing? [↩]
But not in the sanctuary. That’s for prayer. [↩]
There’s a man at St. Matthew’s Cathedral in South Bend who does this every Sunday and the kids are absolutely thrilled about going to Mass. Sure, it’s for the toy, but anything that makes their reaction to Mass positive without hurting their ability to pray works for me! [↩]
Is that last one allowed? Maybe the anonymity makes that a faux pas. [↩]
There are towns where every Mass is between 8:15 and 8:30 am–at 4 different parishes! Someone take a 7am, someone a noon, and someone an evening and suddenly everyone can make it to Mass if they want. [↩]

The Church Needs You: A Pentecost Appeal

A while back, I had the opportunity to be in Oklahoma City for their annual half marathon and friends, I was SORE afterwards! Oh, I didn’t run it.¹ But I cheered like it was my job. For five hours I shouted and danced and pumped my fists. I played “The Eye of the Tiger” for a few hours, then switched to “I Would Walk 500 Miles” when the walkers got there. My friends’ house was around the 12-mile mark, so when people passed us they were in need of a little encouragement. And I gave it to them. (My friend Anamaria wrote about it here.)

You can do it! You’re just like Rocky only better looking!

You are amazing! Your mom is proud of you and your wife is proud of you and your friends are proud of you and JESUS is proud of you!²

Do you realize you’ve done more this morning than I’ll do all month? You are awesome! And you’re almost there! You’re going to get to take a nap and NOBODY can you say you don’t deserve it because YOU RAN A HALF MARATHON TODAY!

You only have a mile and a half left and then you get to have a brownie. You know what? You can have all the brownies you want for the rest of your life because you are RUNNING A HALF MARATHON!

This was before anyone started running by, but you can tell I'm ready for an epic day of cheering. — This was before anyone started running by, but you can tell I’m ready for an epic day of cheering.

It was amazing the number of people who were walking and started running again (maybe to get away from the glitter and rainbows I was spewing at them) and the number who actually turned to thank me for the encouragement. I met a runner the next day and asked her if she remembered me.

“Did you have a baby with you?” she asked.

“That was me!”

“Yeah! You said, ‘He can’t run but you can. Do it for the baby!’ That was awesome.”

Seriously, guys, I am amazing at this. If you could be a professional half-marathon cheerer, I would do it. And I had a blast! I’ve already put next year’s OKC half in my calendar.

The people I was with, God bless them, were more impressed than put off by my intensity. They seemed to think it was a great favor I was doing the runners. And it got me thinking.

I’m good at yelling. I’m good at encouragement. I’m good at making a fool of myself. But I can’t run. I could never run a half marathon. I would quite literally die.³ And a half marathon can’t happen without runners.

That’s obvious. But it can’t happen without police, either. Or paper-pushers or fundraisers or web gurus or volunteers to hand out that sticky sludge they keep shoving down your throat. It can’t happen without organizers or city councils or urban planners or people sitting in front of their houses handing out Twinkies.⁴ The OKC marathon particularly can’t happen without people who still remember the terror of the bombing and others who want to honor their loss. A marathon is not just about runners.

The Church is the same way. I’ve got gifts that are particularly Churchy. I like attention and enthusiasm and telling people what to do, so I make a pretty good speaker. I also really like reading and being a know-it-all, so I manage some content in my talks. And because my natural gifts are showy, people think I’m a big deal and they’re not. Like the Church needs me but you’re just along for the ride.

That's the most important man in the world telling you that YOU are necessary. So deal with it. — That’s the most important man in the world telling you that YOU are necessary. So deal with it.

Lie. Big, fat, ugly lie. It’s a lie if you believe you’re not good enough and it’s a lie if you’re just letting yourself off the hook. I hate to break it to you, friends, but this Church needs you. As much as it needs anyone (and obviously, God can do whatever he wants without any pathetic little sinners), it needs you.

Maybe you don’t have any Churchy talents. Maybe you make children cry when you try to sing and you can’t read in front of a group without quivering in terror. Maybe you don’t feel comfortable talking about your faith, so you feel like leading a Bible study is out. When you take out all the artsy, feely stuff, what do you really have to offer?

You.

You have yourself to offer. Not just because Jesus desires that you give him your whole self but because the Church is the poorer because you haven’t stepped up yet. See, there’s only so many hobos a Church can sustain. We just don’t need that many missionaries. We need more than we have, that’s for sure. And we’re all missionaries in our own ways. But you don’t have to be a streetcorner preacher to serve the Church. If everybody did that, who’d plan the potlucks and update the databases?

I don’t mean that flippantly. We need that. We need good administrators and financial minds in our parishes–desperately. A loving parish secretary will impact more souls than I will. Maybe you’re only good at sports: coach a CYO team. Maybe you’re just a worker bee: ask the DRE what help she needs. Maybe you’re good at crafts: make Saint dolls and give them to children in your parish.

See, God gave you particular gifts. And while your ability to keep paperwork organized might seem rather mundane to you, I can bet your youth minister would kill for that skill. The talents you have–even things like being friendly or trimming bushes–have been given to you for the good of the Church. If you can get to a Called and Gifted Seminar,⁵ all the better. But until then, just sit down and ask: what am I good at? What do I love doing? And how can that serve the Church? Because I guarantee it can.

If you’ve been baptized (and especially if you’ve been confirmed), the Holy Spirit has moved in you–is moving in you. Not only did God create you with natural gifts, but grace has built on nature and you’re now a storehouse of divine power. It may not manifest itself in obvious ways, but God has been preparing you all your life to be a great gift to the Church and the world if only you’ll let him use you. And since it’s still Pentecost on the West Coast, I’m going to challenge you during this Octave of Pentecost⁶ to sit with the Lord and ask him how he wants to use you. I’ll even give you a bunch of ideas later this week–I know how you people love lists. Then spend Ordinary Time getting used to giving your time and talents in service to the Church as well as your treasure. We need you. We can’t all be epic half-marathon-cheerers, but if we don’t embrace the role God’s given us, the whole thing starts to fall apart.⁷

Those who know me are far less confused now. [↩]
Because it’s Oklahoma so you can mention Jesus. [↩]
And no, by “literally” I do not mean “figuratively.” I mean that I would die of an asthma attack or be rolled off the course on a stretcher. [↩]
Okay, maybe the Twinkies are unnecessary. And gross, particularly while running. But I bet some of those runners would notice if the Twinkie people disappeared. [↩]
Disclaimer: I’ve never actually been, but I’ve heard great things and read some of the materials and it all looks good to me. [↩]
Well, it used to be an octave. [↩]
I mean, not the Church. “The gates of hell will not prevail against it” and all that. But our little churches can run into some serious trouble. [↩]

How Marriage Makes Saints

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Toddlers=redemptive suffering. — Toddlers = redemptive suffering.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Also, kiss more.

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

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

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

50 Ways to Celebrate Easter

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

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

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

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

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

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

Try a ringtone like this on for size:

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

Bipolar Faith and Its Antidote

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pharisee.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And next week I will do the same. Hosanna.

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

Ordinary Holiness

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

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

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

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

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

The Annunciation by John William Waterhouse

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

Fiat mihi. Let’s go be saints.

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

Only God Matters

I do a lot of things that look scary on paper: traveling to Palestine and Bosnia, showing up at strangers’ houses to spend the night, sharing my brokenness with the world at large. But there is nothing that scares me more than telling teenage girls that leggings are not pants.¹

Now it’s true that leggings aren’t pants. I know it’s true because godly young men have given me a round of applause when I’ve said this and others have glared at me like I canceled Christmas. I know it’s true because while women may have stopped noticing the half-clad hordes surrounding them, the men I’ve asked have not, much though they might wish they could.²

I know it’s true. And yet I’m terrified. If I tell them, they’ll hate me. They’ll get so angry and stop listening and tell everybody I’m an awful person. And so (on this as on so many topics) I keep my mouth shut to preserve their opinions of me. Or I say what needs to be said and feel miserable about it, obsessing over how people might feel about me.

I do a lot of that: having irrational emotions about other people’s opinions. I was born with a lot of feelings–big feelings–and I’ve been trying to chill out ever since.

Growing up with big feelings, you develop a lot of coping mechanisms. You learn to talk yourself down from irrational shame and self-loathing, to breathe deeply and process and occasionally to drive to the middle of nowhere, pull over, and scream and sob till you’re spent. When you’re the kind of girl who once burst into tears and stormed out of a room because a friend asked what you were making for dinner, the kind of girl whose college application essay was about what you do to calm down when you’re miserable, you spend a lot of time honing these skills.

It gets to be a habit. “It doesn’t matter that I sounded like an idiot in that comment,” you say, “because nobody there knows who I am anyway.” “It doesn’t matter because probably nobody noticed when I said that.” “It doesn’t matter because they’ve already forgotten about it.” “It doesn’t matter because if you think about it this way, I was right.”

I was proceeding through this litany a while back, using reason and logic to remind myself that probably nobody hates me and even if they do they don’t know me and I’ll never see them again, when God intervened.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, “because only I matter.”

“Yes, right. And also, that guy clearly misunderstood me. And really, it doesn’t matter because everybody else—”

“It doesn’t matter because only I matter.”

“Well, yes, of course, but also it was a long day and so what if I misspoke? It doesn’t matter because she—“

“It doesn’t matter. Because only I matter.”

Now I don’t generally hear the voice of God when I pray. Some people do and that’s awesome, but I’m not one of those people. Not audibly, anyway. But there are times when I know exactly what he’s saying.

“It doesn’t matter because only I matter.”

The coping mechanisms I developed when I was an emotional adolescent wreck were terribly helpful. But I’m less emotional, less adolescent, and less of a wreck now. I’m still far more emotional than most people I know, but I’ve learned to let God use that for the good. Most of the time. And yet here I am, still trying to find peace in who I am instead of looking to who he is.

I spend so much time wondering if I’m pleasing other people. I’ve always been a people-pleaser. “Peggy the Peacemaker,” they used to call me,³ not because I wanted people to get along but because I wanted them to admire me. And now I wonder if I looked okay, if I offended anyone,⁴ if I was clever enough, if I was boring. I want so much to please people when all that matters is being pleasing to God.

I justify it by claiming that I have to be likable to be an effective witness, but it’s not true. I just have to be who God made me to be. It doesn’t matter what people think as long as I’m being faithful. It doesn’t matter because only God matters.

A lot of what I write here I write because I’m trying to convince myself, not because I think I’ve arrived. So when I tell you that only God matters, I’m not saying it as a saint but as a sinner who’s been convicted. I keep worrying and caring and over-analyzing, but each time it’s interrupted: only God matters. I’m trying to let being his be enough.

Love others. Serve others. Live for others. But not for their approval. That doesn’t matter. Only God matters.

The inimitable Rozann Carter knows exactly what I mean. Read more here.

And pray for me: I’ve got some people to offend.

I’m not judging you, it’s not your fault, you didn’t know, please don’t hate me! [↩]
One of these days I’ll give you my thoughts on modesty. Until then, Lauren said it well. [↩]
Back in the day when I went by Peggy, which is short for Margaret, just like Meg is. And just because you didn’t know that doesn’t mean it’s not true. People are always trying to tell me Meg isn’t a nickname for Margaret and I’m all “THOMAS MORE’S DAUGHTER WAS NAMED MARGARET AND HE CALLED HER MEG AND HE’S A SAINT!!!” Because I want them to know I’m right. Because I care too much what they think about me. And now we’re back to the topic at hand. [↩]
Which I usually have. [↩]

“Date” Is Not a Four-Letter Word

I got a Facebook message a few years back from a guy I kind of knew, a good Catholic man who was friends with a lot of my friends. “We should hang out and get to know each other better,” he said. “Want to go get coffee or a beer some time?”

Now, when a man comes out of nowhere to ask a woman he barely knows out for drinks, it’s generally assumed that it’s a date. But at this point in my life, I’d just determined that I was going to enter the convent (though I hadn’t yet told anybody). So I knew I couldn’t go on a date with this guy.

The trouble was he didn’t actually say date. And while I could have said no to a date, I couldn’t really say no to hanging out with a guy I was kind of friends with. I couldn’t respond to his message with, “Sorry, I’m not dating right now,” since he hadn’t asked me on a date. And I couldn’t say, “No, I don’t hang out with men,” because that’s strange.

Poor Bad Luck Brian. If only he had used the word date.

So I said yes. I got there early and bought my own coffee. There was no chemistry. When I mentioned that I’d like to see a hockey game and he suggested that we go together, I changed the subject. When he said he had fun and would like to do it again, I changed the subject. I was sending as many signals as I could without rejecting an offer that hadn’t technically been made.

He called a few days later and asked if I wanted to hang out again. I emailed and told him I was pretty busy until the new year (it was mid-November). I hoped that was obvious enough,¹ but in January he casually emailed to say he was going to the ballet and would I like to tag along. I’d had enough of subtlety, so I just bit the bullet and was straight with him:

“I’m sorry if I’m misreading things,” I said awkwardly, “but I’m not dating right now. If you’re doing something in a group, I’d love to join y’all, but I’m not interested in a relationship.”

My awkward email was met with an awkward response in which the poor man apologized if he had made me uncomfortable. As far as I can remember, we never really spoke after that.

I found the whole experience so frustrating. If he had asked me on a date, I could have told him I wasn’t interested and it all would have been done. No awkwardness, no games, no confusion. I was convinced long before this, but the experience cemented my position: guys need to man up and use the word date.²

Stop texting for weeks on end without making any kind of commitment. Stop hanging out solo without clarifying your intentions. Save her (and her girlfriends) from the hours of analysis of your every text and casual comment and tell her where you stand:

“I think you’re lovely.³ Could I take you on a date? Maybe this Saturday?”

The cards are on the table and your head is on the chopping block. I understand that. I get that in being clear about your heart you’re offering it to her to break. But consider this: your purpose as a man isn’t to get women, much though society might disagree. Your purpose as a man is to honor the women in your life. To love God and neighbor, of course, but particularly to guard the hearts of women. JPII put it this way: “God has assigned as a duty to every man the dignity of every woman.” And I can tell you that every man who’s asked me on a date—even if I said no—made me feel more beautiful and more worthy of love.

Consider that for a minute. When you ask a woman out, you’re risking rejection, and that is a hard thing to risk. But even if she rejects you, she becomes more aware of her value. She finds herself holding men to a higher standard. I think that’s worth the pain.

In 21^st century America, you don’t meet a lot of damsels in distress. Men don’t get the opportunity to put on armor and fight for women physically. But the women in your life are under attack every moment of every day and they need you to fight for them. In the way you talk to them and about them and the way you look at them—the way you look at women in real life and the way you look at women on the internet⁴—you can fight for the women you love so much. By standing up to the guys who give men a bad name, by refusing to join their ranks, you are a warrior for your wives and daughters and mothers and friends. One way you can do this is by risking rejection to treat them with honor, to avoid games and weakness and commit yourself. Use the word date.

And ladies, please, please if a man has the courage to ask you on a date, be kind. My rule when I was on the dating scene was that I would give any man who wasn’t wildly objectionable one date. One date, I figured, was an opportunity to see if we might be compatible; it was not a preamble to a proposal. You might not feel comfortable saying yes to a date, but say no kindly. Tell him you’re flattered but you’re not interested. Thank him for his courage. Don’t tell everyone you know. Don’t lead him on. Do not tell him you’re not looking for a relationship if you’re just not into him. Recognize the sacrifice he’s making in putting his heart out there and honor him for that.

Gentlemen, I really think it’s a win-win for you. You’re either going on a date with a beautiful lady or you’re a hero with a few battle scars. During my years and years of being “ugly” and “unloved,” there were a few guys who had the guts to ask me out instead of just dancing around the issue. Because the Lord was protecting me from myself, I wasn’t interested in most of the men who asked.⁵ But each time I said no, I felt like maybe I was lovable, like maybe I wasn’t too ugly and too loud and too abrasive and too worthless. I think about those guys sometimes. I’m so grateful to them, and even to the ones who couldn’t quite muster the courage to use the word date—they patched together some of the shreds of my self-esteem and handed it to me with their sacrificial love.

If there’s a woman you’re interested in, gentlemen, stop beating around the bush. Stop “talking” or making sure she’s invited when your friends go out. Stop conspiring to show up where you know she’ll be. Suck it up and take a risk. Ask her on a date. She deserves it. So do you.

Guys, if a girl says vaguely that she’s busy for the next month and a half, she’s probably not interested. [↩]
There’s no official Church teaching that men should be doing the asking. It’s just my opinion. Having asked quite a few guys out in my day (and seen it done), I’m convinced that it’s not good for a woman’s heart. A woman needs to know that she’s worth pursuing and a man needs to know that he has what it takes to win her. Not to mention the fact that women read meaning into every touch and pause and preposition and we just make ourselves crazy when we’re debating asking a guy out. Y’all are welcome to be far more liberated and modern than I’ve become in my old age and defy all gender roles. But whoever’s doing the asking, someone needs to take the risk and use the d-word. [↩]
great/cool/fascinating/whatever doesn’t sound awkward to you [↩]
Pause for men and women in the audience to be struck by horror at their use of pornography and go get help. [↩]
Seriously, when I fall, I fall hard. In retrospect, I think God was protecting me in making me perpetually single. I could easily have stumbled into marriage simply because a reasonable guy happened to be interested. [↩]

Judged on Love Alone

For all I’m willing to make fun of the way the modern world uses 1 Corinthians 13 as a glorification of romantic love, I’m the first to admit that it’s a powerful passage. It’s one of those where you don’t even mind that you get the same homily on it every time. You know the one: “Replace ‘love’ with ‘a Christian.’ ‘A Christian is patient, a Christian is kind.'” Much like the Prodigal Father homily on the Prodigal Son Gospel or the “What kind of soil are you?” homily on the Parable of the Sower, it bears repeating. Paul’s description of love is a template of our lives. So it stands to reason that it can function as a pretty good examination of conscience, too.

Sin is, after all, a failure to love. We love ourselves more than God or more than our neighbors. We use people or ignore the call of Christ. So I think 1 Corinthians 13 is the perfect mirror to hold up before our lives, especially those of us who are fairly decent people. When we turn from the list of grave sins that we generally manage to avoid to this chapter on love, we begin to see just how far we have to go.

1 Corinthians 13: An Examination of Conscience

If I speak in human and angelic tongues but do not have love, I am a resounding gong or a clashing cymbal.

Are you talking just to hear yourself speak or are you really listening? Because your “wisdom” means nothing when it’s not meeting people in their suffering. All the brilliant words you’ve so carefully cultivated are platitudes and arrogance in the face of the anonymous souls you inflict them on, not caring to hear their story.

And if I have the gift of prophesy and comprehend all mysteries and all knowledge; if I have all faith so as to move mountains but do not have love, I am nothing.

It doesn’t matter how much you know about Jesus if you speak of him only to prove people wrong and not to draw their hearts closer to him. Faith is not a weapon, it’s a gift. Are you evangelizing to share your joy or to win? If you’re not preaching from a heart that overflows with love for Christ and his lost sheep, shut your mouth and pray for humility.

If I give away everything I own, and if I hand my body over so that I may boast but do not have love, I gain nothing.

How often do you perform good deeds without advertising them? Tell yourself you’re just trying to encourage others to join in, if you must, but ask yourself: are you serving unique, unrepeatable children of God destined for eternal greatness? Or just congratulating yourself on the number of bodies you moved through the line? Selfish service is better than nothing, but not much.

Love is patient,

Not just waiting-for-you-to-be-less-awful patient but loving-you-just-as-you-are patient. It’s not a feeling. You can’t make yourself stop being impatient. But you can sure as heck throw your frustrations over your shoulder and carry them up to Calvary. Do you view people as problems to be solved (or avoided) or as children of God? Choose to live like the other is not an obstacle but the delight of Love himself.

love is kind.

Love isn’t nice, it’s kind. It corrects when necessary. It doesn’t value the love above the beloved. One who loves well takes risks to do what’s best for the other. How many times have you chosen cowardice rather than making things uncomfortable and possibly saving a life–or a soul?

It is not jealous,

Jealousy isn’t just a matter of wanting what the other person has but of resenting him for having it. When you get up to nurse the baby, do you want to smack your husband who gets to sleep on through? Are you bitter about your brother’s new job? Do you try to keep your friends apart for fear they’ll like each other more than they like you? Love seeks what’s best for the beloved–even when it is directly bad for you.

[love] is not pompous, it is not inflated,

Love just isn’t about you. Are you really interested in the girl you’re talking to before class or are you waiting for someone else to come along? Do you spend time with that guy because you’re trying to be a true friend or because you’re doing him a favor with your friendship? A Christian desire to be kind can easily be corrupted into a self-congratulatory kind of pity for losers. Don’t end the relationship–pray for your heart to be purified.

it is not rude,

Do you treat people not as they want to be treated but as they deserve to be treated? Just because a friend is cool with racist or sexual jokes doesn’t mean you have the right to act that way–love treats others with the dignity they deserve, even if they aren’t aware of it.

it does not seek its own interests,

You were made to give yourself to others. Human love means that we receive too, but never that we take. Where is the selfishness in the way you relate to your wife, your parents, your friends? How often do you treat cashiers and wait staff like they’re just there to serve you? That might be their job, but they’re people before they’re busboys and they deserve your respect and courtesy. You’ll be amazed at the graces that flow into your life when you start treating people–all people–like people.

it is not quick-tempered,

More than anything, my sin comes from my quick temper and my quick temper comes from a refusal to recognize other people’s perspectives. The more I love people–the more I see them as people and not as means to my end–the less likely I am to roll my eyes or get irrationally angry.

it does not brood over injury,

You don’t get to hold grudges. Jesus made that perfectly clear. “Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us,” remember? And while you might not be able to feel all better, forgiveness is a choice. You choose not to resent someone. And you choose not to replay your suffering in your mind, filled with “righteous” anger. Do you let love win or anger, suffering, fear, and sin?

it does not rejoice over wrongdoing but rejoices with the truth.

I always found this rather odd until I realized how often I do it. I take a certain vindictive pleasure in the bad choices people make when if they had only listened to me, they’d be perfect just like I am! Do you weep for sinners and long for their joy and peace, or do you feel smug when you see how much better off you are without them? Love continues even if a relationship might need to end.

It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

Think of all the abuse you’d tolerate from your baby–it’s infinite, isn’t it? There is nothing she can do to make you stop loving her, is there? We know how to love our little children this way, some of us: without limits. It fades once we start expecting things of them in return. Don’t. Love every person like they deserve it. Choose to believe that they’re good deep down.¹ Trust that God will bring them the healing they need to be who they were made to be. Never let your obsession with yourself get in the way of loving without restraint. Even when you’re the one you’re trying to love.

Love never fails.

You will fail. You will be angry and selfish and judgmental and impatient. Our whole lives are an attempt to learn to love. But Love never fails. He never gives up on you and he will not allow you to give up on yourself. Take some time with this chapter and then take yourself to the foot of the cross, to the seat of mercy: the confessional. Ask Love to teach you to love. Pray that your love would be his love.

Love is not a feeling, my friends, it is a choice. It is willing the good of the other, choosing to treat him as Christ would. One of the most powerful statements I’ve ever heard was attributed to St. Ignatius Loyola:² of every man we meet, we ought to say, “Jesus died for this man.” That’s what 1 Corinthians 13 is calling us to: a recognition when we encounter each person that Jesus Christ, God made man, like us in all things but sin, thought this person was worth dying for. Who are we to do less?

This doesn’t mean enduring an emotionally or physically abusive relationship. The call to love means loving and protecting ourselves as well. Don’t let the demands of the Cross convince you to allow others to mistreat you. [↩]
Googling it only really gets me my website where I’ve quoted it before, so who knows? [↩]

15 Ways to Keep Christmas in Christmas

A very well-meaning person wished me a “belated merry Christmas” the other day. Now, I hate to be pedantic¹ but there’s nothing belated about Christmas wishes right now unless you’re talking about last Christmas. I’m sure you all know this, but Christmas has only just begun. In fact, it’s still Christmas day until tomorrow night!² The octave of Christmas is an eight-day celebration of Christmas day, complete with the Gloria at every Mass and the same psalms in the Office for over a week. Then the season continues past Epiphany (even the Twelve Days of Christmas aren’t enough for us Catholic party animals) until Ordinary Time begins with the Baptism of the Lord (this year, January 12). If you like, you can even go old-school and stretch it to February 2nd for the more traditional Christmas feasting. That gives you at least another week and a half of Christmas, friends, and as much as another month–let’s live it up!

But the Christmas carols went off the air before the 25th was even over. Christmas merchandise is 70% off by now and if you tell people you’re taking a Christmas vacation until mid-January, they’ll think you’re nuts. How do we keep Christmas alive in this world of post-12/25 Scrooges? As always, I’ve got a few thoughts.

Wish everyone a merry Christmas. When they (inevitably) tell you you’re “a little late,” just say cheerfully, “Actually, Christmas doesn’t end until January 12th this year!” Who knows? Maybe it’ll give you an opportunity to witness a little.
Especially keep your nativity sets up! How beautiful is this one?

Keep your Christmas decorations up. When people (inevitably) point out that you’re “a little behind”…see above.
Celebrate Epiphany with a party and king cake and crowns and a rousing rendition of We Three Kings. “Little Christmas” should be a big deal.
Spend some time at a nursing home or helping at a soup kitchen–anywhere they had tons of volunteers last week but are wanting for help after the holiday glow has worn off. That made-for-TV “Spirit of Christmas” you’ve been hearing so much about is, in fact, the Holy Spirit and he prompts you to do works of mercy all year round.
Keep listening to Christmas music. But don’t just listen to it–really meditate on the power of some of those hymns. Try “It Came Upon the Midnight Clear” (especially verses 4 and 5), “What Child is This” (verse 2 breaks me every time) and “O Little Town of Bethlehem” for starters.
Read a book about the Christ Child, the Blessed Mother, or St. Joseph. Pope Benedict’s Jesus of Nazareth: The Infancy Narratives is a great choice while Caryll Houselander’s The Reed of God is much my favorite about the Blessed Mother.
Buy all the discounted white-chocolate-peppermint candy. Eat “birthday cake” after (or for) every meal. Go out to dinner in your tacky Christmas sweater. Feast!
Send out your Christmas cards really, really late. Point out in your letter that your “late” cards are liturgically appropriate while all those overachievers are practically heretics–Christmas cards in Advent? I mean, really!³
Ask parents of young children if you can bring dinner over one evening and/or watch the kids while they go out. If you’re really brave, offer to take the kids out during the day so the parents can nap. Think of it as a favor to the Holy Family.
Keep the Mass in Christmas–add an extra Mass each week to wish Jesus a happy birthday. While you’re at it, throw in a rosary (joyful mysteries, of course) to honor Mary and meditate more on the Incarnation.
Volunteer with an organization that serves homeless families or immigrants. Remember that from the slaughter of the innocents until his return to Nazareth, Jesus was a homeless refugee.
Pretty much all we do around here is pretend to be Jesus and Mary (or the dolphins in the “Bethwehem water!”) or play with nativity sets.

Spend time playing with your children and their nativity sets. Today, I watched my 2-year-old niece put St. Joseph down for a nap. Then the angel came and woke him: “Joseph! Joseph! FWEEE!!!”⁴ My nephew keeps gasping and wishing various babies Jesus a breathless “Happy birthday!” These kids know it’s Christmas.
Use social media to share some quotations from Saints and popes on Christmas and the Christ Child. If you’re at a loss, try the Office of Readings–it’s full of them. Or visit Christina over at The Evangelista for beautiful images and meditations.
Have family prayer time that focuses on the infant Jesus. Kneel before your nativity set, let your children hold the baby Jesus, sing Christmas carols, read parts of the Christmas story and discuss how you would have felt in different people’s positions, and find prayers to the Holy Infant. The longer you celebrate Christ and Christmas, the more your child’s happy memories of childhood will be tied to a joyful, lived faith.
Host a Christmas party on January 11th. Seriously, I would be your best friend.

How else will you keep the Christmas in Christmas this season? I’d love to hear your season-long traditions!

Happy New Year, friends, but mostly MERRY CHRISTMAS!!

This is patently untrue. I am a hopeless pedant. [↩]
When I grow up, I want to be such a big deal that the world celebrates my birthday for eight days every year. [↩]
I’m kidding. Don’t be a jerk. [↩]
That’s “flee” for those of you who don’t speak toddler. [↩]