Category: Goodness

My Favorite Place

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

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

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

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

Well, no more. Hands down, Hawaii.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Later, we hit the Eucharist and confession:

And ended the day with some intense morality issues:

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

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

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

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

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

Why I Don’t Volunteer at Soup Kitchens

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

Righting wrongs that are none of my business since 1984.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Forgiven and Loved

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Still We Rejoice

via flickr
via flickr

For those shaken by yesterday’s shooting–another in a long line of acts of senseless violence against children–tomorrow’s celebration might seem callous. Gaudete Sunday? Rejoice? When children are killed in their desks, ripped apart in their mothers’ wombs, beaten by their parents, forced to slaughter each other as child soldiers, sold into slavery, how can we rejoice? When Friday, as horrifying as it was, is not out of the ordinary in a world where children are killed by the thousands in “ethnic cleansing” crusades? When children themselves become murderers on the streets or in their nice suburban homes? When thousands of children die of hunger each day while you and I shell out 20 bucks for dinner without batting an eye? Now, you tell me, rejoice?

When Israel had been destroyed and Babylon was knocking down the door of Judah, how could they then rejoice? When even priests and Levites worshiped idols? When the best you could hope for was to live in peace and die in peace and then…who knew? When all the world was trapped in the darkness of sin with only the barest hint of a promise of the Light to come, how could they then rejoice? But Zephaniah calls from the darkness:

Shout for joy, O daughter Zion!
Sing joyfully, O Israel!
Be glad and exult with all your heart,
O daughter Jerusalem!
The LORD has removed the judgment against you
he has turned away your enemies;
the King of Israel, the LORD, is in your midst,
you have no further misfortune to fear.
On that day, it shall be said to Jerusalem:
Fear not, O Zion, be not discouraged!
The LORD, your God, is in your midst,
a mighty savior;
he will rejoice over you with gladness,
and renew you in his love,
he will sing joyfully because of you,
as one sings at festivals.

Zephaniah has no reason to hope, in a world of sin and slavery and suffering. But he knows the One who is hope, the One who turns mourning to gladness, the One whose mercies are renewed each morning. And despite the wisdom of the world, he looked to God and found joy in the midst of sorrow.

When Christ had died and his disciples were following him in ignominy and death by the hundreds and the thousands, how could they then rejoice? When Paul had been beaten and shipwrecked and imprisoned, how could he rejoice from the darkness of his prison cell? When Jesus had promised to return again and yet…nothing–how could they rejoice? But Paul writes from his cell:

Brothers and sisters:
Rejoice in the Lord always.
I shall say it again: rejoice!
Your kindness should be known to all.
The Lord is near.
Have no anxiety at all, but in everything,
by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving,
make your requests known to God.
Then the peace of God that surpasses all understanding
will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.

Rejoice, he says. Have no anxiety, he says. Seek the Lord and you will find peace, he says.

But still hunger and violence and torture and rape and how oh HOW can we rejoice?

Our Lady of SorrowsWhen the Savior of the world was born amid noise and filth, how could Mary rejoice? When armed men were sent to slaughter him, when he was saved at the cost of dozens of other young lives, how? How could she flee into Egypt and lose her son for three days and remain a woman of joy? How could she watch him rejected and ridiculed and beaten and tortured and killed and stabbed and laid in a tomb and still trust in God?

And yet she did. In all things, her spirit rejoiced in God her savior. Facing life as an unwed mother, she trusted. At the foot of the Cross, she trusted. When he left her again to continue in a world that had slaughtered her only son, she trusted.

Scripture is so clear on this, my friends. Joy is not contingent on the circumstances of this world but on God who is so much bigger than our circumstances.

Sing out, oh heavens, and rejoice oh earth. Break forth into song, you mountains, for the Lord comforts his people and has mercy on his afflicted. But Zion says, “The Lord has forsaken me.  My Lord has forgotten me.” Can a mother forsake her infant? Be without tenderness for the child of her womb? Even should she forget, I will never forsake you. See, upon the palms of my hands I have written your name. Your walls are ever before me.-Isaiah 49:13-16

Though he slay me, still will I trust in him. -Job 13:15

God is our refuge and our strength, an ever-present help in distress. Therefore we fear not though the earth be shaken and mountains plunge into the depths of the sea, though its waters rage and foam and the mountains quake at its surging the Lord of hosts is with us, our stronghold is the God of Jacob. -Psalm 46:2-4

We hold these treasures in earthen vessels that the surpassing power may be of God and not from us. We are afflicted in every way but not constrained, perplexed but not driven to despair, persecuted but not abandoned, struck down but not destroyed, always carrying about int he body the dying of Jesus so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our body. For we who live are constantly being given up to death for the sake of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may be manifested in our mortal flesh. -2 Corinthians 4:7-11

Though the fig tree blossom not nor fruit be on the vine, though the yield of the olive fail and the terraces produce no nourishment, though the flock disappear form the fold and there be no herd in the stalls, yet will I rejoice in the Lord and exult in my saving God.  God my Lord is my strength, he makes my feet swift as those of hinds, and enables me to go upon the heights. -Habakkuk 3:17-19

But I will call this to mind as my reason to have hope: the favors of the Lord are not exhausted. His mercies are not spent. They are renewed each morning, so great is his faithfulness. My portion is the Lord, says my soul; therefore will I hope in God. -Lamentations 3:21-24

When cares abound within me, your comfort gladdens my heart. -Psalm 94:19

At times like this, it’s easy to respond with discouragement and despair.1 Without Christ, I can’t see how I would respond any other way. But my God saw how miserable this world was and couldn’t stay away. He sent his only Son to enter into our mess, to suffer with us and for us. My God ached for love of us and so he changed everything. And he longs to do it still. He longs to turn our mourning into dancing. He longs to bring peace to our troubled hearts.

This is terrible. There is so much evil and so much suffering and misery and desperation in this world. But we were not made for this world. If you are suffering today–and I think we all are–I’m so sorry. But I know a God who is bigger than your pain. Let us turn to him and–in everything, despite everything, because of everything–let us rejoice. At the end of the day, God is still so, so good.

And of course, and always, we pray. We pray for the deceased and their loved ones. We pray especially for the young souls who witnessed such violence and will spend the rest of their lives trying to recover. God help them.

Rejoice in hope, endure in affliction, persevere in prayer. -Romans 12:12

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In case the assurance of God’s sovereignty isn’t enough for you, here are some reminders of the goodness he’s put in men’s hearts.

  1. WARNING: REALLY REALLY bad language. [↩]

Advent: You’re Doing It Right

I was chatting with a dear friend at a St. Nick’s party last night (sporting purple in honor of Advent because I’m cool like that) when my friend stopped mid sentence, said, “Wait a second. I have to change the song,” and disappeared into the crowd.

At this point, the conversation was louder than the music, so I couldn’t hear the song. Was it inappropriate? I didn’t think Christina had Ludacris on her ipod. A Christmas song that she had to change because it was Advent, though? Much more likely. I asked her when she came back.

“No, it was just too slow.” Then she looked a little sheepish. “I listen to Christmas music in Advent–I’m not good about that.”

Now I’ve taken many a stand against Christmas music during Advent, but it hit me in that moment that there isn’t anything “good” about abstaining from Christmas until Christmas. I don’t hold off on “O Holy Night” as a sacrifice, I do it because I want to live in the longing. I love the ache and hope and anticipation of Advent and if I start celebrating Christmas early I lose that. I’m a melancholic and I don’t want to skip to the joy because for me joy is nothing without the pain that precedes it.

But Christina’s a sanguine. She needs that Christmas joy in early Advent because starting to celebrate Christmas is what prepares her to celebrate Christmas. For her, baking Christmas cookies, hanging lights, and listening to “Silent Night” is a way of preparing herself for the day that she knows hasn’t yet come.

It’s the difference between fasting before a feast and getting a foretaste by sampling the dishes. They’re both about building the excitement and anticipation. Neither one is wrong.

An Advent wreath and a Christmas tree at the same time? Why not?

So in the midst of all these posts about what to do during Advent (and in lieu of the one I’ve been planning all week), I just want to tell you that you’re doing it right. If you’re spending a little extra time in prayer, finding a little extra silence, and living Advent in the way that brings you closest to Christ, you’ve got it. Rock out to Christmas music 24-7 or turn your radio off for the next 24 days–I won’t judge. Go to every Christmas party in town or claim a religious obligation to stay home–whatever floats your boat. Replace all your children’s books with nativity stories and their toys with nativity toys or cut the board books in half so they’ve only got Mary’s journey and not the nativity itself. Do Santa or St. Nick or Epiphany or no gifts at all. As long as it’s about Jesus, ain’t nothing wrong with a little bit of the secular.

Just don’t stress. Don’t feel like you have to sing the Advent songs and do the Advent crafts and bake the Advent bread.1 Don’t feel like you have to shop till you drop or wear a Santa hat all month. The point here is to find some stillness in the cold dim of winter and to wait for the Lord.

Quit worrying about what you ought to be doing for Christmas or Advent or the end of the semester or whatever has you running around a chicken with your head cut off in this season of “silence.” Instead, take 5 minutes in prayer to ask the Lord what will be best for you and your family. Ask what prayer and reading and songs and traditions and festivities will prepare you to welcome him in time and in eternity. Cut whatever you have to cut to make room for Christ.

But don’t do it for the sake of “doing it right.” If meditating on “mild he lays his glory by, born that man no more may die” makes you fall more in love with Christ, please sing Christmas carols! Don’t deny yourself what brings you to Christ for the sake of being liturgically appropriate. If singing Christmas carols now will make you sick of them when the time comes, shut your mouth! Don’t deny yourself what brings you to Christ for the sake of being culturally appropriate.

If stringing thousands of Christmas lights all over your everything helps you to prepare for Christ, start on Labor Day for all I care.

It’s easy, when you’re trying to be a saint, to think that the harder something is, the better it is for you. Advent’s not like that. It’s not about superhuman fasting or adoration marathons. Save your windsprints up Calvary for Lent–Advent is about the slow walk to Bethlehem with Mary. And if you want to walk joyfully, singing about the king to be born, go for it. If you want to walk in wonder and awe, more power to you. If you want to cheer or be silent or shop for meaningful gifts or bake or read or whatever opens your heart to the Christ child, it’s all fine.

Because Advent isn’t about penance–not the way Lent is, anyway. Advent is about preparation. It’s about making room in our hearts for our infant King. It’s about clearing out the noise and the mess and becoming like little children again.

Maybe for you, that’s an Advent wreath and a daily holy hour and all “O Come, O Come Emmanuel” all the time. Maybe it’s baking Christmas cookies, decorating the house, and wishing everyone a merry Christmas. In the grand scheme of salvation, it doesn’t matter that your candles are the right color or your novena starts on the right day or even that your favorite Christmas song is secretly “All I Want for Christmas Is You.”2 Quit worrying about what you’re supposed to be doing on this one and just be still and know that he is God. That’s really all there is to it.

 

Top image courtesy of flickr, flickr, and flickr.

  1. Is that a thing? [↩]
  2. I do love that one, but I totally sing it to baby Jesus. In the chapel. Hoping that nobody else will come in. [↩]

Fast, Pray, Vote, and Don’t Worry

This is probably the most important election of our lifetimes–certainly the most important of mine to date.1 There’s so much at stake in a frighteningly polarized nation. I already told you I believe that a vote for Obama is a vote against life and liberty.2 By now, you’ve most likely made up your mind who to vote for; maybe you’ve voted already. And now you’re sitting around anxious and miserable and dreading tomorrow morning (or very late tonight).

I want to ask you, friends, to join me in fasting and prayer not for victory but for God’s will. We may disagree on many things, but odds are good that if you’re reading this, you believe in God. And if you believe in him, you probably know (at some level) that his plans are better than all we can ask or imagine. You probably know that God works all things for good. You probably know that in God’s providence, even that terrible Friday was Good.

So today, fast with me. Maybe it’s too late for you to go water-only or maybe that’s unsafe in your situation. Give up meat for the day or sweets or soda or sitcoms or facebook.3 When we fast, we lend strength to our prayer. We tell God that our intention matters more to us than our flesh does. We’re reminded of our prayer throughout the day; skip a meal and every time your stomach rumbles, you can ask the Lord once again to bless our nation and guide our elections.

Pray with me. Go to Mass if you can or pray a Rosary. Lead your children in a prayer for our nation. Sit before the Blessed Sacrament and beg for the protection of the unborn, for the preservation of religious liberty, for justice for the poor, for aid to immigrants, for peace in our hearts and homes and streets and world. Our God moves mountains–he will answer your prayer.

Please vote. Please, please vote. We are so privileged to be able to vote and to let laziness or indifference or dinner plans keep us from the polls is unconscionable. Do what you have to do to get there. Vote.

But friends, don’t worry. Whoever is our president-elect when we wake up on Wednesday, there will be no riots. There will be no revolution. We will look tragic or smug, we will whine or brag, and we will go on with our lives. Because in America, as in so few places, we are free. And while this election will determine how free we are, the fact remains that we are blessed to live in a country where we may mistrust the government but we do not fear it. When you look at the history of the world, it almost seems a miracle.

And whatever happens, God will still be in control. Perhaps we will face systematic persecution on a large scale, the like of which no church has ever seen in this country. Perhaps the persecution will remain subtle and the temptation will be to continue to leave the poor and the marginalized in our wake. Perhaps this election will be like so many others and very little will change. Whoever our new president is, there will be suffering and joy and frustration and complacency. There will be a cross, made heavier or lighter. But God will still be God.

Whoever is elected, God will still be God.

 

If you’re going to join me in fasting and praying for our country and this election, would you leave a comment? Share what you’re doing if you like or just tell us that you’re in. Either way, I think we could all use the encouragement.

  1. That’s not saying much. [↩]
  2. Also against the pursuit of happiness, but I didn’t really make that case, except inasmuch as one can’t pursue happiness without life and liberty. [↩]
  3. That one’ll sure make you holier. [↩]

Holy Just Like You

When I decided I wanted to be a Saint,1 I knew exactly what to do. Saints, after all, are sweet, quiet, pink-cheeked girls who spend hours on their knees and never, ever yell, right? So I set about becoming a holy card.

I was pretty sure I had to be skinnier, too. Unless I was a nun. Nun saints get to be a little curvier.

I even made sure to fold my hands when I prayed and to gaze at heaven.2 I knew what it took to be a Saint, as I knew everything, and I was willing to mortify everything about myself. I knew I had to quit being loud and sarcastic. I could smile beatifically, but never guffaw. I should pray about everything–everything, even which sidewalk to take on my way to class. It was insane, and it lasted about five minutes.

But the idea that I had to change dramatically if I wanted to be holy stayed with me. It wasn’t just a desire to be purified of my sinfulness–obviously, holiness requires radical change. But I was identifying core elements of my character as “wrong” because they didn’t fit with the plaster images I’d seen in Saint books.

So I tried to be quiet and sweet and inoffensive. I tried to smile more and yell less. But you know what? God made me loud and obnoxious. And really, he’s called me to be obnoxious for the kingdom. I’d just as soon say nothing offensive and draw only positive attention. I’d gladly avoid calling anyone out, even people who are knowingly embracing serious sin. But I’ve realized, after years of hating myself when my best efforts were met with raised eyebrows or narrowed eyes, that that’s not who God made me to be.

And when I started to really get to know the Saints, I realized that most of them weren’t like that, either. In fact, there’s no one model for holiness that we all have to squeeze ourselves into. All Saints are like Christ, sure, but Christ was by turns gentle and wrathful, sarcastic and sweet. And just like holy people aren’t all priests and nuns, holy people don’t all fit that hands-folded, heavenward-gaze model so many of us are used to. People who are seeking Christ are messy and awkward. They’re all kinds of people living all kinds of lives in all kinds of ways. Don’t believe me? Check it out:3

All for the glory of God, all for the kingdom, all for love of souls. It’s not better to be a missionary than it is to be a fry cook, just like it’s not better to be a choleric than it is to be a phlegmatic. What’s better is to be just who you should be–whoever that is.

My friends, God did not make you to be anyone else. He doesn’t need another Dominic or another Elizabeth Ann. He made you quite deliberately to be you. Your truest self–your holiest self, your saintliest self–is most fully you. Which means that if you’re shy, you can let yourself be shy–within reason. Same thing if you’re loud. I’m not giving you permission to indulge your personality quirks to the point of sin, just pointing out that grace builds on nature. God gave you the particular personality and circumstances and work and vocation and body and home that you have in order to serve the Church and the world. He wants to use what is natural to you to do the supernatural through you.

This song by Danielle Rose expresses what I’m trying to say. Ironically, it was Danielle Rose’s beatific smile that inspired my college obsession with being quiet and sweet.5 I wanted to be holy like her. But just like me, she was trying to be holy like someone else.

If they do make a holy card of me, it should probably look more like this. My mouth should definitely be open. My mouth is always open.6

Your homework this week: spend some time asking the Lord what parts of you need to be converted and what parts are exactly as he wants them. You might wish your holiness looked quieter or louder or more radical or more ordinary or less painful or less easy, but knowing who you ought to be requires that you know who you are. If I had succeeded in becoming the Saint I thought I needed to be, I’d be repressed and tense and miserable and totally ineffective. To be free and holy and do God’s work, I sometimes have to dance like a fool, fall on the ground at a dropped pass, or scream “heresy” around people who don’t quite understand the nuances. I have to cry more than is reasonable and laugh harder than anyone in the room. I have to stick my foot in my mouth and give people nicknames and (try to) look cute and make fun of myself and all kinds of nonsense. It’s not normal, but it’s good. And it’s me.

I’ve had people listen to me talk about my life with Christ and tell me that they don’t think they can be like me. Good! God knows the world doesn’t need more of me. It’s got about all it can handle with one. And, quite frankly, you’d be terrible at being me. Just like I’d be terrible at being you. But if you can figure out how to be you and I can figure out how to be me, we can change this world.

If you are what you should be, you will set the world ablaze. -St. Catherine of Siena

  1. I know I should just want to be a saint–a person who’s in heaven–but I admit that I really want to be a Saint. I want statues and holy cards and a feast day. We’ve talked about my pride issues before, haven’t we? [↩]
  2. This would be cute if I hadn’t been in college. [↩]
  3. Hover over any of the names to see who I’m talking about without clicking away. [↩]
  4. Of course, he could fly…. [↩]
  5. Yeah, I went to college with her. I’m pretty much a huge deal. [↩]
  6. Photo credit: my lovely aunt, Miriam A. Kilmer [↩]

How to Go to Confession

Sometimes my Ordinary Time toes even match my clothes! Okay, rarely.

Back before I gave everything away to enter the convent (one day I’ll tell y’all more about that), I used to have enough clothes that I could wear purple for all of Advent and Lent–pink during the pink weeks, of course. These days, I stick with nail polish to match the liturgical season. It’s fun in the winter, when I go from purple to pink to gold to green. But my toenails have been green for months and I’m getting pretty sick of it.

Does anybody else feel like Ordinary Time just drags on and on? The first half of the year is all exciting, and then it’s just ordinary for six months. If you’re anything like me, your spiritual life matches the excitement of my nail polish. When the vestments are changing, I’m focused and intentional, adding spiritual practices and going to penance services and whatnot. But during these green months, that intentional living fades.

For most people, I think, the biggest casualty is confession. We go in Advent, we go in Lent (when it’s every Wednesday evening in every parish if your diocese is as awesome as mine), and that’s about it. So if it’s been a couple of months (or years), here’s a refresher course on how to go to confession.1

1. Examination of conscience. Do not just waltz into the confessional unprepared. Keep in mind that this is an encounter with the God of the universe who was beaten and crucified exactly so that you can have these three minutes in the confessional. Not something to be taken lightly.

Spend some time with a good examination of conscience. Ask the Holy Spirit to enlighten you and then reflect on everything that’s happened since your last good confession. Bear in mind that you must confess all mortal sins in kind and number–that means be as specific as possible. For something to be a mortal sin, all three of the following conditions must be met:

  1. Grave matter–it’s really wrong.
  2. Knowledge–you know it’s really wrong.
  3. Full consent of the will–you choose to do it anyway.

Venial sins (sins that don’t meet all three conditions) should be confessed, but don’t have to be. You can also be broader in your enumeration of venial sins: “I have been selfish” as opposed to “I drop-kicked three babies.”

The distinction is that mortal sin breaks your relationship with God, while venial sin “just” damages it. Think of it this way: if we’re best friends and I walk up to you and you’re busy and walk away without saying anything, that’s not cool.  But you don’t have to beg forgiveness, just send a quick text message or go old school and actually say something.  If you jump me from behind and beat the tar out of me, though, you really have to beg. We’re talking on your knees, tears pouring down your face, handing me presents. In the same way, when we damage our relationship with God, we can ask forgiveness without going to confession; when we destroy it, we need to get down on our knees and beg–in the confessional.

As you go through your examination of conscience, you may want to write out your sins and destroy the paper afterwards. Or not. As long as you’re thorough, the method doesn’t much matter.

2. Contrition. In order for your confession to be valid, you actually have to be sorry for your sins. In fact, your confession’s invalid if you’re not sorry at some level.

Fortunately, our God is merciful beyond belief, and he’ll take whatever he can get. Ideally, you’ll have perfect contrition–sorrow for your sins out of love of God. But God will accept imperfect contrition, too–sorrow for your sins out of fear of hell. Contrition just means that at some level you regret having sinned, even if your regret itself is self-interested.

3. Resolution. The oft-overlooked third step in the process, resolution means that you resolve to try not to sin again. This doesn’t mean you won’t sin again or even that you expect to make it ten minutes without sinning again; it means that you really want to stop sinning and you’re going to try. You don’t have to succeed. God knows you’re weak—he’s not going to withhold forgiveness because you’re fallen.

Of course, this also tells us that you can’t validly confess something you have no intention of changing. Let’s say you never go to Mass on Sunday–that’s definitely grave matter, and assuming that you know it and are choosing to do it anyway, it would be a mortal sin.2 If you go to confession with the intention of skipping Sunday Mass the next day, then confessing that you skip Mass wouldn’t do you any good–the sin wouldn’t be forgiven.

If you’re stuck in some sin that you know the Church condemns but that you’re not willing to give up, don’t just avoid confession! Go to confession and explain to the priest that you’re addicted to pornography (or whatever) and don’t intend to stop. Let’s hope that the Holy Spirit takes over and you get some good counsel there.

4. Confession. The moment we’ve all been waiting for…the Sacrament itself. In order to be absolved (barring extreme circumstances), you have to take your sins before a priest. You must confess all mortal sins—if you leave one out on purpose, your whole confession is invalid and you’ve added another mortal sin. If you forget one, on the other hand, it’s okay—even the one you forget is forgiven. God’s good like that.

Your confession should (God willing) look something like this:

Priest: In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.
Penitent: Bless me Father for I have sinned. It’s been _____ weeks/months/years since my last confession. These are my sins:
      List sins
Penitent: For these and all my sins, may God forgive me.

It’s a good idea to end your laundry list with some closing line to let the priest know that you’re done. For years I went with “And, uh, I think that’s it,” which was kind of a lie, since I knew that was it. I think some closer makes it less awkward for everybody.

Who’s seen Hitchcock’s I Confess? A psychological thriller about the seal of the confessional? Yes, please!

Father may interrupt you to ask for clarification or motivations. Hopefully, he won’t interrupt you to start chatting. I once mentioned in confession that I had just been to the Holy Land and the priest started asking me about the political situation there. After a few minutes, I realized that he wasn’t ever going to get back to the confession part of things, so I started awkwardly inserting my sins into the conversation: “Well, I never felt unsafe, even though I’m really impatient and judgmental. But that might just be because of my pride.”

After you list your sins, you will hopefully get some advice from the priest. Even if he’s way off the mark, keep listening because he may slip your penance in there and you really need to know that. Sometimes they get sneaky, so pay attention.

Father should ask you to say an act of contrition after that. It’s good to have one memorized, but don’t worry if you don’t. Most confessionals have one on the wall inside. If all else fails, you can make something up. I once found myself going to confession in Italian. I’m pretty good at Italian, but it turns out that I don’t know works like “judgmental” or “selfish,” so the whole process of confessing was kind of like Taboo:

Me: I said…things…that were not…good…about others?
Father: Uncharitable!
Me: Yes! Uncharitable!3

When he asked me to make my act of contrition, I thought I was going to die. I mean, I know how to say “I’m sorry I bumped into you,” but I was afraid it wasn’t quite the same as “I’m sorry I nailed you to the cross.” And I didn’t want to say the Italian equivalent of “my bad,” so it came out like this:

Oh, God…I sinned…I don’t want to sin any more…help me!4

Very awkward. But good enough (although Father did laugh at me). In any event, go ahead and memorize one.

Then you get absolution and BAM! you’re good as new.

“Nepomuk Takes the Confession of the Queen of Bohemia” by Giuseppe Maria Crespi

5. Absolution. When you hear the words “I absolve you of your sins,” you’re forgiven. In that moment, your sins are taken away, if you’re intending to do your penance. If you forget to do your penance and can’t make it up, you’re okay, but if you’re not intending to do it, it’s an invalid confession. Basically, pay attention and do it, but know that you’re forgiven right then, not when you’ve finished your ten rosaries (or the one Our Father you slid out of there with).

As a reminder, it is God who absolves you through the priest. By the merits of Christ’s Passion, God forgives your sins; the priest is just the vessel.5

6. Satisfaction. While your sins are forgiven by Christ’s mercy alone, independent of any works of penance you might do, God asks us to cooperate with his grace. So when you say your penance, you’re not earning your absolution, but putting forth a token of your good will and your desire to serve God. Plus, while confession takes away your eternal punishment (saving you from hell), it doesn’t remove all temporal punishment (making things right with the world your sin damaged). Your penance helps you to make reparations to the world for the evil you’ve done; whatever you haven’t made up for will be taken care of in purgatory, which I’m sure I’ll talk about in November.

Gone are the days when your penance involved a pilgrimage to the Holy Land or fasting in sackcloth and ashes. I’m lucky if I get more than my standard three Hail Marys. Since your penance is probably pretty easy, try to do it intensely, really focusing on every word. Consider that in the moment of your absolution, God snatched your soul from the jaws of hell; in return, he asked for, what, a decade of the rosary? By God’s mercy and the power of the Cross, your soul does not depend on those words. But it can’t hurt to pray them like it does.

 

If you haven’t been to confession in a long time, might I suggest a good soul cleansing? I promise you won’t regret it. If you’re a frequent confessor, maybe trying to be more intentional will help you to recognize the beauty of this Sacrament. And whether you go weekly or haven’t been in decades, take a moment to thank God for the incredible gift of Sacramental absolution and for our Church that is anything but ordinary.


  1. If you still need to be convinced that you should go to confession at all, see if this post helps you. [↩]
  2. I’m not judging you–this is theoretical. [↩]
  3. Incaritatevole, in case you were wondering. [↩]
  4. O Dio…ho peccato…non voglio peccare piu…aiutame! [↩]
  5. Jn 20:21-23 [↩]

Why I Won’t Read Fifty Shades of Grey

They look pretty innocent until the handcuffs….

If you haven’t yet heard of the Fifty Shades trilogy, you probably don’t spend much time on the internet.  The series is so popular that when I put the number 5 into Google, it autofilled “50 shades of grey.”  For those of you so fortunate as to have avoided the books so far, let me summarize the first for you in the words of noted news source Wikipedia:

Fifty Shades of Grey is a 2011 erotic novel by British author E. L. James. Set largely in Seattle, it is the first installment in a trilogy that traces the deepening relationship between a college graduate, Anastasia Steele, and a young business magnate, Christian Grey. It is notable for its explicitly erotic scenes featuring elements of sexual practices involving bondage/discipline, dominance/submission, sadism/masochism (BDSM).

So let’s go ahead and get this out of the way: these books are not wholesome.  They are “explicitly erotic,” featuring all kinds of…sketchy practices.  And not just implied filth–graphically-described filth, stuff so bad I can barely google the novels without feeling the need to scrub my brain.  From a Christian perspective, I just don’t know how you can excuse that.

Now, I generally won’t take a stand against a book I haven’t read myself.  I wholeheartedly support Harry Potter as an innocent fantasy series because I’ve read every word.  I wasn’t even willing to condemn The Da Vinci Code until I read it–now I’m glad to warn people against it.1  So when a reader asked me to write about the book, warning Christian women away from it, I said no.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “but I can’t tell people not to read a book that I haven’t read, and I can’t read that.”

But last week, I mentioned this exchange to one of my kids.  “You can’t hide from the truth,” he said.

“I’m not afraid that these books will expose some truth that threatens my nice little Catholic world,” I said.  “I’m afraid of what they’ll do to me.  I knew The Da Vinci Code wouldn’t destroy my faith, so I wasn’t worried about reading it.  I’m not as confident that these books won’t affect me.”

“Fifty Shades of Grey isn’t going to destroy your faith,” he said, giving me a kind vote of confidence.

“Alex, it’s not that I think I’m going to read these books and suddenly abandon my life of chastity for some wild S&M fantasy.  I just refuse to put myself in a situation where I’m walking up the aisle to receive communion and a graphic image of bondage sex presents itself to my imagination.  I’m not hiding from anything, I’m protecting myself.”

The more I thought about it, the more I realized that it wasn’t enough just not to read the books.  I may not know everything about these books (thank God!), but I know enough to take a stand.  Since I haven’t read them, I guess I can’t exactly tell you what to do.  But I can say that I wouldn’t read them for ten thousand dollars and that I really, really hope no Christian women do.

In case you’re on the edge, here’s why I won’t read these books:

  1. They’re pornographic.  People who like them call them mommy porn.  These aren’t even the books’ detractors–these are their fans!  Men who watch porn think they’re porn.  The only people who seem to insist that the books aren’t porn are people who want to believe that reading these books isn’t unchaste.2
    .
    As these books prove, something can be pornographic without having images, and it makes total sense that women would be more drawn to words than images.  While many women claim that the books have revitalized their sex lives, marriage is about so much more than sex.  It’s about love and honor and chastity and seeking holiness together.  So I don’t care what Fifty Shades has done for your sex life, it is not great for your marriage.  This isn’t just harmless fun–pornography damages marriages as well as souls.  Someone’s getting hurt.
    .
  2. Good, because most women really need to lower their standards for men.

    They’re not just erotica, they’re bondage erotica.  If I can’t even handle good old Mr. Darcy, why on earth would I want to read about a wealthy, experienced, powerful man getting a young virgin to sign a contract consenting to God knows what?  Because yeah, love is all about escape–ha–clauses and signing on the dotted line.  I know from reading articles about the book that there are safe words, whips, straps, and a “red room of pain.”  I don’t even need to read the graphic lines to have a serious problem with the image of sex and “love” that the books present.

    And yet apparently Christian Grey is such an attractive character that women are falling head over heels for the sick man.  This kind of fiction skews our idea of love to be about pain and domination.  I don’t care what happens with the love story–I refuse to make that kind of man my standard, as so many women seem to have done

  3. It’s terrible writing.  From what I’ve heard, it’s not even very well-written.  I mean, it evolved from Twilight fanfic.  That’s right–an author so devoid of ideas she sponged off of Twilight.  The books, evidently, are so full of misused words, trite language, and broken record clichés (“my inner goddess) that even the most undiscerning readers can’t help but cringe.  Honestly, I wouldn’t be interested even if they weren’t porn.

So I’m not going to touch those things with a ten foot pole.  And I feel a lot more comfortable, after all the research I’ve been doing,3 in saying that they have no place on a Christian bookshelf. Even if they’re not smut, they’re too close for Christian comfort.

I’m not condemning you if you’ve read them.  Maybe my imagination is just more vivid than most, and that’s the problem.  Likely I’m much more of a prude than most.  But I’ve got to ask: would you blush if your pastor (or mother or Sunday School teacher or friend from church) saw you reading them?  Would you snatch them from your child if she flipped to a page at random?  Do you honestly feel that these books are good for your soul?

Maybe I’m missing the mark, but when St. Paul says “flee immorality,”4 I take him seriously.  So when I see those books, I’m happy to turn and run.  And I’m hoping you’ll join me.

  1. If you’re strong in your faith, read it if you must. It’s not filth, it’s just lies. I understand that it’s fiction, but the Church is my Mother, and when someone writes a book all about how your mother is a liar and a murderer, sticking it in the fiction section doesn’t make it more palatable. [↩]
  2. There are advocates of the book who reject the term “mommy porn” because they find the term condescending. “I’m a big girl and I read big girl porn, goshdarnit!” [↩]
  3. God help me, I had to close some of those websites really fast. [↩]
  4. 1 Cor 6:18 [↩]

How the Temperaments Are Making Me Holier

Until I was in my mid-twenties, I thought that every woman who wasn’t occasionally a quivering mass of emotions was repressing her feelings.  I tend to cry frequently and freak out even more often.  So I would sit down with my poor sister every few months and try to push all her buttons until she was sad enough to cry.

I really thought I was helping her.

When I finally found out that people are, in fact, different and not everybody needs to be such a basketcase as I am, life started to move more smoothly.  It goes along with what I was saying about not judging people–the more we can try to understand people, the better we can love them.  I think that learning about different personality types can really help with this.

Let me start by saying that I am in no way an expert on the temperaments.  In fact, most of what I write here I learned from some of my kids, two brilliant girls who explained the whole thing to me when they were in high school.1  So I might be off on some of this, but it doesn’t seem to be an exact science.  In any event, I’ve found this system very helpful (and I want to write a post about my struggles with humility which will make more sense if I can refer to my temperament in passing), so I’m going to sketch it out here.

The basic principle behind the temperaments is that there are four major categories that people’s personalities fall into: choleric, phlegmatic, melancholic, and sanguine.

Cholerics are passionate and intense.  They tend to be extreme in whatever they do and often elbow their way through the crowd to positions of leadership.  Bible verse: “Therefore be either cold or hot, for if you are lukewarm I will spit you from my mouth” (Revelation 3:16); The Office character2: terrifying Dwight Schrute, who is more intense about beets than most people are about their eternal salvation.

Phlegmatics are the opposite: more easygoing and relaxed.  They tend to be calm, steady, and rational, less driven by passion than their choleric counterparts.  Bible verse: “He is like a tree planted beside the waters that stretches out its roots to the stream: it does not fear heat when it comes, its leaves stay green; in the year of drought it shows no distress, but still produces fruit” (Jeremiah 17:8); The Office character: chill Jim Halpert, who barely cracks a smile while encasing everything Dwight owns in jello.

Sanguines tend to be confident and emotionally stable.  They’re often characterized as “happy,” but what is most significant is that their emotions tend not to be extreme or to dominate them.  Bible verse: “Rejoice in the Lord always.  I shall say it again: rejoice!” (Philippians 4:4); The Office character: Michael Scott, who jokes around even when his heart is breaking and never stays sad for long.

Melancholics, on the other hand, are sensitive, feeling a wide range of emotions very deeply.  They are more introspective than sanguines and often have to work through some intense emotional reactions.  Bible verse: “Weeping may endure for a night but joy comes with the morning” (Psalm 30:6); The Office character: Pam Halpert, who (especially when pregnant) alternates between grinning goofily at Jim and crying over commercials.

Traditionally, people say you have a dominant and a secondary temperament.  My girls look at it from a different angle, explaining it like a coordinate plane (ooh, check out my mathy words!  I must be so smart.) like so:

Most people just aren’t as monochromatic as a single temperament would suggest.  This model gives us the idea of a spectrum between two opposing temperaments and lets you be extreme in two temperaments, as some of us are.  Let’s use Winnie the Pooh to illustrate:

I’m not sure this is what A.A. Milne was going for….

So, to make sure we’re all following: Tigger is passionate but unemotional, chipper all the time; Rabbit is just as intense but much more sensitive and more easily upset; Pooh is hard to upset, happy to go with the flow; Eeyore is generally upset but unmotivated to fight anything.  Now these four are extremes, all in the corners of the graph.  You might be slightly choleric and extremely sanguine or just a little melancholic and a little choleric.  Not everybody’s personality is as extreme as mine.

Where do I fit, you ask?  Well, if you’ve read more than just this post, you’ve probably figured out that I’m crazy choleric.  Here’s how choleric: when I was first learning about all this, my kids told me I was the most choleric person they knew.  My response?

“No way!  I bet I could list at least 5 people more choleric than me!  And I don’t care about everything.  Like hockey!  I don’t care at all about hockey.  I bet I could come up with 20 things I don’t care at all about!”

They just stared at me.  “Seriously?  Are you trying to prove our point?”

What this means is that I care a lot about just about everything.  And learning that I’m the outlier here helped me to understand that when other people don’t care about something that matters to me, it’s not because they need to be inspired to care or they don’t understand how important this is or they’re bad people because THIS IS SO IMPORTANT AND THEY’RE NOT EVEN ANGRY ABOUT THIS TERRIBLE TERRIBLE INJUSTICE!!

See, some people are just phlegmatic.  And it’s natural to them, when they care about something, not to have a coronary about it.  And that’s good–God knows the world can’t handle many of me without a whole lot of phlegmatics to balance things out.  So when people are good Catholics but don’t go to daily Mass ever, it’s not because they love Jesus less than I.  It’s because their love of Jesus doesn’t naturally express itself in a commitment to going to daily Mass.  And, to be honest, I don’t go to daily Mass because I love Jesus so much.  I go because I’m an all-in kind of person.  I decided a decade ago that I’d go to Mass every day and it’ll take a lot to change that commitment not because I’m holy but because I’m stubborn and choleric.

There’s a thrill to being as passionate as I am, and I think it enables me to serve the Church in a very particular way, but it can also be exhausting.  Plus, when I care so much about everything, life is kind of a roller coaster ride.  Before I planted my feet on Christ, I was a hot mess.  Praise God for life on the Rock.

What about the x-axis?  Oh, so, so melancholic.  Those same kids who were explaining this to me were very confused on this one because they’d heard me talk about how a piece of music broke my heart or how peaceful prayer was, but they’d never seen me upset.

“Well, yeah,” I said.  “Because I don’t cry in front of my students.”

Practically, what this means is that I’m very, very easily hurt.  I read way too much into everything and have to spend time in prayer most days taking irrational suffering to Christ to be healed.  I’m very sarcastic (choleric) but also crushed–after the fact–by having hurt someone (melancholic).  But I’m also able to feel very deeply.  My constant and repeated heartbreak gives me a reference point when contemplating the Passion which opens me to contrition that most sanguines will never know.  And the deep suffering makes the joy that much more beautiful.

Understanding how melancholic I am has actually made it a lot easier for me to govern my emotions.  I thought all through high school that anyone who didn’t return my phone calls was passive-aggressively telling me she didn’t want to be my friend anymore.  I’ve realized since that sanguines just don’t generally have any idea that they’re hurting me.  I took being 10 minutes late as an intentional slight when really a sanguine might not notice that he was late.  He certainly wouldn’t expect anyone to take offense.

Now, sticking people in boxes is generally not helpful.  But it’s been my experience that understanding that other people might view the world in a completely different way from me helps me to love them better.  It goes back to walking a mile in another person’s shoes.  I can’t at all understand a sanguine phlegmatic (Pooh) until I realize that he doesn’t have to be like me.  If Pooh tried to be like Rabbit, the Hundred Acre Wood would be a very unpleasant place.3

The Saints are all over this graph.  Cranky St. Jerome was probably a Rabbit,4 but so was fiery St. Teresa of Avila.  St. Joseph of Cupertino was Pooh, as was Bl. John XXIII.  I’d think Philip Neri was a Tigger, along with St. Peter, and St. Teresa Benedicta of the Cross strikes me as an Eeyore.  The kingdom of heaven accepts all kinds, and the Church needs them.

I probably ought to have some great spiritual lesson to conclude, but all I’ve got is this: you don’t have to be like anyone else and they don’t have to be like you.  Figure out how you are called to be holy, be holy that way, and let other people follow their own path to holiness.

For Further Reading:

Since all I did was sketch out some very basic principles, here are some other sites that you might find helpful.  None of them seem to use the graph idea above, but they’ll help you flesh out what I said about the specific temperaments:

Ave Maria Singles explains how temperaments relate to marriage.

Fr. Antonio Royo Marin, O.P. connects the temperaments to spirituality.

Fisheaters is always good for those who want to know about the medieval roots of anything.

And of course, we can’t forget Wikipedia!

 

What do y’all think?  Does this help you understand yourself–and those you love–better?

  1. Maria Guzman and Elizabeth Hanna Pham, to whom I am extremely grateful. [↩]
  2. If The Office doesn’t do it for you, look here for some more comparisons. [↩]
  3. For the record, while I’m in the same quadrant as Rabbit, I don’t think we’re very much at all. My brand of melancholic is much more cheerful. We’re both borderline OCD, though. [↩]
  4. All of these are guesses–bear with me! [↩]