Tag: prayer

How to Reform the Church

I’ve spent the past 16 months traveling this country. I’ve been to Mass in 36 states in the past year and a half and in half a dozen other countries in recent years. So let me tell you something, in case you haven’t noticed: this Church of ours is badly in need of reform. I know you feel it too. You read the headlines and sit in the pews and watch the youth fall away and you know that something’s gotta give. With clergy abusing minors while bishops look the other way, with vapid “catechesis” and liturgy that reminds one more of a carnival or a dreary deposition than the wedding feast of the Lamb, with Catholics who dehumanize the unborn and Catholics who victimize the poor, it’s no wonder that many of us resting in the arms of Mother Church feel compelled to do something.

The list of particular faults would be different, but the sentiment has been the same since Jesus ascended. The Church is already but not yet, divine and human, “holy and always in need of purification.”1 Whether it’s casting out heretics or letting sinners in, faithful sons and daughters of Mother Church have been drawing her along the path of purification (by God’s grace) since before anyone else knew there was a Church.

St. Robert Bellarmine, pray for us.
St. Robert Bellarmine, pray for us.

You and I are descendants of this noble tradition, this tradition of reform that made yesterday’s Saint a Saint and not the founder of a Protestant denomination.2 If you’re looking critically at the state of the Church, there ought to be elements that make you weep, not because of bitterness but because of a deep love for the Body of Christ, the Church. She’s preserved free of error but not free of sin. Made exclusively of sinners (in the Church militant, anyway), it’s no wonder that she’s so beset by scandal and failure. But we who love her will not despair. We will follow in the footsteps of Robert Bellarmine and Francis de Sales, of Nicholas and Augustine, of John XXIII and Mother Teresa. We will live in such a way that the Church and the world will never be the same.

So what can we do, we who have so much hope for this magnificent Church made up of flawed individuals? How can we love our Church as the beacon of truth instituted by Christ while working to make her more true, good, and beautiful? How can we reform without starting a reformation?

1. Know what the Church is supposed to be. If you’re concerned with the state of things, do your research first. Read the Catechism3 so you know what can and can’t change in the Church. Here’s a hint: doctrine can’t change. And won’t. Ever. If you’re big on the “spirit of Vatican II,” read the documents before you make a vague reference to the feelings you have about the council. If you want to question Church teaching, read the whole Bible. If you’re still unsure about transubstantiation or Mary or social justice, read everything written by the Church Fathers–it’s all been there from the beginning.

Source.
Source.

This is the difference between reform and dissent: a reformer fights to make the Church more herself; a dissenter tries to remake the Church in his own image. Teresa and Ignatius and Pius and Robert are reformers because they saw the glory latent in a broken Church and sought to draw it out. Luther and Calvin and Cranmer were dissenters because they tried to impose their ideas on the Church–and lost her in the battle. If you’re trying to turn the Church into a charitable organization or a social club or a rock concert, find another group to subvert. But if you know what Jesus and Cyprian and Gregory and Catherine and John Henry and John Paul meant by Church–an instrument of truth and goodness and beauty in a sin-ravaged world–then let’s get to work.

2. Don’t complain. The temptation when you’re in a spiritually dead parish or a liturgically heterodox parish or a parish led by a great sinner is to gossip. We get with like-minded people and whine about how bad things are which makes us more ill-tempered and more likely to see the bad. We miss the holiness and reverence and joy because we’re looking for the topic of our next tirade. Make this commitment: don’t say anything negative about the Church to people who can’t do anything about it. The less you complain, the less frustrated you’ll be.

Reform often looks more like this than anything else.
Reform often looks more like this than anything else.

The flip side is this: have the guts to say something. If you’re concerned that the religious ed program is too fluffy, don’t complain to the other parents, go talk to the D.R.E.! If you can’t take the liturgical abuses, talk it over with Father. If that doesn’t work and it’s serious enough, meet with the bishop. Or, if it’s appropriate, talk to a friend who’s closer to your pastor and would be willing to raise your concerns. If it’s important enough to “vent” about, it’s important enough to discuss with someone who can make changes. Reform doesn’t come from sniping in hushed undertones. If it matters, take a risk and say something. You might be crucified for it–but at least you’ll be in good company.

3. Be the change. Sometimes talking to someone isn’t going to help. But even if it would, you have to be willing to do something. If you think kids these days don’t know their faith, volunteer to teach them. Or if you have more money than charisma, make a donation specifically earmarked for sending kids to a Steubenville conference or a LifeTeen camp. If you think parishes need to be stronger communities, talk to your pastor about forming a welcoming committee. Be a mentor couple for young people in marriage prep. Host a mom’s group or a teen movie night or a young adult dinner. If you’re concerned that your parish isn’t doing enough to evangelize, offer to go door-to-door in the neighborhood inviting people back to Church. Stop saying “Somebody should really do something” and DO IT!

"I want a mess! ...I want trouble in the dioceses!" Source.
“I want a mess! …I want trouble in the dioceses!” Source.

This covers little things, too. If you’re frustrated at what people wear to Mass, don a three-piece suit or a fancy (modest) dress with a matching hat. Get to Mass early and kneel quietly if noise in the sanctuary bothers you; it might just show people what the sanctuary is for. Receive the Eucharist like it’s actually the God of the universe. Because it is. Iron the altar linens. Teach your children to be reverent. But make sure you’re not taking it too far: you might want to kneel when the GIRM says to kneel, but if the bishop has issued different norms, you always defer to the bishop. Be the change by being obedient, by getting your hands dirty, by wasting your time and driving people nuts. Make a mess, my friends. Pope Francis will be so proud.

4. Live in the heart of the Church. The great Catholic reformers loved their Church, warts and all. If you’re serious about wanting to change the Church, it has to be at the service of the Church, not at the service of some ideology. If you don’t love the Church with everything you are, fight until you do. Get to confession at least monthly. Go to daily Mass as often as possible. Pray the Liturgy of the Hours, the “prayer of the Church.” Invite your priest over for dinner. Pray for the pope. 

Because if you don’t love the Church–deeply, desperately love her as the body of Christ on earth–then your good impulses will be twisted. You’ll find yourself attacking the Church instead of supporting her. Before you know it, your reform will be a reformation.

You cannot change the Church from outside. If you truly believe that the Catholic Church is the Church founded by Christ against whom the gates of hell will not prevail, cling to her. Don’t be a Catholic in name only–submit your intellect and your will, your entire life to the Church. Consent to be a failure and watch the Lord emerge victorious.

Holy Cards5. Be a saint. It all comes down to this. You can write brilliant blog posts or start great programs or argue with a thousand priests and win and nothing will matter if you’re not holy. Be so freaking holy that people around you are drawn to Christ. Look at the history of our Church: you never find solitary Saints. St. Clare was holy and dragged her mother (Blessed) and two sisters (one Saint, one Blessed) along with her. Bernard of Clairvaux was so holy that his parents, six brothers, and one sister are all canonized or on their way there. John Bosco and Dominic Savio, Teresa of Avila and John of the Cross, Ignatius Loyola and Francis Xavier, Vincent de Paul and Louise de Marillac, and all their less famous companions–they spurred each other on, called one another to greatness. This, my friends, is how you reform the Church: you love so hard and you pray so well and you learn and you teach and you value humility second only to charity.

The great reformers of our Church were all Saints–not because we canonize people who do impressive things but because you can’t do great works unless you abandon your own desires and live only for Christ’s. Our Church and our world don’t need revolutionaries, they need saints. So before you do anything else, get your butt to confession and get praying. Real, serious prayer time, even when you’re “too busy.” Ask the Lord to use you, to work in you, to set you on fire with love for him. Then get out of the way.

I have great hope for our Church. I have to–I trust the Holy Spirit. But I’ve also met many of his chosen instruments. And you all have what it takes to be the great saints this Church needs. Let us begin.

  1. CCC 1248 [↩]
  2. The Bellarmists? Bellarmans? [↩]
  3. Yes, the whole thing. It’s actually a really great read and you can knock the whole thing out in a year reading only nine paragraphs a day. [↩]

Faith Like a Toddler

If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s taking literally anything–any story, joke, momentary distraction–and relating it to Jesus. So I know you’re wondering what I managed to make of this:

tantrum twitterWell, I’m guest-posting over at Jenna’s today, so you’ll have to click over there to find out.

Also, Dwija is awesome and funny and pretty much great at life and I wish I were her friend–not least because of this post. But she’s struggling right now. She’s pregnant with baby number 6 and it’s not going well and–as if she needed more drama in her life–her laundry room is a disaster. Think you could stop over to Cari’s to make a quick donation? Think of it as the donation you’d make to my ministry if you ever met me.1

Please?

  1. Although really, if you haven’t, it’s your own fault. I’ve been to 42 states and I’m hitting New England in September to bring it up to 48. If you want to hang out, you just have to ask. [↩]

What to Do When Mass Is Awful

One downside to being a hobo is that there’s no vetting parishes before deciding to go to Mass there. Whether it’s stopping at a parish in Kentucky because its noon Mass fit my 12-hour drive or going to the only church in Abilene, KS, I don’t always have a lot of choice in the matter. And when I do, I don’t tend to have enough information that I can avoid sketchy parishes. The result, of course, is that I go to a lot of…trying Masses.

One particularly frustrating Mass got me thinking, some time after the rain stick and before I noticed half a dozen adults chewing gum. As I tried to ignore the murmured conversations all around me (because, really, why listen to the Mass?), the Lord reminded me that there’s very little that can ruin the Mass. Oh, there’s plenty that can ruin my focus or my prayer or even the state of my soul if I let it, but almost nothing actually has the power to ruin the goodness that is the Mass.

Things that can’t ruin Mass (although not for lack of trying):1

  1. Granted, the lighting wasn't great, but there's not much you can do with seafoam carpeting and cinder block walls.
    Not even seafoam carpeting and cinder block walls can ruin Mass. I promise.

    Ugly sanctuaries. And not just the brown brick monstrosities of my youth. I’m talking a picture of MLK Jr. hanging to the right of the altar. However much you respect the work he did, the man is not a Saint.

  2. People chewing gum. Never okay in a house of worship, but I’m sure you knew that.
  3. People dressed immodestly. Leggings are not pants and if you’re convinced that shorts are Sunday-Mass-appropriate, please do make sure that they cover your butt. Also, what’s with all the cleavage at Mass? Or anywhere, for that matter? I tell you, friends, I just don’t get it.
  4. Cell phones going off. Even when people answer them and talk about how they’re leaving church as they walk out on their phone. Yup, been there.
  5. Screaming kids. By which I usually mean fussing kids whose parents scoop them up and out of the sanctuary but still get dirty looks. But even the ones who are totally indulged, driving their matchbox cars up and down the pews making screeching noises can’t ruin Mass.
  6. Illicit liturgy. I’m talking pita bread Jesus, the congregation sitting through the whole Mass, lay people proclaiming the Gospel, the priest receiving communion after everybody else–I begin to think I really have seen it all.
  7. Bad music. I’m rather a musical snob, so when I hear a cantor who’s a quarter step flat for a whole psalm, a pianist who doesn’t understand rests, or a guitarist playing in the wrong time signature, it’s a challenge to me. And Catholics aren’t exactly known for their music….
  8. Heretical music. “I myself am the bread of life…” Okay, fine, John 6. “…You and I are the bread of life!” What? No. We aren’t. That doesn’t even make sense! Seriously?
  9. If I hear that one again, I'll text this to the preacher.
    If I hear that one again, I’ll text this to the deacon.

    Heretical preaching. I actually heard an Easter homily once where the deacon preached that Jesus didn’t rise from the dead. It doesn’t get much worse than that.

  10. Obnoxious neighbors. You know–the ones who say all the responses reallysuperfast or the ones who seem to be boycotting the new translation or the ones who spend the whole offertory chatting about Kendra’s new boyfriend. I’m of the opinion that the only reason you talk during Mass is if, say, one of your limbs falls off and you have to whisper to your neighbor to please hand it back to you. Otherwise, not a word.

Plenty of these things, of course, might ruin your experience of Mass, but ultimately Mass is not about your experience. It’s about the objective truth of God made man made food for us. And if it’s a valid Mass,2 it is quite literally the most incredible thing ever to happen in the history of the world. When we’re dealing with a glory so stunning as the Eucharist, even the most heinous of liturgical practices can’t ruin it.

Now don’t get me wrong–good liturgy is at the heart of our faith and reverence is tremendously important.3 But when I let these relatively inconsequential things frustrate me, I’m worshiping music or rubrics or proper attire at the expense of God. And really, I’m letting the devil win. When you go to Mass, you strike a blow at Satan; when you spend your Mass frustrated or judgmental, he deflects it. And then some.

So when is Mass awful? When it isn’t Mass.

  1. If the priest uses any words other than “this is my body” and “this is the chalice of my blood” for the “consecration.”4
  2. If the priest “consecrates” anything other than wheat bread or grape wine.5
  3. If the “priest” isn’t a priest.

That’s it. No matter how bad the music, how dull the preaching, or how rude the congregation, if the form,6 the matter,7 and the minister8 are correct, God shows up. And if the God of the universe becomes an inanimate object for you, stopping at nothing to be with you, then no amount of human failure ought to rob you of of your Eucharistic joy. A valid Mass, my friends, can never be awful.9 The congregation or the preaching or the music or you can be awful, but the Mass isn’t about you. It’s about God. And he is faithful, even when we’re pathetic.

So what should you do? Well, I’m a big fan of making imaginary excuses for people.10 Or finding ways not to be distracted. Or, if it’s possible, shopping around for a licit Mass with a reverent congregation.

But it really comes down to your attitude. If you approach the Mass like it’s an opportunity for you to be entertained or enlightened or pacified, you’re doing it wrong. If you’re making a mental list of liturgical abuses, I sympathize, but I remind you: unless you’re a bishop,11 you are not the liturgy police. You are the faithful. And while it would be wonderful if everything was done right and everybody really did what they ought, making that your standard for a “good” Mass is pharisaism at best and idolatry at worst.

I totally took this picture. Be impressed.

If you approach the Mass like you’re approaching the throne of God, though, everything that’s “wrong” with a particular liturgy fades into the background. If you offer God your frustrations in atonement for your sins, if you close your eyes and beg for the grace to focus on him and not on them, if you remember that God loves us in our brokenness and wants everything we have to offer even if it’s awful, if you remind yourself over and over that however Father might embellish the Mass you’re still truly present at the Last Supper, the Crucifixion, and the Wedding Feast of the Lamb–well, just think of the grace!

Now if you’re in a position to do anything about any of the above, please do. Make announcements about gum, preach about proper attire, ban liturgical abuses. But if you’re like most of us, with no power to change anyone but yourself and–maybe–your family, don’t let propriety trump worship. Recognize what’s wrong if you must and then look back to Christ crucified for you. In the face of that, what else really matters?

*************

Last week I mentioned that I wanted to go to Wyoming and now I am! So I’ll try it again: I really want to go to New Mexico and South Dakota but I have nobody to visit and they’re not on my way. Anybody want me to come speak? (Or anywhere else out West, really, but I’ve got every other state covered as far as excuses to go there.)

  1. Every single one of these examples has really truly happened to me. [↩]
  2. Meaning Jesus actually shows up. You’ve probably never been to an invalid Mass. I think I went to one once but I’m not positive that it wasn’t just hugely illicit. [↩]
  3. Half the reason I wrote this post was to point out what isn’t appropriate at Mass. And please, before you get upset that I’m saying it’s not a big deal when things are illicit, I know that it’s a huge deal because the Mass is so important and it needs to be done right. I’m just saying that relative to the Eucharist, who is God himself, liceity is nothing. Because relative to the Eucharist, everything is nothing. I’m advocating perspective, not anarchy. [↩]
  4. My friend once went to a “Mass” where the priest said “this is the cup of my life.” No transubstantiation, no Mass. Lame. [↩]
  5. Leavened bread in the Roman Rite is illicit–against the rules–but not invalid. If a priest tries to consecrate cornbread, though, it’s not Jesus. [↩]
  6. Words. “This is my body,” “this is the cup of my blood.” [↩]
  7. Stuff: wheat bread, grape wine. [↩]
  8. A validly ordained priest–by necessity, a Catholic man. [↩]
  9. Except in the archaic sense of inspiring awe, in which case every Mass is awful, most especially when it’s glorious. [↩]
  10. “He must have gotten stuck in traffic and not had time to change and that’s why he’s wearing sweatpants and a cutoff tee to Sunday Mass.” “They’re probably chewing gum because they’ve never been in a church before and they don’t know proper etiquette.” “Maybe Father’s never read the rubrics.” “That 10-year-old playing her handheld game must have special needs.” [↩]
  11. In which case oh my gosh hi and you’re amazing and thanks for reading my blog wanna be my best friend?!?!? [↩]

I Didn’t Choose the Hobo Life

I get a lot of ridiculous questions, ranging from the confusing to the totally strange. For example:

Q: “Did you know I was born in California?” (from a 4th-grader I’d never met.)

Q: “Do you do birthday parties?” (from a middle school boy following a chastity talk.)
A: “If you have a chastity-themed birthday party, I will be your best friend.”

Q: “Has anyone ever told you that you sound like you’re from Alabama?”
A: “No…. Thank you?”

Q: “Are you really a hobo cause you don’t look like a hippie and you don’t have hair down to your butt.”
A: ….

Most of these questions merit an eye roll at best. There’s one, though, that I often hear and try to answer thoughtfully:  How did you know God was calling you to this?

I don't have any pictures where I look like a hobo. But what's a blog post without a picture? So....
I don’t have any pictures where I look like a hobo. But what’s a blog post without a picture? So….

I suppose I ought to establish first that I don’t know that God is calling me to this funny hobo life—not in the way that I know that he exists or that the Eucharist is truly him or that he wants me for his own. There are different kinds of knowing, of course, and some decisions require that sort of certainty. But what I’m doing is a good thing, so feeling confident that this is his will is good enough for me. If I never did anything until I knew God was calling me to, I’d accomplish very little in life. That being said….

I loved teaching. Loved it. For four and a half years, I would get excited Sunday nights because I got to go to school Monday mornings. I loved sleeping in but hated summers—I missed my kids! And while I’m naturally a very irritable person, I got angry in the classroom only twice in four and a half years.

Unfortunately, I taught for five.

My last semester should have been my easiest. For the first time in my teaching career, I was teaching only classes I’d taught before. Everything I was doing was recycled from past classes. I had no extracurriculars, no responsibilities aside from teaching…and I was miserable. I felt ill on Sunday nights because I knew I had to go in to school the next day. I was exhausted all the time even though I was getting plenty of sleep. And at least three times a week, I had to stop talking, turn around, and pray that I wouldn’t freak the heck out all over my kids.

This is my ANGRY FACE.
This is my ANGRY FACE. In a stocking. Trying to be a robber and still looking entirely like myself.

I had always known that my patience in the classroom wasn’t natural–it was a supernatural gift. And clearly that gift had been withdrawn. When my circumstances are unchanged but my peace of mind is lost, I know it’s time to ask the Lord what’s up.

But I didn’t want to jump to the conclusion that I was dealing with spiritual desolation, so I took a look at anything in the natural world that might be messing with me. Work was good, friends were good, my prayer life was good but I was all anxiety and anger and irrational drama.

So I began to ask the Lord if I should leave my school in Kansas. Praying about leaving gave me great peace while the idea of staying made me tense and miserable. I’m not saying that we ought to discern based entirely on emotions, but I’ve found that it’s important to listen to our emotions, especially when they’re not what we’d expect. I sure didn’t want to leave Atchison, so when that idea gave me such peace, I listened.

My next step, of course, was to make up an Excel spreadsheet with all the schools I might want to teach at. You know, columns for size, uniform, curriculum, apparent fidelity.1 But the thought occurred to me, “What if I’m supposed to stop teaching?”

Now, I had discerned leaving the classroom once before. I had a panic attack and almost crashed my car. More than anything, I thought at the time, I know that I’m a teacher. But this time it was different. The idea of not teaching wasn’t so bad. In fact, and contrary to all reason, I found it rather attractive.

But friends, I’ve been planning on being a teacher, in one form or another, my whole life. Since I was 15 and I found out that you could get paid to talk about Jesus, being a religion teacher was all I really dreamed of. I chose my college and my major and my grad degree all with the purpose of being a high school religion teacher. “What else can I do?” I thought. “This is all I’ve ever done, all I’ve ever wanted.”

“Well,” my friend Fr. Jeremy suggested, “You’re good at public speaking. And you’ve been wanting to do more of it.”

“Father, you can’t just quit life and be a public speaker!” I objected. And then I took it to prayer.

“Tell me why not,” the Lord seemed to say. And I thought about it. I had no debt, no dependents, no debilitating diseases. I had enough savings to cover me for a while and not a lot of bills I’d have to pay. Why not?

And this type-A, plan-the-next-30-years, put-down-roots-and-stay-till-you-die girl got excited about the strangest thing: being a hobo. This life that is so contrary to everything I’d ever wanted was suddenly appealing—more than appealing: it felt right.

Now, don’t quote me as saying “if it feels good, do it.” But when something that we wouldn’t normally consider draws us, we need to pay attention.

Thomas Aquinas had it right when he told us that grace builds on nature. But we don’t know our nature as well as the Lord does. I would never have thought that this kind of life would work for me. After all, I’m all about relational ministry and assigning homework and knowing everybody around me. But I also love meeting new people and socializing. I’m flexible and fairly easy to please and not particular about beds or food or how I take my water.2 I’m extraverted enough that the constant conversation with my hosts energizes me and committed enough to prayer that I still get plenty of “alone” time. As it turns out, this life makes a lot of sense for me. I can work with more people, be as intense as I want, and spend some occasional time writing, which I didn’t even realize I enjoyed. It seems that, once again, the Lord knows better than I.

Which is why I'm in frigid Kansas in April when I could be somewhere glorious and exotic. To be fair, this picture is from South Bend in February, but it's not because the weather wasn't this gross.
Which is why I’m in frigid Kansas in April when I could be somewhere glorious and exotic. To be fair, this picture is from South Bend in February, but it’s not because the weather this week wasn’t this gross.

So I quit my job and didn’t look for another. I wasn’t planning on living out of my car for long, but the Lord seems to have had other plans. I thought I’d find a place to live over the summer. But everything was working out, so I figured I’d travel till October. Then January. Then it began to look like this might be a long-term thing.

I can’t tell you exactly why I’m doing what I’m doing but I can tell you that I’ve seen how the Lord is touching hearts through the testimony of this scatter-brained nomad. I don’t know that people would listen to me the way they do if I weren’t such a fanatic. I do know that the minute I say I’m a hobo, people snap to attention. I know that I’m able to connect with people who wouldn’t otherwise talk with me because they want to ask all the awkward questions about my life. And I know that the Lord is showing me over and over again how he will always provide for me.

How long am I going to be living out of my car? I have no idea. I’m a planner, but God seems to prefer that I trust and follow. So for now, I’m headed out west. Beyond that, who knows?

************

Speaking of heading out west, I have literally nothing scheduled between Wednesday and mid-July. And while I’m sure I’ll find places to stay, I’m going to be really bored! So if you’re in any state west of the Mississippi and you want me to come talk to any group about pretty much anything, let me know. I don’t even want your money, just an opportunity to serve. I’m trying to get to every state out west in the next 3 months and I need some help. Because really, does anybody live in Wyoming?

If you’re east of the Mississippi, don’t feel left out—I’ll be out your way in the fall.

  1. What, this isn’t how you make all decisions? Yeah, well, I didn’t choose the nerd life either. [↩]
  2. This varies more than I thought possible. Options include: bottled water, tepid; bottled water, chilled; tap water, tepid; tap water in a pitcher in the fridge; tap water through a filter, tepid; filtered tap water sitting on the counter; filtered tap water, in the fridge; filtered water  from the fridge door, ice from the fridge door; filtered water  from the fridge door, ice from the freezer; tap water, ice from the basement; tap water, ice from the freezer; jugs of water in the fridge. That may be it. [↩]

Praying for a Miracle–Please Respond!

ShankmanFriends, I need your help. One of my kids is at death’s door and I need a miracle. John Shankman was riding in the bed of a truck with some of his friends when it slid off the road and rolled, throwing them from the car.1 The other four guys are physically okay, from what I’ve heard, (Or at least not facing life-threatening injuries.)) but John’s in a bad way. Massive head trauma, a collapsed lung filled with blood, plus a host of “minor” injuries left them doubtful Friday morning that he’d make it through the day. From what I’ve heard, the doctors are now saying that he may live. But whether he’ll ever be the same…well, this is why we pray.

And it’s not just John who needs this miracle. His family, naturally, is terrified. His friends are guilt-stricken and fearful and reliving the deaths of so many of their friends and acquaintances. This community has been through so many deaths in recent years; the whole town needs a miracle. They’ve gathered around the Shankman family with rosaries and Masses and prayer vigils and they need answered prayer. They need it so much. Their souls are weary and their hearts are broken and I don’t know that their faith can survive one more senseless death. John’s healing isn’t just a matter of his life–it’s a matter of souls.

So I’m praying for a miracle and I’m going big. I want John to be perfectly fine. I want him completely recovered by graduation. I want him to walk across the stage and receive his diploma to a standing ovation. And I want him to know that the Lord laid his hand on him for healing. I want him to know that his life is a miracle of God’s love.

I want his family and friends and random acquaintances to be absolutely convicted of God’s power and goodness. I want hearts and lives changed. I want conversions–most especially from those who are already Catholic.

Bl John Paul, pray for us.

So I’m asking Blessed John Paul for his intercession. The way I see it, he needs a miracle and so do I. ‘m asking for an incontrovertible, canonization-worthy, leaves-scientists-dumbfounded miracle. And I don’t think it’s too much to ask–after all, my God raises the dead. Ain’t nothing too much to ask from him.

Here’s what I need from you: pray. Oh, friends, please pray! Even if you just take 10 seconds for a prayer right now and then close this window and move on. But could you do me one more favor? If you’re praying, could you leave a comment telling me? Tell me how you’re praying or just that you’re praying–I’d love to go to John’s family and tell them that hundreds of you are praying with them and for them. Share this post with your praying friends, call your Grandma with the request, heck, tweet it to @Pontifex if you want–let’s mobilize the Church Militant.

John’s a senior in high school, smart and inquisitive. He’s the best storyteller I’ve ever known and too clever for his own good. He’s funny and loved and who cares because he’s your brother in Christ and he needs you. Masses, rosaries, one Hail Mary, whatever you’ve got.

Please.

  1. All this information is third hand, but I’m doing the best I can. [↩]

10 Reasons We Fast

Image via flickr

I love my kids, and I always loved teaching, hard as it was, but I am not sorry to be missing the whining today. “Oh my gosh, I can’t believe we have to have pizza today! Why can’t I just have a hamburger? This is so stupid! The cafeteria should at least serve meat so people have the option to choose. Why does the Church get to tell me what I can and can’t eat? Am I really going to go to hell if I have a little bacon? That’s not fair!” You think I am exaggerating. I am not.

I’m always amazed at how we can sit before a God who was stripped, beaten, and nailed to a cross for us and say that anything is “too much” to ask. Oh, I do it, don’t get me wrong. But when you think about the size of our sacrifice compared to the size of his, it seems rather pathetic to deny him. And yet when it comes to food (and sex), we are decidedly ready to.

Now, I love food. But the Lord drew me to fasting from almost the beginning of my walk with him. I was 15 when I started making significant sacrifices outside of Lent and 17 when I first really fasted–not the unimpressive one-regular-meal-and-two-small-meals rule that most of the world just calls eating, but the kind where you don’t eat for more than 8 hours at a time.1 At first, I was just being obedient to the promptings of the Spirit, but as the years have gone by and the Lord has led me to fast in many and various ways, I’ve begun to see just how much fasting can teach us.

In this world of food television, fast food, and gatherings that always and everywhere center around food, it can be hard to see the point of real fasting. Sure, I can give up chocolate so that I know I’m a good Christian, but what does it actually accomplish? If you’re just doing it because that’s what good Christians do, I would imagine it accomplishes very little. But if you’re submitting in obedience, uniting your sacrifice to Christ’s, or seeking the meaning of the practice, there is so much the Lord has to offer you through the gift of fasting.

  1. When you fast, you tell the Lord that you love him more than food.
    I think this is the most basic level, the first thing we understand about fasting as a child. Every piece of candy we don’t eat, every meal we skip is a love letter to the Lord. Early on, it’s very hard, but gradually we begin to put Christ first so that a snack or even (God help us) a piece of bacon seems nothing compared to Christ.
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  2. Fasting helps to detach you from your psychological dependence on food. I think Americans especially are obsessed with food; we let it rule us. The idea of having enough self-control to skip a snack, let alone a meal, is astounding to us. But when you choose hunger for love of God, you begin to realize that hunger isn’t so bad. After years of fasting, I don’t have to plan my life around food.2 Food is a gift or a detail, never the driving force in my life. There’s great freedom in that.
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  3. Fasting makes eating worshipful. If you’ve ever been really hungry–I mean really hungry–you know that the first bite of stale bagel is rapturous. That whole first meal, really, is the best thing you’ve ever tasted. Far from running from food because the world is evil, fasting teaches us to find God in the good things of creation. And if you fast frequently, you get in the habit of worshiping when you eat.3 Every good food becomes a prayer and soon you see the whole world as sacramental–which, after all, is the point.
    .
  4. Fasting gives you mastery over your body. More than just helping you to rule your appetite, fasting teaches you to rule your appetites. When you fast, you discipline your body and learn to be its master, not its slave. I don’t know how people can be chaste when they haven’t practiced self-mastery in the arena of food first. If you can learn to deny yourself in what is an actual need, your ability to deny yourself a great desire is strengthened dramatically.
    .
  5. Fasting unites you to the suffering Christ. I’m not just being flippant when I say “Jesus suffocated to death for you; I think you can handle skipping snack time.” During Lent, we walk with our suffering God through the desert, up the hill, and onto the Cross. When our Lenten journey is more than inconvenient, when it’s actually painful, to a degree, we can offer our hearts to him and learn to love him better. We suffer for love of him, which consoles his bleeding heart and teaches us just how deeply he loves us.
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  6. Fasting teaches you to accept every cross, not just the ones you choose. I once found myself furious because I had been looking forward to lemonade and my table was given tea instead. It took me a minute to realize that I would gladly have chosen to go the whole day without food but I just could not accept not getting a drink that I didn’t even particularly like. For many of us, the great difficulty of our particular cross is that it is chosen for us. The more we learn to take up the crosses of our choosing, the more we learn to embrace the one that is thrust upon us. True fasting makes me decrease and him increase. I learn to rely on his strength at work in me; if he can carry this little cross I made for myself, he can certainly carry the big one he picked out for me.
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  7. Fasting changes your attitude to discomfort. Before I started fasting, hunger was misery, an occasion for whining and self-pity. After years of training, my automatic reaction to hunger is to pray. There are even times when I find myself praising God for the hunger before remembering that I’m not fasting, I just haven’t gotten around to eating. When hunger is prayer, it’s not hard to make pain and exhaustion and other physical discomfort prayer. We adjust our attitudes by surrendering our bodies to God and before long we find that virtue isn’t as hard as it once seemed.
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  8. Fasting teaches you to live in solidarity with the poor. I hear people say “I’m starving” all the time. “No,” I want to shout, “You aren’t!” You know who’s starving? Orphans in Africa and lepers in Calcutta and even, God help us, some people on our streets here at home. But you? You’re barely even hungry. I know the difference, because I’ve tasted that “starving” you throw around. Not starving to death, no, and not by necessity but by choice. It’s not the same and I don’t want to pretend that the hunger I took on is as crippling as the tragedy of poverty and hunger in this world. Still, I’ve felt a hunger so deep that you stop being hungry. When you’ve experienced that type of hunger, it’s hard to be swayed by missing a meal. And it’s easy to ache with love for those who don’t choose starvation. Now I’m not recommending that you starve yourself by any means, but if you’ve been really hungry–even gone 24 hours without food–the word “starving” will come less easily to your lips and aid for the poor will come more readily out of your pocketbook.
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  9. Fasting humbles you. When you’re awkwardly turning down food without telling people why,4 you’re humbled. When you realize how addicted you are to Pop Rocks, you’re humbled. When you’re so hungry you get light-headed and you have to break your fast to honor your body, when your hunger makes you cranky, when you realize just how little control you have over your body or your mind, when you realize how much you take for granted, you’re humbled and humbled and humbled again.
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  10. Courtesy of Kelly.

    Fasting strengthens your prayer.  The testimony of Scripture is clear on this issue: “this kind comes out only by prayer and fasting.” Fasting purifies our intentions and puts force behind our prayers. When you’re fasting for an intention, you’re telling God how much you mean it. This Lent, will you consider adding one sacrifice (food or otherwise) to your list of resolutions specifically for the Holy Father and the conclave that will elect his successor? It doesn’t have to be anything much, but every time you’re tempted, throw up a prayer for our German Shepherd and the man who will step into his large, holy shoes.

Now, there are many people who can’t fast in an extreme way, for whatever reason. If you can’t skip a meal, there are favorite foods you can cut out. If you’ve struggled with an eating disorder, though, your penance will be to eat. For you, dear one, that is penance enough.

Go to Focus for the whole infographic

For the rest of you, I’d like to challenge you to pray about stepping up your game this Lent. If you’re psychologically dependent on snacks, give them up. If you “need” 3 square meals a day, try cutting back to two on Fridays. Go vegan for Lent or just cut out meat. If you’re being led to something more extreme, I’ll assume you’re working with a spiritual director and don’t need my ideas. I’m only beginning to learn the lessons that I’ve listed above–I’m certainly no expert on fasting or holiness or prayer or really anything at all. But I feel so blessed to have been led to fast and thought I ought to propose to you all that there is more to fasting than just skipping your snack and calling it a day. It’s not too late to up the ante this Lent.

If nothing else, though, you’re looking at one regular meal and two small meals today and Good Friday and abstinence today and every Friday in Lent.  The Church in her wisdom has required these minor sacrifices of us; let’s offer them joyfully to the Lord and see what he has to teach us.

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This song by Jimmy Needham (love him!) is a beautiful meditation on today’s first reading. Enjoy–and happy Lent, friends! May the Father strengthen you to persevere in your penances; may the Son rejoice in your heart as it suffers with and for him; may the Spirit bring you wisdom and clarity through the sacrifices you make for love of him.

 

  1. I’m not going to go into details. I usually don’t talk about fasting in a way that will give people any idea about how I fast, but I think I should today. Just know that I’m healthy and prayed up and that you should discuss anything ridiculous with a spiritual director. [↩]
  2. If you’re diabetic or hypoglycemic or have struggled with eating disorders, this is not something to aspire to. Be where you are–God loves you just there. [↩]
  3. Not what you eat, although breaking your fast with the Eucharist can be just incredible. [↩]
  4. Do try not to tell people why. If you’re telling everybody how hard your fasting is, you might as well just start eating again. That’s the point of today’s Gospel: fasting is between you and God, not you and God and your friends and your frenemies and Facebook…. [↩]

100 Things to Do for Lent

Do you realize how soon Ash Wednesday is? Shoot, y’all, it’s time to start praying on what you’re going to do for Lent.

I’ve always loved Lent. It’s like Jesus Boot Camp–6 weeks of hardcore prayer and fasting, but then you get 7 weeks of Easter, praise the Lord, to gain back all the weight you lost in Lent.1 I’ll write more about the gift of fasting later, I’m sure, but for now, let’s get really practical.

What the heck are you going to do for Lent?

You probably know that the three pillars of Lent are prayer, fasting, and almsgiving.2 Did you know that you’re supposed to do all three? Did you know that you can do more than one thing in each category? Did you know that giving up regular Coke and only drinking Coke Zero, Diet Coke, and Caffeine-free Coke is a totally lame-o way to go?3

Lent is not the time to go so hard that you die–or make others wish they were dead because you’re so cranky. It’s a time to discern what the Lord is calling you to, what he wants you to be more detached from, what sin he’s calling you to abandon, how he wants you to lean on him and love his children. But it can be hard sometimes to come up with something more fruitful than giving up soda, so I thought I’d give you some options.

Fasting is the most obvious. Even non-Catholics will ask you what you gave up for Lent. For some of us, Lent is an opportunity to root out some of the evil in our lives. Maybe it’s time to give one (or a few) of these sins up.

  1. Drunkenness
  2. Gossip
  3. Pornography
  4. Complaining–try accepting the cross you’re given instead of objecting that you’d rather choose your own.
  5. Smoking4
  6. Masturbation5
  7. Calling your sister an alien6
  8. Negativity
  9. Being snarky or short or cold or whatever it is you do that makes talking to you an act of charity
  10. Laziness–try exercising for Lent
  11. Arguing
  12. Being picky–eat whatever is set before you
  13. Judging people
  14. Comparing yourself with others
  15. Anger
  16. Immodest clothing
  17. Impure books/television/movies/music
  18. Lying
  19. Cursing
    .
    Or maybe there’s something good in your life that you’re too dependent on. Or even something good that is healthy for you but that you could offer to the Lord for 40 days. Fasting can help you grow spiritually in so many ways. How about:
    .
  20. Snacking
  21. Television
  22. Lunch
  23. Facebook
  24. Makeup
  25. Soda
  26. Chocolate
  27. Shopping (the frivolous kind, anyway)
  28. Secular music
  29. Sweets7
  30. Hitting the snooze button
  31. Secular reading
  32. Meat
  33. Naps
  34. Junk food
  35. Fast food
  36. A reasonable diet8
  37. Coffee
  38. Cream and sugar in your coffee9
  39. Social media
  40. Sarcasm10
  41. Scratching
  42. Your pillow
  43. Hot showers
  44. Hot food
  45. Salting your food
  46. Staying up stupid late–give yourself a bedtime!
  47. Wasting your life on the internet
  48. In that vein: youtube
  49. Wearing your favorite color
  50. Alcohol
  51. Kissing11
  52. Gum
  53. Checking your smartphone when you’re with people12
  54. Driving when you could walk
  55. Idle curiosity–try not reading every sign you pass or googling every question you have. If it doesn’t matter, be content not to know.
  56. Anything that’s about popularity–checking your blog stats, posting things on facebook that are clever but not edifying
    .
    Prayer should be at the center of your life all the time, but especially during Lent. Try one of these 50 ways to talk to God on for size, follow this daily Lenten prayer schedule to ease you in to a holy hour, or go for one of the below–altering amount and frequency if you like.
    .
  57. Daily Mass–maybe even daily!
  58. A chapter of the Bible a day. You can get through all 4 Gospels if you read 2 chapters a day and don’t skip Sundays.
  59. 10 minutes of meditation a day
  60. Chaplet of Divine Mercy
  61. Join a Bible study at your parish
  62. 20 minutes of Spiritual reading a day
  63. The Rosary–a decade or even a whole Rosary each day
  64. Go to your Church’s Lenten mission
  65. Stop by an adoration chapel on your way home each day
  66. Don’t turn on music while you drive–pray instead
  67. Subscribe to some solid Catholic blogs
  68. The Liturgy of the Hours–once a day or seven times, if you like. My favorite is the Office of Readings (Matins).
  69. Wear a crucifix
  70. Spend the time you would have spent watching TV reading the lives of the Saints or watching documentaries on the Saints
  71. Go to confession–every week, every other week, for the first time in 30 years….
  72. Pray the Stations of the Cross every Friday
  73. Get up early to pray13
  74. List 5 things you’re grateful for every day
  75. Journal
  76. Blog!
  77. Be intentional about your time–make a schedule (with prayer featuring prominently) and stick to it
  78. Go to an art museum or a botanical gardens once a week and just rejoice in beauty
  79. Break your fast with the Eucharist every day–don’t eat until you’ve been to Mass
  80. Pick a virtue to strive for each day
  81. Spend 10 minutes each night talking to the Lord about your day–thanking him for the good and the bad, apologizing for how you fell short, asking for the grace to be better the next day
  82. Listen to Christian music while you drive
  83. Listen to Catholic CDs while you drive
  84. Pick a Saint to be like and do it
  85. Lectio Divina
  86. Pay attention at Mass
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    Almsgiving isn’t always as easy as giving money to the poor. Figure out how you need to love the people around you and do it.
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  87. Donate the money you would have spent on whatever you’re fasting from
  88. Spend the time you would have spent watching TV with your family
  89. Visit a nursing home–and bring your little ones if you have them. Nothing takes the awkward out of talking to old people you don’t know like a baby.
  90. Step up your tithing game from 10% to 15%
  91. Invite a priest or religious to dinner
  92. Do that rice bowl thing
  93. Save up all your change (and maybe even your singles) and give them to charity.14
  94. Write letters to your grandparents
  95. Call your mother
  96. Volunteer once a week–soup kitchen, shoveling snow, the nursery at church, whatever!
  97. Give someone a compliment every day
  98. Take someone to lunch every week–a lonely coworker, a neighbor you don’t always love, one of your children
  99. Perform an act of charity every day–do the dishes when it’s not your turn, take your kids to that awful playground they love so much, talk to your parents in multiple-word sentences, pick up litter
  100. Tell someone about Jesus

Here’s a printable list that’ll  help your family (or community) decide together what to do for Lent.

Shoot, friends, that’s a lot of stuff–what else would you recommend?

More ideas from LifeTeen here and here. Nick did me one better with his 101 Lenten practices–but he wrote it three years ago, so I can’t be bitter. Any other sites with good suggestions?

Well, shoot, I added this post to Haley’s Little Holy Days linkup–my very first linkup ever–and totally forgot to add a link back to hers and all the other great Lent posts! And now we’re almost a week into Lent and probably done with any serious traffic on this post,15 but you should click over and see what other people have to say about Lent. Enjoy!

  1. This is how I know my fasting is not just dieting–because while I may lose weight during Lent, I gain it all back (and then some) during the Octave of Easter. [↩]
  2. Giving to the poor [↩]
  3. I’m looking at you, Nathan. [↩]
  4. Not necessarily a sin, but it’s fair to call it a vice, anyway, right? [↩]
  5. Yeah, I went there. [↩]
  6. Or, more broadly, making fun of people. I didn’t do Lent growing up, but I did make this New Year’s resolution once. You’re welcome, Rosie. [↩]
  7. Stephen Colbert hadn’t tried his own ice cream flavor because he gave up sweets for Lent. Love him. [↩]
  8. Options include: going vegan, a juice fast, bread and water, or (my favorite) gray and tasteless. I actually went an entire Lent eating only plain, flavorless foods like oatmeal and dry toast. Consult your spiritual director–and maybe your doctor–before doing anything that ridiculous. [↩]
  9. The only time I’ve ever had black coffee was during the Triduum. How do people drink that stuff?? John Paul (my nephew, not the pope) says it tastes like sidewalk and orange peels. I think it tastes like regurgitated tar. [↩]
  10. Yes, I’m counting this as a good thing. Did you read my post on 1 Corinthians? That thing was awesome. [↩]
  11. Probably a bad call if you’re married. [↩]
  12. Maybe this should go in our first category…. [↩]
  13. I do not recommend combining this with giving up your snooze button. If you’re anything like me, one of them will have to give. [↩]
  14. If you do this, switching to your credit card for every purchase is cheating. FYI. [↩]
  15. Except for the slackers out there–hi! [↩]

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. [↩]

Lectio Divina

I tend to babble about how much I love the Bible. Then I take out my Bible and introduce people to it like it’s a friend. Once we get past the weird looks I get for introducing them to an inanimate object, I often have to deal with this question:

“Don’t you think the Bible’s kind of boring?”

That’s me dressed as Captain of Team Catholic. I even have a gold cape with Bible verses puffy painted on it! You totally wish you were my friend.1

To which I’m obviously supposed to respond, “Ohmigosh no it’s like so interesting and fun and beautiful all the time!!” like the Jesus cheerleader that I am. But I’m too honest for that.

“Absolutely,” I say. I wait for them to look scandalized, then I go on. “It’s hard and it’s weird and parts of it are quite dull. But when I can’t find the beauty in Scripture, it’s not because it’s not there. It’s because I’m not looking hard enough. I’m not open and I’m not ready. So I don’t move on to another book; I sit with this one and immerse myself in it until I do find the beauty.”

Scripture can be very daunting and if you just fly through it trying to find something to stitch on a sampler, you’ll come out the other side with a whole lot of clichés and an unchanged heart. But if you really take time with a passage, trying to enter in, you may find that those platitudes you’ve heard your whole life are rather revolutionary.

One approach to Scripture that calls us to work through the text in a very intentional way is lectio divina (divine reading), an ancient form of prayer in which we ruminate on the text in order to encounter God. Cows are ruminant animals–they chew the cud, working through it again and again to get every ounce of nourishment out of it. When we ruminate on a text, we work through it over and over again in order to get everything the Lord has for us out of his Word. Rather than churning through a passage so we can move on with our day, a fast food approach, we treat it like the feast that it is. We soak in the Word, reading, meditating, praying, and contemplating.

Sometimes you’ll sit down with a passage in mind to meditate on; other times you’ll want to do lectio and you’ll flip through your Bible for a highlighted passage (another reason to get a beat-up Bible); my favorite experiences of lectio come when I’m just reading and the Spirit calls my attention to a particular passage, when I was just trying to get through my daily reading and God stopped me in my tracks to speak to me.

The more you pray through lectio divina, the more you’ll find that the steps don’t necessarily have to come in order. You’ll read a passage and suddenly find yourself speaking to the Lord in response or be transported to a wordless prayer, an encounter with Christ.

To begin with, though, it’s good to work through the steps in order, to start experiencing Scripture in an intimate way. I thought I’d take a few minutes to walk you through lectio divina, especially as it can be done in a group or with a journal. This form of prayer works really well in a group, with reflections being spoken aloud. That way, you hear different translations of Scripture and are exposed to the many different meanings God’s Word can have in people’s lives. If you don’t have a group to do this with, try journaling instead. Write the passage you’re using, then write your reflection on each step.

To give you a feel for it, I’ll explain the steps and then give examples. We’ll use Ephesians 3:19-21 (part of Thursday’s first reading):

Know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, so that you may be filled with all the fullness of God. Now to him who is able to accomplish far more than all we ask or imagine, by the power at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus to all generations, forever and ever. Amen.

 

Before each step, you’ll take turns reading the passage slowly, then pausing for a bit to digest. I find that reading 3 or 4 times with 20 to 30 seconds in between is thoughtful but not painfully slow.

Lectio–Reading

The first step of Lectio Divina involves prayerful reading. You’ll chew through a few verses over and over, allowing the text to speak to you. You may find that certain phrases jump out at you, that you want to sit with those phrases and repeat them. That’s the idea of this first step–to allow yourself to be drawn to a particular line.

If you’re doing this in a group, each person will go around (after the group has read the text aloud a few times) and say a phrase from the text that strikes him. For example:

“Know the love of Christ.”
“Far more than all we ask or imagine.”
“The fullness of God.”
“Know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge.”
“Who is able.”

These can be two words or a whole sentence, and you’re not committing to focusing on this phrase for your whole meditation. I find that I often meditate on one section during the first step, then hear someone point out a part I hadn’t noticed and switch to that portion for the rest of my meditation.

Meditatio–Meditation

During this second step, you’re interpreting the text. You’re looking for the meaning in the passage or the phrase you’ve been drawn to. This isn’t always going to be the meaning that’s obvious and universal; instead, it’s often connected more immediately to your life.

Your reflection here will be one or two sentences in the first or third person–talking about God and yourself, not yet to God. For example:

I keep trying to prove Christ and to be certain of my love for him, but there’s something beyond the intellectual when it comes to my relationship with him. I have to be at peace with that element of faith.

I don’t know how to trust God.

God’s miracles don’t just come in calmed storms and corpses raised. Sometimes his power works through our weakness to do greater things than we could ever have expected.

I’m empty without God.

Don’t worry if you’re not poetic. The idea here is not to sound impressive but to be real.

Oratio–Prayer

This third step is our response to God’s Word. We speak to him in prayer (now using the second person as well) and respond to what we’ve learned from the text.

If you’re praying with a group, this will be a sentence or two addressed to God. Something like:

Lord, help me to see that all the good I do is a gift of your grace. May I always praise you and live in humble acceptance of your gifts.

Father, I want to know your love.

Jesus, empty me of myself and work in me, through me, for the sake of the kingdom. Free me from everything that is not of you so that I can be a vessel of your grace, bringing your light into the world.

God, you are so good.

Some people are really uncomfortable praying out loud. Remember that beautiful prayer can be really simple. Besides, anyone who’s judging you for not being clever when you’re praying isn’t someone whose good opinion should matter. So pray away and don’t worry about other people–if they’re doing this with you, I’m pretty sure they weren’t judging you anyway.

Contemplatio–Contemplation

This final step is contemplation, often described as wordless prayer. The idea is that you reach a depth of reflection on God’s Word that surpasses anything you can really put into words. it’s more of a feeling or a conviction than it is a thought. Ironically, for the purpose of this exercise, we now have to put it into words.

So in this final step, you’ll use just one word to describe what your lectio has left you with, This isn’t necessarily a word from the text and it can be any part of speech.2 Here are some possibilities:

Humbled.
Glory.
Full.
Challenge.

Your word doesn’t have to make sense to anyone else. You’re doing this in a group because it can help keep you accountable or give you different insights, not because you’re trying to look awesome.

After you’ve gone through the four steps, close in prayer. If you’re in a group, discuss your experience of the text and how it changed as you meditated on it, If you’re alone, try journaling about your prayer time.

As you work through a passage, you’ll notice that it has layers and layers of meaning. What seemed to be a straightforward commentary on wealth can become a passage on discernment or devotion or pornography or trust, depending on what the Spirit has in mind for you. This is particularly clear when you pray with a group and hear two people with opposite interpretations who are really both right. This is why Scripture has been enough to satisfy the Church for two thousand years, why I still read with a highlighter on my eleventh time through. The more you plumb the depths of Scripture, the more you begin to realize how right Pope Gregory the Great was:

“Scripture is like a river, broad and deep, shallow enough here for the lamb to go wading, but deep enough there for the elephant to swim.”

 

Your challenge this week is to try this form of prayer and report back. I’d love to hear about it!

  1. I think I’m standing between Superman and…a Jonas brother? It was a spirit day at school, but in retrospect, it doesn’t make a lot of sense. [↩]
  2. Is my grammar nerdiness coming out enough here? All this talk of first person verbs and parts of speech. Sorry. [↩]