The Wardrobe awaits

Here's another review of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.

My daughter said the other day, "Mommy, I don't think I've ever seen you this excited to see a movie. You're as excited as we are!" Yup.

Thomas Merton

pierces to the core again. A friend recently sent on this quote from the end of "Seven Storey Mountain" ... time to reread the book.

"In one sense we are always traveling, and traveling as if we did not know where we were going. In another sense we have already arrived.

We cannot arrive at the perfect possession of God in this life and that is why we are traveling and in darkness. But we already possess Him by grace and therefore in that sense we have arrived and are dwelling in the Light.

But--oh!--how far I have to go to find You in Whom I have already arrived!

For now, oh my God, it is to You alone that I can talk because nobody else will understand. I cannot bring any other man on this earth into the cloud where I dwell in Your light, that is, Your darkness, where I am lost and abashed. I cannot explain to any other man the anguish which is Your joy, nor the loss which is the possession of You, nor the distance from all things which is the arrival in You, nor the death which is the birth in You because I do not know anything about it myself, and all I know is that I wish it were over--I wish it were begun.
You have contradicted everything. You have left me in no-man’s land."
-- Seven-Storey Mountain

Deep Magic from before the dawn of time

It sounds as if Disney got it right. Read Barbara Nicolosi's reveiw of the Narnia movie here.

Deceptive Covers

Yes, yes, it's a cliche ... never judge a book and all that. But, sometimes, God startles us with an unexpected chance to see just how true it can be.

This is a delightful piece from Godspy
about some kids baptizing the culture and sharing the Truth of the Catholic faith.

What a Princess Eats

Our three-year-old, affectionately known as Ramona around here, was trying on princess dress-up clothes this morning. I interrupted, in that irritating way mothers do, to ask if she would like some string cheese (aka "cheese sticks" in RamonaSpeak.)

"No," said Ramona. "Princesses don't eat cheese sticks. Princesses only eat brownies. Did you know that?"

I didn't know that. Hmmm . . . there happens to be a pan of brownies sitting on our stove top at this very moment. Coincidence? Or Divine Providence? Perhaps just a princess's sovereign right.

What If?

We all come down with it now and then: a nasty case of “What if?” or a nagging bout of “If only….”

• What if I’d been raised Catholic -- or had become one earlier in life?

• If only I’d known what the sacrament of marriage was really about before I took my vows

• What if I’d been Catholic when I first had my children?

The “what-ifs” and “if-onlys” persuade us that if we had just embraced the fullness of Catholic faith sooner our marriages would be stronger, our kids would be holier, and our relationships with God deeper. We would have fumbled and stumbled less, made far fewer mistakes and would have sinned less often.

While it’s quite possible that all these things are true, what we’re really wondering when we ponder these possibilities is, “What if I’d been born a different person? What if I’d been influenced by a different family? A different set of friends?” And while these speculations are often intriguing, they’re also usually quite fruitless.

Each of us is, whether we like it or not, a part of God’s marvelous plan. He has specific plans for you and for me, and the best we can hope for in this life is to discern, “through a glass, darkly” (1 Cor. 13:12), a rough outline of the plan. Does this mean that God ordained from all time that I would be born into a non-Catholic family? Well, yes and no. He knew it. That is certain. But whether He actively ordained it (as in God’ active will) or merely allowed it (as in God’s passive will) is unknown to me. And, ultimately, it doesn’t really matter. What matters is that I examine where I am today, at this moment, and ask God to be with me. Now. Today. Tomorrow. Always.

I might be tempted, as you might be, to ask why the Lord plopped me into the middle of an extended family that has never been Catholic, never wanted to be Catholic, and still doesn’t care to be Catholic (or to hear much about it.) I don’t really know but again, one thing is certain: He knows what He’s doing, even when I don’t have a clue. Certainly He granted me this grace for my own salvation, but could it be that He also did it so that I might be light and salt to those in my life who know no other Catholics? While this isn’t always an enjoyable or enviable position to occupy, it is an awesome one indeed. I have seen my own Catholicism have a profound effect on at least four people: my husband, who joined the Church five years after I did, and our three children.

Father Jean Pierre De Caussade, in his spiritual classic Abandonment to Divine Providence speaks of “the sacrament of the moment.” He reminds us that we are to accept everything that comes to us, moment by moment, as God’s holy will, and to cheerfully, joyfully embrace all things, even (especially) the sufferings and pain. Being a convert can include suffering but when we embrace the crosses that accompany our conversions, not only do we grow closer to God but we also more clearly see His movement in our lives.

Though, of course, I never compare myself to the great saints (unless it is to see the distance between us), I certainly look to them for inspiration and the will to persevere. I think of Mary Magdalene … Peter … Paul … St. Augustine. Shall we question God’s plan for them? Or shall we accept that the Lord knew exactly what He was doing when He allowed Paul to persecute Christians before he became one himself? Don’t we trust that God allowed St. Augustine to intimately know an immoral life before he turned away from it so that Augustine could be a light to us? Modern day Augustines, weary of fleshly pleasures, longing for something real and true, hear God speak directly to them when they read Augustine’s words. He was allowed to live a particular kind of life that God’s glory might shine through him for centuries to come.

Most of us will never be an Augustine, or a Paul. But we are called to be instruments of God’s glory. The next time you find yourself lingering on a “What if?” remind yourself that God has given you your particular circumstances, your particular conversion, your particular gifts, for a reason. Then, live in that “sacrament of the moment,” and put those gifts to use. Now that you are a Catholic, put the “What ifs” and “If onlys” of your pre-conversion days behind you. Ask yourself only this: “What if I live every moment for God?” Then ask Him to give you the grace to do just that.

(This essay originally appeared in The West Texas Catholic.)

Cradle Catholics and Converts

Created Equal?

It’s been nearly ten years since I stood in St. Mary’s Church and said it:

“I believe and profess all that the holy Catholic Church believes, teaches, and proclaims to be revealed by God."

Those words, spoken by Christians who wish to be received into the Catholic Church, were the culmination of a long and arduous journey that had included periods of atheism and agnosticism. But I'd finally arrived at belief, Christian baptism and ultimately, surrender to the Catholic Church. In my short decade as a Catholic, I’ve experienced profound joy, dark nights, unexpected healings and ineffable surprises from God that bordered on the miraculous. I’ve seen such fundamental changes in myself that I no longer recognize the woman I was before that great Easter Vigil. I’ve witnessed my husband (for whom I once harbored no hope of conversion) come into the Church. It’s all part of the glorious journey that we call “conversion.”

I’ve been taught and inspired by many faithful people over the years, cradle Catholics and converts alike. It never occurred to me to ask whether cradle Catholics or converts were the more “worthy” bunch, but I recently became aware that tension sometimes exists between the two “camps.” Why? And why are there “camps” at all in our one, holy, Catholic and apostolic Church? I can speak only from a convert’s perspective, so I’ll start there.

We Catholic converts are an odd lot. We tend to be in one of two places. Either we’re on the mountain top, thinking that we know it all, love it all and can handle it all, or we’re in the depths of self doubt, wondering how we will ever know it all, love it all or handle anything.

When we’re on that mountain top, we want to take on the world. God has equipped us, we’ve been called, and we’re ready to go forth and conquer. That’s not a bad thing. God does equip and call us, and there are many dragons to be slain. It’s not sinful pride that motivates – it’s a zeal for souls, implanted by the Lord. As long as we deflect any praise and glory to Him, we can rest assured we’re using our gifts correctly. He’s placed us on the mountain top for a reason that has nothing to do with us. We’re there for the sake of His Kingdom.

But when we’re in the opposite place, that shadowy cave of self doubt, we might wonder why God chose us. Why am I Catholic, and not this friend, or that relative? We doubt that our gifts and talents can make a difference to anyone. We wonder if we’ll ever understand all Catholic doctrines well enough to share them with others. Will we ever really be able to explain a plenary indulgence? Can we understand the Inquisition thoroughly enough to discuss it with our friends? Will we bungle it all just when God is counting on us?

While trudging through such a spiritual valley, we might envy our cradle Catholic brothers and sisters in Christ. They were born into the riches of this faith that we adopted. Since birth, they’ve possessed the gifts we had to hunt down, question and claim as our own. It doesn’t seem “fair.” They’ve always known, understood, and treasured what they have. Haven’t they?

The reality is that many cradle Catholics have wrestled with their faith just as converts have. Certainly some have always held fast to their beliefs (and they’ve been given a great gift.) But others have questioned, retreated, studied and returned to embrace the faith in ways that mirror a convert’s journey. They’ve had “reversions” that are every bit as dramatic as the conversions of those once atheist and far away.

And what of those who have never fallen away from the Church? Their lives of steadfast devotion are a beautiful example to us all. But at times, they may also be tempted to say it isn’t "fair." They labor to serve God all their lives, while others breeze late into the Church, and receive the same rewards.

One night, as I sat in a darkened room rocking my youngest daughter, I was struck by this reality: she is the first child born to my husband and me since we both became Catholic. Our “domestic church” is now a microcosm of the universal Church: we are convert and cradle Catholic together in this home. We are tiny and grown, novice and expert, on the mountain top and in the valley (sometimes all in one day). I, the convert, will have much to teach my little girl. She, the cradle Catholic, will impart riches to me as well. We’re both being equipped, bit by bit, day by day.

And so goes the universal Church. We’re in this together. Does it matter if we were born into the Catholic faith, or if we found it late in life? Not really. We must remember that just as the workers who came late to the vineyard were paid the same wage as those who had labored all day (Matthew 20: 1-16), so the convert is as “worthy” as the cradle Catholic. Conversely, a convert must never assume that a cradle Catholic’s faith is not every bit as hard won as those who struggled to find their way home. Every Catholic has a story and God has a reason for every plot twist. How we arrived at our faith is for Him to determine and for us to praise, not judge. After all, it’s all grace. We’re all unworthy.

Whether cradle Catholic or convert, we’re in this for the long haul. And we’re in it together. So hang on tight, and hold on to each other -- it’s the most exciting ride I know. This glorious, equalizing journey that we call “conversion” is for everyone.

(This essay first appeared in the July 31, 2005 issue of Our Sunday Visitor, and later appeared on Catholic Exchange.)