A Confession About Confession and Notes On a Beautiful Homily

I've confessed before that I'm a Dorothy Parker sort of confessee: "Hate to go. Love having gone."  As I noted in this post, she wrote of her profession, "Hate to write. Love having written," and I think it applies perfectly and precisely to the sacrament of confession.

Who looks forward to going? Really? I "look forward" to it only in the same way that I look forward to going to the dentist, which is to say that I look forward to the day after having a cavity filled. But I don't relish the idea of actually parking myself in the dentist's chair, getting long needles stuck in my mouth, tasting nasty rinses, and hearing small, electrical things at work in places that were never meant to come into contact with electricity.

But I do relish pain relief.
Healing.
The fresh start.
A voice in my head that says, "You messed up, but you took care of it. Now, quit sinning. And eat less sugar."

I relish the way in which, just as the priest is speaking the words of Absolution, I feel -- palpably, have you felt it? -- the release of weight. When I exhale, it's as if I've been loosed from an unwelcome anchor; I can float again.

And here ends the dental analogy. I like my dentist very much, but he can't do that for me.

So. I make myself go to confession regularly. Atticus does too, and we get the kids there regularly. And this weekend we hated to go, but we love having gone.

Now we're ready for Christmas.

~~~~~

And on the subject of being ready for Christmas, our pastor's perfectly lovely homily yesterday nudged us further along the road to readiness. Lean in to Grace, he urged us. Lean in to the promptings of the Holy Spirit. Accept His challenges. Be conscious of our Lord's Transcendence and Immanence.  Which reminded me of this post of mine, from awhile back, which was also prompted by a great homily. (Isn't God good? I love the way He speaks through these men. When they cooperate with Him, it's like watching a flawlessly choreographed and executed dance, like immersion in the waves of a symphony. It's like -- no, it is -- a drenching in Grace.)

I won't make you click through -- I'll paste the old "Transcendence and Immanence" post below. And may you have a Grace-drenched, Confession-going, pain-relieving final week of Advent. "Lean in," as our pastor so rightly encouraged. Lean in. He's on His way.

He Is Transcendent and Immanent
(first posted in August, 2009)

I remember when I first learned about this idea -- that God is both transcendent (or above and beyond us, far beyond our grasp) and immanent (right here with us, next to us, running in and through us.)

As an atheist, I used to examine the concept of God and think that if God is so far beyond us that we can't even grasp what He's all about, what is the point of a "relationship" with Him? Relationships are supposed to be two-way streets, right?

Conversely, if all God amounted to was a spiritually squishy "He's in my heart" kind of feeling, then what sort of objective Supreme Being could He be? Not enough of one for my skeptical soul. If I were going to follow someone for the rest of my life, He had better be worth following. I've got some pretty great friends, but I wouldn't change my entire way of being for them.

The idea that God is fully and completely both transcendent and immanent finally brought it into focus for me. Grasping His simultaneous Transcendence and Immanence explained more not only about who God is, but about how He works. It explains the sacraments brilliantly ... through material things, God's Transcendence is brought into our world, used for our good and our salvation. His presence is immanent in water and oil, through vows and words and in what used to be bread and wine. He is both with us and beyond us.

And, it answers questions about prayer, too -- for me, it explains the strange way in which we can talk to a Being who is so far beyond our grasp that we can't fully conceive of who or what He is, but at the same time, feel Him right next to us and even within us.

But it also explains another thing about prayer, and that is how we can swing back and forth between those two extremes. The ideal is to have them both come together all the time in contemplative prayer, but most of us don't live with an ideal prayer life every day. Personally, I'm grateful for the times when it all comes together, and I hang on to them for dear life, because much of the time those consolations are all we've got.

But, I'm digressing, as usual. I wanted to mention a homily that a wonderful priest delivered yesterday. He talked about how familiar we can become with God -- we get into habits, we go to daily Mass, we go about our religious business, but soon we realize that we've been forgetting about God's glory and His majesty. We've been so focused on the immanence, the relationship, that we take His transcendence for granted, or we ignore it completely. Father exhorted us, in those times, to remember His glory -- to call on it ... remember Who He is.

This was such a beautiful and timely reminder, because I think anyone who's honest about her prayer life will admit that the pendulum swings. Sometimes I am fully focused on God's majesty and power -- I am overcome with awe and with gratitude (and, sometimes, tears). Other times, I am chatty and chummy with God -- and there's nothing wrong with that, in its way. If we don't embrace an intimate relationship with God, something may be lacking. I think it all comes together when we're fully focused on both sides of the coin -- basking in the bliss of God's immanence (though the analogy of lover/beloved is much more accurate than any sort of friendship analogy) while simultaneously grasping His Transcendent Glory is, I think, a little foretaste of heaven.

The problem comes when my familiar chattiness begins to take center stage, when I start thinking that I can call all the shots in this relationship.

It gets sticky and it's time for re-examination when I begin to take this stupendously, generously immanent God for granted, or take Him to task for the things I think He's not doing well enough in my life. Then it's time to step back and think about Who He really is. He's God, remember, Karen? His transcendent, inexplicable, powerful, stunning grandeur is capable of calling all the shots in the end, and He knows far better than I what I need.

Think about Who He really is.

When I remember and cling to His Transcendence, and simultaneously ask for and cling to His Immanence, He'll be faithful. He always is.

I'm the one I have to watch out for.

A Quote For the Fourth Sunday of Advent

"If the world wanted what is called a non-controversial aspect of Christianity, it would probably select Christmas. Yet it is obviously bound up with what is supposed to be a controversial aspect (I could never at any stage of my opinions imagine why); the respect paid to the Blessed Virgin ...You cannot visit the child without visiting the mother, you cannot in common human life approach the child except through the mother. If we are to think of Christ in this aspect at all, the other idea follows as it is followed in history ... those holy heads are too near together for the haloes not to mingle and cross."

 
~~ G.K. Chesterton

(from a December entry in Through the Year With Mary: 365 Reflections) 

(Painting: detail of Madonna and Child with St John the Baptist, Bouguereau, 1882)

Why I Don't Worry About the Ways in Which We "Do Santa" Around Here

This is actually from two years ago -- I called the post, "Secular, Meet Sacred" -- but it still holds true:

It's Not a Panic Thing, But ...

... we may need to tweak our Jesse Tree ornaments ... just a wee bit.

It turns out that the dog loves salt dough.

Who knew?

"As Long As the Candles Are in the Window, I'll Be Here"

Mrs. Patterson.

She was our speech coach when I was in high school. A sweet, grandmotherly sort, who hovered and cooed and generally let us know we were loved. We were talented. We were terrific. We deserved a Christmas party, and she threw one at her house over Christmas break every year.

She had a lovely, grandmotherly house, too. Her Christmas lighting was simple: candles in the windows. Electric candles, yes, but the effect on on me was magic. Subtle and cozy and lovely ... they beckoned. And, once inside, in the Patterson fold, she confirmed that beckoning: "When you have all graduated, and gone off to college, you can always come back to visit me. If you drive by my house when you're home for Christmas, I hope you'll stop and see me. As long as the candles are in the window, I'll be here."

I never did go back after I graduated. I remember driving by her house once or twice, to see if the candles were still in the windows. They were, but even then I wasn't one to drop in unannounced. Oh, I believed her when she said we could. But somehow I didn't think I could.  My day had passed.  The candles still whispered magic to me, but the magic of her home already seemed a lifetime ago, and I knew I couldn't recapture it. I was already, I thought, a different person.

Sometime later, I heard that Mrs. Patterson had died. Cancer, I think. I cried a little, thinking of her sweetness. Her light. Her gift of hospitality. Her sincerity.  I never drove past her house again because although I hadn't taken her up on her invitation, I couldn't stand the thought of those bare, dark windows.

And now, in these days of Advent, as we are waiting for His coming -- waiting to celebrate His birth, and as we contemplate His final Coming -- I think of the candles that still call to me. The flames I really do return to, again and again.

In the confessional.
In Holy Mass.
Flickering next to the tabernacle.

As long as the candles are lit, He will be there. Waiting.

For Mrs. Patterson. For you. For me. And this time around, when I feel like a different person, I know that it's true

The magic of Jesus beckons, and I will never be the same.

If That Had Been Me, We'd Be Without That Toilet Paper

Preparations

Our Advent has been plodding along at a pleasant pace. Yes, we're busy with all kinds of life-things and school-things, but we're also preparing for the coming of the Christ Child, one lovely step at a time.

The first Sunday of Advent I realized I did not have Advent candles in the house. I usually try to buy an extra set of candles and pack them away with the Advent wreath, but apparently I didn't do that last year. No reason to panic.  (Yes, I try to live up to my blogging.) I dug some old purple and pink candles out from a stash kept under the kitchen sink and we lived with substitutes until I got out that week to buy some new ones.

On Friday, we set up our tree and discovered which light strings work and which don't. I'm down to two working strings of bubble lights.

(Photo courtesy of Corey Ann)

After stringing the lights and red beads, we knocked off. We'll finish decorating the tree tonight after dinner. I used to stress out about when to put the tree up, as if there were a definitive Catholic doctrine regarding the timing of twinkle lights, homemade sequin-and-styrofoam ornaments, and family tradition. Scrupulosity is no fun. There are so many other things one can stress about without fighting with one's self or others over December 1st versus 24th for a tree. Now, we put the tree up at whatever time works for us in any given December. 

Why Atticus Is My Hero 

Yesterday, Atticus braved the blizzard to make a badly needed run to the grocery store. As he pushed the cart out of the store, a 50 mph gust of wind caught a 12-pack of toilet paper and spirited it away. He left the cart and at superhuman speed (or so I imagine) chased down the toilet paper, which had zoomed all the way to the other end of the very long, large store. As he headed back to the cart, he couldn't even see the cart -- it was hidden by blowing snow.  He plowed on, praying that the cart hadn't been sent into the parking lot, to either cause an accident for someone, or cause us to lose about $100 worth of groceries. He found it, thanked Jesus and guardian angels, and made it safely home.

Next time, I'll stock up on everything. It was, after all, 50 degrees the day before this snowstorm hit. I should have known.