Ash Wednesday: Rising from the Ashes

We had a priest friend over for dinner the other night, and I was talking about Fahrenheit 451, by Ray Bradbury. I was summing up the ways in which the book seemed prophetic: the electronic entertainment, the way the characters were constantly plugged into sounds, music, and interactive-but-unreal "reality" tv, and the fact that no one -- but a brave few -- cared about reading or critical thinking in a book-burning world.

"And it was published in 1953!" I said, with admiration for Bradbury's foresight.

Father shrugged and smiled, shook his head and acted not a bit surprised.  He said (I'm paraphrasing, but it was something like), "People will always look for the easiest way."

He's right, of course. It's not surprising that Bradbury could look at the world around him and figure out where it might be headed. It's always been true that one could examine just about any current trend and spin it out to the extreme.  With just a little knowledge of mankind's fallen nature, we can assert with a fair amount of confidence the paths we will undoubtedly take. Bradbury didn't have to look far to see people who didn't understand why poetry made them cry, who thought that children were ruinous and that politicians should be elected based on good looks and height.  He didn't have to stretch the imagination too far to predict relentless escapism consuming a culture. Nothing much has changed since the fall of Adam and Eve.

Our first parents had it all, didn't they? Still, they wanted things to be easier. (I get it, first parents. I really do.) They wanted to make the rules, define the world, create their own reality show. And they left us their legacy, left us seeking, always, what's easiest.

And, what is faith?

Faith is an ongoing reaction against what is easy.

Our justification is initiated by God and His grace, of course. Our salvation is impossible without Him.  But,

Justification establishes cooperation between God's grace and man's freedom ... When God touches man's heart through the illumination of the Holy Spirit, man himself is not inactive while receiving that inspiration, since he could reject it; and yet, without God's grace, he cannot by his own free will move himself toward justice in God's sight. ~~ Catechism of the Catholic Church, (para. 1993-94)

We can't be saved by our own actions and free will, but God, having touched us with His grace, does then ask us to employ our free will in His service.

He loves us enough to give us the freedom to reject Him each and every day.

And rejecting a life of faith is easy, really. I know how often I want to dig my heels into the world, avoid the pain of poetry, and seek new ways to forget and escape.

Accepting a life of faith is hard. There is truth, there are rules, the humility of admitting that I don't have all the answers. There is suffering, and the knowledge that God works through pain for our good.

But, having lived a life without faith, and a life of embracing it, I can say that what at first seemed easy — making my own truth, my own rules, and avoiding the bonds of religion — turned out to be a much harder (and unhappier) way to live. And the freedom I've experienced as a result of my faith has been more freeing than anything I tried to create on my own.

Near the end of Fahrenheit 451, a man named Granger explains to Montag, the former fireman, what a phoenix is, how the mythological creature dies and rises again. Civilization, these men know, has destroyed itself. The life that awaits this small band of people will not be an easy one. But, in another way, it will not be nearly as hard as the life they were living.

I think a life of faith is like that.

Like Granger's phoenix, we arise from the ashes of each day, to begin again to do what is hard. And what is easy.

(This post first ran in 2010.)

Ash Wednesday is Coming! Ash Wednesday is Coming!

Top Ten Things For Me To Consider Doing (Or Rather, Not Doing) This Lent

(Based on things I have done in the past): 

10.   Give up meat.
  9.   Give up coffee.

Anyone can give up bad coffee....
clipart from Vintage Digital Stamps

  8.   Give up radio/music in the car.
  7.   Give up wearing jewelry/accessories.
  6.   Give up wine (I'd say "alcohol" but let's face it ... wine).

There's nothing quite like you. 
photo from FreeImages.com

  5.   Give up online time-wasters and/or TV.
  4.   Give up complaining.

You know what I'm talking about.
cliplart from Vintage Digital Stamps 

  3.   Give up sugar.
  2.   Give up all purchases that are not necessities.
  1.   Give up some time and devote it to reading/re-reading spiritual favorites and classics.

This doesn't sound like a sacrifice at all. 

~~~~~

I'm still thinking and praying on what I really need to do this Lent, which begins in two weeks.

~~~~~

"It feels like it's always Lent!" said Atticus yesterday. "Lent is always just around the corner!"

~~~~~

Last year I wrote Lent a letter as I pondered what to give up, take on, do, refine, ponder, pray. It's like we're old friends having a vist: "Happy to see you come, happy to see you go."

~~~~~

If you're looking for more ideas and discussion, here's a link to A Meaningful Lent: The Monstrously Long Post.

Lent is 10 Days Away ... Do You Know Where Your Penance Is?

A few Lenten links:

My monstrously long post on striving for a meaningful Lent.

General posts on Lent.

Lent in 2012.

Lent in 2011.

When I Was an Atheist ...

... I knew people who said and believed that unless one knew Jesus Christ and accepted Him as one's Lord and Savior, one would go directly to hell.*

But I used to wonder about the "knowing" Him portion of that idea.

I seem to recall someone telling me that I couldn't possibly, being an American, not know Jesus. It's a Christian country, isn't it? How could I grow up (I suppose the reasoning went) without knowing what it was to be a Christian?

I recall thinking that I knew of Jesus (as in, "I've heard of Him ...."), that I knew bits and pieces about His life (as in, "Christmas is His birthday, and Easter is about Him rising from the dead, right?") But I certainly didn't know Him.  Being exposed to someone's name or knowing when his birthday is celebrated -- and even knowing that people worship Him -- is not on a par with a personal connection.  Knowing my friend is married to a man named Roger doesn't give me the same relationship with Roger that she has.

Being told that I'd failed at or rejected a relationship that I'd never really had a fair shot at seemed decidedly unfair to me, not to mention that the idea betrayed a lack of understanding of real relationships. If I was going to love this God, this Man, I had to get to know Him. And I needed people who loved Him to be His representatives to me. In other words, I needed to see Him in action, through the actions of His followers.

That is indeed what happened for me. True lovers of and followers of this Man called Jesus slowly revealed Him to me. They did it with patience. With long talks. With understanding of the fact that I had not grown up steeped in Christianity. With the knowledge that to be American is not ipso facto to be a Christian. With a firm grasp of the fact that many, many people -- like the person I was -- have never truly heard the Gospel, despite the fact that we may have grown up with a church on every corner of our town.

During the years of this slow revelation of Jesus to me, I was not always particularly lovable, and I sometimes stubbornly held on to past sins and ways of life, to past viewpoints that were not compatible with Christianity and Catholicism. But my friends, one in particular, kept showing me a side of Jesus that I had never encountered before. Slowly I began to realize that I had indeed developed a relationship with this Man, and it was time to either make some commitments or break it off. And so I was baptized. And so, five years later, I embraced Catholicism.

And now that I am no longer an atheist nor an outsider to Christianity, a question I often ask myself is, "What am I doing to show Jesus to someone else?"

Am I assuming that they already know Him? Or am I doing everything I can to let Him shine through the imperfection that is me?

Some days I don't care for the answer to that question.  Other days are better.  All days are a cause to thank Him for the people He sent to me, and a cause to pray that I can be that kind of person.

~~~~~~~~~~

*The Catholic Church teaches the following about Jesus as the way to salvation (this is from paragraphs 846-848 of the Catechism of the Catholic Church):

"Outside the Church there is no salvation"

846 How are we to understand this affirmation, often repeated by the Church Fathers?³³⁵ Re-formulated positively, it means that all salvation comes from Christ the Head through the Church which is his Body:

Basing itself on Scripture and Tradition, the Council teaches that the Church, a pilgrim now on earth, is necessary for salvation: the one Christ is the mediator and the way of salvation; he is present to us in his body which is the Church. He himself explicitly asserted the necessity of faith and Baptism, and thereby affirmed at the same time the necessity of the Church which men enter through Baptism as through a door. Hence they could not be saved who, knowing that the Catholic Church was founded as necessary by God through Christ, would refuse either to enter it or to remain in it.³³⁶

847 This affirmation is not aimed at those who, through no fault of their own, do not know Christ and his Church:

Those who, through no fault of their own, do not know the Gospel of Christ or his Church, but who nevertheless seek God with a sincere heart, and, moved by grace, try in their actions to do his will as they know it through the dictates of their conscience - those too may achieve eternal salvation.³³⁷

848 "Although in ways known to himself God can lead those who, through no fault of their own, are ignorant of the Gospel, to that faith without which it is impossible to please him, the Church still has the obligation and also the sacred right to evangelize all men."³³⁸

(Photo courtesy of Stock.xchng.)

They are as nothing

We are well into Lent.

And as I struggle, sometimes, with my little sacrifices -- giving up objective goods, giving up bad habits, habits I normally barely think about -- I turn to one thing for comfort, courage, strength. 

And perspective.

My little efforts? They are as nothing. 

(Photo courtesy of stock.xchng)

First Sunday of Lent: Led by the Spirit into the Desert

Filled with the Holy Spirit, Jesus returned from the Jordan

and was led by the Spirit into the desert for forty days,

to be tempted by the devil.

~~ Luke 4:1-3

(From the archives):

A number of years ago -- it must have been nine years, because Anne was about four years old, and Betsy about 18 months -- I had my first inkling of real Lenten temptation. Oh, yes, in the past, I'd been through the temptation to eat chocolate, or to have a fat, juicy burger on a Friday, but all that seemed quite benign in comparison to a moment at Mass, the first weekend of Lent nine years ago.

I was still a relatively new Catholic, having been received into the Church just three years before. I was certain this would be the year that I'd be a shining, stellar example for Atticus of patience, faith and God's love. I would let Christ shine through me so clearly, so incredibly, that my husband could not help but be touched, and could not help but run to the nearest priest and beg to be brought into the Church.

I breezed through Ash Wednesday, not even missing the things I'd given up. I was too focused on being so good, for Atticus's benefit.

On the first weekend of Lent, we went to Mass on Saturday evening. Atticus was with me, because he had made a Lenten promise of his own: although he wasn't considering becoming a Catholic, he offered to go with me to Mass every Sunday in Lent.

Normally, he didn't attend Mass with me. And, since he stayed home, he often offered to keep our very little girls with him, and I zipped off to Mass alone. Though I longed for us to be "one of those families -- the ones who are together at Mass" I had to admit that I also enjoyed the experience of entering fully, quietly into the Mass, without distractions.

So, there we were, on the first weekend of Lent, all of us. "Together at Mass."

And, I felt impatient.

And uncomfortable.

And angry.

I'd had my daughters with me plenty of times at Mass, but this weekend it suddenly seemed different. They were acting like ... well, like little girls. Energetic little girls. They were squirmy, and loud and fussy (I learned, over the years, that 5:30 Saturday Mass is a tough one for little people.)

Atticus seemed oblivious to everything they were doing. It was impossible for me to be oblivious. I was frustrated with all three of them.

The church was crowded, warm and stuffy. I could barely hear the readings.

But, then, I heard this: "... led by the Spirit into the wilderness for forty days, to be tempted by the Devil."

And I was struck, perhaps for the first time, by two realities:

1. We are not alone in the desert.

2. We are being actively tempted.

We are not alone.

We, too, are led by the Spirit into the wilderness of Lent, but, we are not abandoned. And, we are not expected to do this of our own strength.

To be tempted by the devil.

Yes, certainly, I had, in the past, thought of Lent as a time of temptation, but I thought of it as "me against myself." I thought that if I had enough resolve, if I were good enough, it would be easy.

But, suddenly, in that stuffy church, surrounded by fussy children and a husband who didn't particularly want to be there, I realized that I'd been tempted to impatience with the very thing I longed for with my whole being. My husband's conversion, which would translate into family togetherness at Mass, would mean this?  It would mean unpleasantness, distraction, impatience, anger? The desire to be here alone?

I was being tempted away from the good, away even from the desire to be the clear window through which Atticus could see Christ.

Only by God's grace, was I able to see the moment for what it was.

Temptation in the desert.

But, I was not alone.

The moment was redeemed by that realization. I reclaimed my longing for my husband's conversion. I knew that it would mean giving up "entering fully into the Mass" alone, but it would also mean gaining a new way of entering fully into the Mass: as a family. A loud, messy, imperfect, distracted, and sometimes-frustrated family.

I knew then that there would be many more temptations to come on this rocky road of my continuing conversion. I knew that there were forces at work trying actively to discourage me from praying for my husband's reception into the Church (which did not come until two years later.) I knew that these things would be, and would feel, stronger during times of fasting, when I was hungry -- both literally and spiritually -- and vulnerable.

First Sundays in Lent are still hard for me.

But, I know I'm not alone.

And that has made all the difference.

I will say to the LORD, "My refuge and my fortress, my God -- in Him will I trust."

~~ Psalm 91:2

Quote for the 40 Days

"I will attempt, day by day, to break my will into pieces.
 

I want to do God's Holy Will, not my own!"

– St. Gabriel Possenti

But, Lord, It's Not Even Lent Yet

Yesterday my dryer died.  (Be careful what you wish for.)

Today we shall find out if this elderly friend still has any life left in her, or if she has permanently left us for the greener pastures of Appliance Heaven.  I may be shopping for a new and expensive thing on this Fat Tuesday.

Not the way I'd choose to celebrate Mardi Gras, but, hey, we take what we're handed, eh?

Laetare Sunday

Rejoice!

More information in the Catholic Encyclopedia
and at Women for Faith and Family.

Second Sunday of Lent: Here I Am!

God put Abraham to the test.
He called to him, "Abraham!"
"Here I am!" he replied.

... But the LORD's messenger called to him from heaven,
"Abraham, Abraham!"
"Here I am!" he answered.

**********

What about me?

Am I here?

Am I listening?

**********

A Meaningful Lent, Part 2: Why Give Up Anything at All?

The short answer is, "Because Mom said so."

Mom -- Mother Church -- knows what's best for us. And when we follow her advice, we find that, even if we didn't initially understand the reason, our actions bear good fruit.

But, we always want the long answer, don't we?

First, occasionally people say, "You don't have to give anything up -- just take on something positive." I have a couple of thoughts about this perspective. While I understand the good intention behind the "positive spin" (that instead of giving up candy or some other trifle which can seem meaningless one is trying to do something of more"importance") I think it overlooks the good that is inherent in fasting.

I also want to point out that in "taking something on" we are making a sacrifice. If we sacrifice leisure time in order to do something else -- read more Scripture, pray at an abortion clinic, volunteer at a food pantry, or do something else that is a good -- then that is certainly a sacrifice offered in the spirit of Lent. Scripture reading, prayer, talking with a frightened woman who is tempted to abort her child, helping to feed the hungry -- these are corporal and spiritual works of mercy that yield real results, both seen and unseen.

Additionally, on the subject of results we can see, here's a small, but concrete benefit of a fast: if we save the money we would have spent on the trifles (how much is a bag of M&Ms? What's the beer budget? The cost of meat for forty days?) and donate it, we see the results of our sacrifice. Our children see it. The trifles suddenly don't seem to be such a trifle when we realize how much we normally spend on them.

But, second, why do we feel the need to put a "positive" spin on something that is already positive? For a Christian, isn't sacrifice always a positive? If what Jesus did for us isn't the ultimate positive example, then I've got the wrong religion.

Sometimes, we're looking for loopholes and an easier road. But, there's no easy road to avoiding sin. It's an uphill battle for us, this fallen lot. So, let's listen to Mom and give Lent the spin it deserves.

We now return to our regularly scheduled post.

I never say anything better than the Catechism of the Catholic Church does, so I'll direct you to a couple of passages that discuss sacrifice, mortification and spiritual progress.

Paragraph 2015:

The way of perfection passes by way of the Cross. There is no holiness without renunciation and spiritual battle.

Paragraph 2549:

It remains for the holy people to struggle, with grace from on high, to obtain the good things God promises. In order to possess and contemplate God, Christ's faithful mortify their cravings and, with the grace of God, prevail over the seductions of pleasure and power.

And, from Scripture:

"Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also." -- Matthew 6:21

During Lent, we are called to "pray, fast and give." (See this document for more info.) In taking on additional prayer time, or attending daily Mass more often, or praying the Stations of the Cross, or other devotions such as the Chaplet of Divine Mercy, in fasting from festive food and drink, or from various entertainments or areas of excess, and in freely giving of our time and money, we see that it's not a matter of "either/or." We don't ask, "Should I pray more? Or should I fast from something? Or should I give of my time? Give away a few more dollars?"

To pray, to fast and to give are all intimately connected. Progress and growth in one area fuels further progress in the others.

Pray.
Fast.
Give.

This trinity is the foundation of a meaningful Lent. When I start there, good things happen.

Catholic Offspring Pondering Lent

Anne-with-an-e: Hey, Betsy, what're you giving up for Lent?

Betsy: I dunno. I haven't decided.

Anne: You could give up hiding in dark corners and jumping out at me.

~~~~~~~~~~

Betsy: Hey, Ramona, what are you giving up for Lent?

Ramona: I don't know yet.

Betsy: Why don't you give up sassing Anne and me?

Ramona: Betsy! No! I'm going to give up something meaningful!

~~~~~~~~~~

Okay ... Lent is two weeks away, people.

We're gonna have to get serious around here.

Tonight at the dinner table, I said, "Hmmm ... if I'm going to write a series for Lent, I'd better get started on it soon."

Anne replied, "Will it be a No-Panic Lent? Hmmm? Or will it be a Panic-Filled Lent?"

But, I couldn't give her an immediate answer.

It probably depends on what I give up.

The Triduum ... Kidterrupted

I started this post yesterday, and then had no time to finish it.

I must've been kidterrupted in the middle of it.

I scrapped what I started yesterday, because today I see that Alicia noticed the same thing I was pondering, and in this post at Studeo, she shares some beautifully apt quotes from St. Francis de Sales on patience. And, really, I should just send you over there and leave it at that, because Alicia's post sums that up so nicely.

But, I'll take up my own musing again anyway.

I keep thinking about the idea that we envision a certain thing -- in this case, a certain thing about Holy Week and how it will, or should, play out -- and then we don't get what we wanted. We either don't get it at all, or we get some altered version of it, or we get frustrated with the final result.

Now that I've been through 13 Holy Weeks as a Catholic mom, I'm going to pretend that I'm an expert. And here's what I've learned over the last 13 Holy Weeks with kids:

* Very small children don't have to attend every liturgy of the Triduum. We have done it various ways, and each way we tried was simply what we needed to do that particular year. (The last two years it has actually worked for us to attend all of it, including the Vigil, and we've loved that. But that wasn't always the case.)

If the whole gang attending works well for your family, that's great. If it doesn't work for your family, for whatever reason (and please, people, let's not judge what the valid reasons are) then that's okay, too. Holy Thursday and Good Friday are sublime observances that can enhance one's celebration of Easter tremendously. But, the Church doesn't require you to be there. If you can't make it for some reason, don't be harder on yourself than the Church is. Do what works best for you and your domestic church.

* Very small children do not have to understand everything about Good Friday and all of its implications. They just can't always separate the solemnity of Holy Thursday/Good Friday from the approaching joy of Easter, and that's okay. They will learn to "get it" as they get older, with your teaching and guidance. That's why they're called children. They aren't grown up yet, and they don't get everything.

* Understanding that little children don't understand every nuance of Good Friday doesn't mean I'm sending you out to join in every local Easter egg hunt you can find. We happen to skip community Easter egg hunts that fall on a solemn day, but I don't keep Ramona from playing on Good Friday. As a matter of fact, I took incredible delight in her play this morning. We were outside on the swings, and talked about it being Good Friday and she belted out at the top of her lungs (to the tune of "If You're Happy and You Know It"): "If you love Jesus and you know it, shout Amen! Amen!"

She was pretty delightful yesterday, too, when, to celebrate Holy Thursday she drew a picture of Jesus and His apostles and then starting gift wrapping things she found around the house, because "people should have presents when we're happy." Did she understand all that we would feel and remember at last night's Mass? No. Did she understand that we were happy that Jesus gave us the Eucharist? Yes. The rest will come.

And that's what really got me started thinking about this post. I watched Ramona yesterday, when she drew her picture of Jesus. Her eyes were shining, and she was brimming with joy. And I thought, for a moment, that one of the reasons the Church wisely gave us Lent and penance, Holy Thursday and Good Friday, is that we grown-ups sometimes forget to shine.

We need reminders to shine properly. Lent is that reminder for me. The old cliche, "You don't know what you've got till it's gone?" It holds true for Lent. Loss brings renewal, and Ramona's shining eyes remind me that someday, God willing, I'll enter a paradise where I never again have to give something up in order to appreciate it. My eyes will shine all the time.

And I'll sing eternal praise that little children don't "get it" all the time, and that the many kidterruptions that happen in Mass, in Holy Week, and in life, were really small whispers from God, telling me how much He loves me.

Things to do this Holy Week

• Wish your priest a Happy Anniversary on the commemoration of Christ's institution of the priesthood (Holy Thursday.) Thank God for the gift of the priesthood:

From John Paul the Great's Letter to Priests, Holy Thursday, 2004:

We were born from the Eucharist. If we can truly say that the whole Church lives from the Eucharist (“Ecclesia de Eucharistia vivit”), as I reaffirmed in my recent Encyclical, we can say the same thing about the ministerial priesthood: it is born, lives, works and bears fruit “de Eucharistia”(cf. Council of Trent, Sess. XXII, canon 2: DS 1752). “There can be no Eucharist without the priesthood, just as there can be no priesthood without the Eucharist."

• Pray.

• Make a Lenten Caterpillar/Easter Butterfly (This idea is from my dear friend, Holly, godmother to all of my children.)

Cut out 1/4 of a cardboard egg carton and paint it in a caterpillary manner. Glue on googly eyes (or paint the eyes on.) Use pipe cleaners for antennae and legs. On Holy Saturday, wrap the caterpillars in paper (their cocoons.) After the kids are in bed that night, tear open the cocoons and replace the caterpillars with butterflies.

[Your butterflies will depend on your artistic skills -- or lack thereof. Ours have ranged from drawings, to origami to a picture downloaded from the internet (that was a hectic year) to fun foam and sequins. Add to the symbolism of rebirth with a note proclaiming, “Jesus gives us New Life! Alleluia!”]

• Pray.

• Make sure you have waterproof mascara in the house. Make sure it's the one you wear on Good Friday. You know what "Were You There" always does to you.

• Pray.

• Boil the eggs now, so that on Saturday you do not fall into sins of anger when it's time to dye them.

• Pray.

• Check on all the usual suspects: clothing, shoes, tights, little gloves and hats, things for Ramona to do during the Easter Vigil, Easter baskets, Eastro-turf, candy, candy, candy and candy.
  

• Pray.

• There. You're done.

Watch! Listen! Pay attention!

aka, Mr. Putter, Narnia and Prayer

aka, a Holy Week reflection

aka, a rerun from last year

aka, I know you understand

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mr. Putter is a social eater.

This cat doesn't like to dine alone. Every morning, though there are leftovers in his bowl, he talks to me until I indulge his breakfast habit. I must add fresh food (though I sometimes cheat: I pick up the bowl and shake it, as if something delectable somehow enters through the shaking.)

But, wait. Food isn't the only issue. If I do not sit with Mr. Putter for a moment and scratch his back, he will not eat. He will look at me expectantly, as if to say, "You know the routine ... why do you torture me so?" until I pet him, at which point he will finally, happily dig in to his meal.

On a related note, during Family Movie Time (Narnia) Atticus was trying to sneak in a little bit of grading. He's a teacher, you know, and it's a brutal time of year for an English teacher. I couldn't blame him for a little multitasking, but the kids, of course, noticed.

"Daddy, you're not really watching! Watch this! Watch this part!" And so he did. Because the kids know it's no fun to watch a movie with someone who isn't really there.

And, further related, how many times have I done this:

I'm typing furiously at the computer when a child approaches me with a question.

"Yeah?" I ask, not looking away from the screen.

"Mom, you're not listening."

"Sure, I am ... just let me finish this sentence." And when I do finish that sentence, I turn to the child and must admit that she was right. I wasn't listening.

Mr. Putter at breakfast ...
Dads and movie time ...
a mother only half tuned in to her child ....

The common thread?

"Am I fully present? Am I really here? Am I listening? Do I care about what these people (and this cat) need from me?"

This led me to think of prayer, and of how easily I become distracted. How often do I sit down with God only to cheat, with a metaphorical shake of the bowl? To mentally multitask as I petition? How often do I fix my eyes on something other than Jesus? How often does Jesus have to say to me, "You're not listening.... "?

I know we moms don't always have the luxury of formal prayer time, but the reality of my life, right now, is that I do sometimes have that luxury. I try to use it wisely, but I often fail. I'm sometimes only half-there, not fully present, not truly centered on the Lord and Savior of my life, but rather allow my mind to wander to things that have nothing to do with my eternal salvation.

God, like Mr. Putter, doesn't like to be alone.

That's why He made us. He loves our company, and wants our genuine interaction. He wants to share the movie with us, get us to turn our faces from the screen, and He wants us to listen.

This week, as Holy Week continues, I pray for the grace to pay attention.

I pray that when God says, "Watch this part! Listen! Be with Me," that I will do just that.

Why John makes me cry

Or, "The Story of Atticus and the Man Born Blind."

Yesterday's Gospel reading:

John, chapter 9.

Verse 25: "One thing I do know is that I was blind and now I see."

From a spring morning, eight years ago:

The Saturday before Lent, when we awoke Atticus told me he wanted to know the name of the man born blind in the Gospel of John ... He said that man’s name would be his confirmation name. If he joined the Church, he added.

Fr. Joe came to dinner that night, and asked the question Atticus must have been tired of: "So, where are you? What, if anything, is holding you back?"

Atticus replied, "Nothing. I’m ready. Can we schedule something?"

The day before Lent began, we had a private "Rite of Welcoming" at daily Mass, with Fr. Joe presiding. I was Atticus’s sponsor, and as we went through the rite, and the beautiful portion of it in which the sponsor "signs the senses" of the candidate, Atticus and I felt that we were experiencing a rebirth in our marriage. We really felt that we were getting married again, recommitting to one another and to God. Our marriage by a judge, sixteen years before, seemed as if it had happened in another lifetime.

Atticus proceeded through Lent participating in all that the other RCIA candidates did, and at the Easter Vigil in 2000 he was received into our one, holy, Catholic, and apostolic Church. My friend Jack, who had been so instrumental in my conversion, drove one hundred and twenty miles with his wife and children to be there, and we rejoiced that night with them and the many Catholic friends who had also finally become Atticus's friends. He hadn’t known about the host of prayers that had been sent forth on his behalf, but that night many of those who had prayed for him were present, sharing with us the unspeakable joy of the night.

Atticus and I have been given a second chance, like the man born blind. We neither deserved it nor saw it coming, but one thing we do know is that we were blind and now we see. For that, we are eternally—and that’s a phrase we no longer use lightly—grateful.

And so I cry.

And laugh.

And rejoice.

Thanks, John.

Laetare Sunday and These Forty Days

Rejoice!

We're more than halfway to Easter on this, the fourth Sunday of Lent.

For more on "Laetare Sunday," visit the Catholic Encyclopedia here, or Women for Faith and Family here, or Catholic Culture here.


And, I've been remiss in directing you toward the wonderful Lenten resource, These Forty Days. There are several contributors, lots of good ideas, and plenty of inspiration as we continue the march toward Easter. Don't forget to poke around in the archives!

Sharing the pages of Canticle ....

The newest issue of Canticle is out, and I'm privileged the share the pages with some wonderful writers, including the delightful Sarah, from Just Another Day of Catholic Pondering, among many others. Check out Heidi Hess-Saxton's post at Silent Canticle for a list of all who are included.


This issue, I've got the Body and Soul column. In "Seconds and Sacrifice" I share some musing about food. And about foregoing food:

I’m at it again -- trying to lose a little weight. In my twenties, all I had to do to drop a few pounds was cut out the M&Ms for a few days.

Then came life: pregnancies, miscarriages, three deliveries … the forces of gravity, years of breastfeeding, and age. And now, the extra pounds don’t melt away as easily as they used to. Cutting out the M&Ms for a few days results only in making me cranky.

So this time, I’m trying a new approach. Instead of allowing my M&M sacrifice to make me cranky, I’m putting it to good use. Every time I forego a food, I offer up that specific dietary sacrifice for a specific intention.

To read the rest, you'll have to pick up the magazine. If you don't already subscribe, consider trying Canticle's offer for a free trial issue, by calling 800-558-5452.

What Ramona is giving up for Lent

Ramona: "I'm going to give up hanging off the kitchen cupboard door."

Betsy: "Wait a minute -- I thought you were going to give up whining."

Ramona: "No. I gave up whining when I have to put socks on. But that was this morning. Now I'm giving up hanging off the cupboard."

Anne-with-an-e: "It's not fair to God if you keep changing what you're giving up."

Ramona: "Well, I won't change it anymore. I'm giving up hanging off cupboards, and every time I feel like doing it, but don't, I get to put a bean in the jar."*

So.

That's that.

*Sacrifice Jar

There are different versions of this all over the place, but here's what we do: Put out an empty jar and a bowl of dried beans. For every sacrifice, prayer, act of kindness or penance performed, the kids put a bean in the jar.

On Easter morning, the beans will be replaced with jelly beans and M&Ms, reminding us that the rewards of Heaven will be sweet!

Temptation in the desert

Ten years ago, when Anne was four years old, and Betsy was a toddler, I had my first inkling of real Lenten temptation.

Oh, yes, previously, I'd been tempted to eat chocolate, or to have a juicy burger on a Friday, but all that seemed quite benign in comparison to a moment at Mass, on the first weekend of Lent ten years ago.

I was a relatively new Catholic and Atticus was not even thinking of becoming Catholic. But, I was certain this would be the year that I'd be a shining, stellar example to him of patience, faith and God's love. I would let Christ shine through me so clearly, so incredibly, that my husband could not help but be touched, and could not help but run to the nearest priest and beg to be brought into the Church.

I breezed through Ash Wednesday, not even missing the things I'd given up. I was too focused on being so good, for Atticus's benefit.

On the first weekend of Lent, we went to Mass on Saturday night. Atticus came along, because he'd made a Lenten promise of his own: although he wasn't considering Catholicism, he offered to attend Mass with me every week during Lent.

Normally, he didn't go at all. And, since he stayed home, he usually kept our very little girls with him, and I zipped off to Mass alone. Though I longed for us to be "one of those families -- the ones who are together at Mass", I enjoyed the experience of entering fully, quietly into the Mass, without distractions.

So, there we were, on the first weekend of Lent, all of us. "Together at Mass."

And, I felt impatient.

And uncomfortable.

And angry.

I'd had my daughters at Mass plenty of times, but this weekend it suddenly seemed different. They were acting like ... ummm, like ... little girls. Energetic little girls. They were squirmy, and loud and fussy.

Atticus was oblivious to their antics. It was impossible for me to be oblivious. I was frustrated with all of them, including Atticus. Maybe especially Atticus.

The church was crowded, stuffy and warm. I could barely hear the readings.

But, then, I heard the priest say this:

"... led by the Spirit into the wilderness for forty days, to be tempted by the Devil."

And I was struck, perhaps for the first time, by two realities:

1. We are not alone in the desert.

2. We are being actively tempted.

We are not alone.

We, too, are led by the Spirit into the wilderness of Lent, but, we are not abandoned. And, we are not expected to do this of our own strength.

To be tempted by the devil.

Yes, certainly, I had always thought of Lent as a time of temptation, but I thought of it as "me against myself." I thought that if I had enough resolve, if I were "good enough," it would be easy.

But, suddenly, in that stuffy church, surrounded by fussy children and a husband who didn't want to be there, I realized that I'd been tempted to impatience with the very thing I longed for with my whole being.

"My husband's conversion, and family togetherness at Mass, will mean this?," I'd been thinking. Unpleasantness, distraction, impatience, anger? The desire to be here alone?

I had been tempted away from the good, away even from the desire to be the clear window through which Atticus could see Christ.

Only by God's grace was I able to see the moment for what it was:

Temptation in the desert.

But, I was not alone.

The moment was redeemed by that realization. I reclaimed my longing for my husband's conversion. I knew it would mean giving up "entering fully into the Mass alone," but it would also mean gaining a new way of entering fully into the Mass: as a family. A loud, messy, imperfect, distracted, and sometimes-frustrated family.

I knew then that many more temptations would pop up on this rocky road of my continuing conversion. I knew that there were forces at work actively trying to discourage me from praying for my husband's reception into the Church (which did not come until two years later.) I knew that these things would be, (and would feel) stronger during times of fasting, when I was hungry -- both literally and spiritually -- and vulnerable.

Lent can still be hard.

But, I know I'm not alone.

And that has made all the difference.

(This post also appears at the Catholic Exchange blog.)