Divine Romance

I love Jesus, but I don't always act like it.  No that's not true.  I usually act like it, but I rarely live it like I mean it.

In every moment I am faced with the choice to embrace or deny Him.  Unfortunately, I don't usually think about how the many little decisions I make each day will make Him feel, but how they will make me feel. It's so easy to deny Him, but loving Him hurts and requires more than merely going through the motions.

We are called to see Christ in others, but it's hard.  It's hard to see Christ in someone who hurts us or our pride.  It's hard to see Christ in someone who is being irrational or high maintenance.  It's hard to see Christ in a spoiled brat or in your crazy, dysfunctional family.

I find that when I've ignored Christ in these people for too long, I eventually find myself out of excuses and on my knees in tears, all those ways I failed to love staring me in the face in the form of cuts and bruises and open, bleeding wounds on the cross.

It's hard to see Christ in others, but it's harder still to see what my sins have done to our Savior.  It's hard to get angry about slow drivers when I'm looking at the Cross.  It's hard to justify my lifestyle when I read about starving children in Africa.

Just above all those wounds that I've inflicted, though, I see the face of Christ.  My tears wash a drop of blood off his feet, and He is consoled.  I am consoled.  We are not alone.

It's only when we embrace the Cross and all that comes with it--the pain, the heartache, the humiliation, the loneliness--that we are able to find that sliver of grace that allows us to smile patiently at the person annoying us, or to accept the humbling knowledge that we are the ones in the wrong.  This grace is what opens our heart to true love--love for Christ and love for others.

I wish I was better at remembering that throughout my days.  I wish I could look at every person I encounter and see Christ, but I usually only see myself.  I wish I could live life as it is with a heart full of love and mercy, and not try to make it something it's not.

Whenever I find that I've strayed far from my Love, when I feel the weight of my sins as they catch up to me, when I fall to my knees trying to wade through the mess I've made, I remember how I fell in love with Jesus.  I remember how He held me, how He picked up the pieces of my broken heart and slowly mended them back together.  I remember how He is always faithful, that no matter how many times I fall, whenever I look up, I still see His loving face.

I remember this divine romance, how He lured me away from the darkness and into the light.  I remember that it's as true today as it was when this romance first began.  Some days I don't feel it, but I always know it.

I don't really know what the point of this post is, except that it's a reminder for me to make my religion "less of a theory and more a love affair" (G.K. Chesterton).  It's less about living by strict rules and guidelines of what's right and wrong, and more about living with an open heart full of love and mercy.

Because that's what I've learned--growing in faith requires letting yourself fall in love with God, and Him with you.  It's a good thing to remember as we get closer to Christmas.  The holidays aren't about the things we get each other, the fun and crazy parties, the decorations, or the crazy-good shopping deals.  The holidays are about a baby, a baby whose Mother opened her heart completely to God and He filled her womb with His Life.  I can only imagine how desperately in love the mother of God was when she first held the Savior in her arms.  To have grown the Son of God within her, to look upon his face--there could be no greater beauty, no truer love.

This divine romance is one we are all called to, to embrace Christ in every moment of our lives, to allow Him to grow within us and consume us.  I aspire.

You Need This In Your Life: These Beautiful Bones

I was sitting outside a bar on a Friday afternoon when I saw this book trailer and my heart did a little dance:

My boyfriend and I had only recently decided that the time and financial commitment to drive an hour to and from a two hour Theology of the Body class 16 weeks in a row was just too much for us right now.  It was a difficult decision, because I had been looking forward to Into the Heart for a long time, but we just couldn't swing it.  Certain that another more feasible opportunity to take the class would come up in time, I determined to at least find a good Theology of the Body book that I could read and reflect on in the meantime--and here one was, not only dealing with human sexuality, but exploring every aspect of life:  These Beautiful Bones:  An Everyday Theology of the Body by Emily Stimpson.  

This beautiful work is broken down into easy to digest chapters, beginning with an overview of Theology of the Body, then exploring topics such as work, manners, fashion, food, technology, and prayer.  Stimpson presents her deep insight as practical advice combined with research, humor, and personal experience.  Each chapter is also followed by a mini-essay on a special topic relative to the subject.

Easy and delightful to read, she presents an everyday theology of the body that will resound with readers.  I found myself delighted when Stimpson pointed out something I've been thinking for a long time that I couldn't put into words or the big picture, and challenged when she revealed the deeper meaning of something that I wrote off as wholly unimportant.

Stimpson reveals to readers the big picture of how modernism has transformed our culture and affected the way we see ourselves and each other.  She follows with explanations of how what we do with our bodies affects our souls, and simple advice on how to live richer, fuller lives.  She reminds us who we are, and how to be our best selves, that this life isn't all about us, but about communion too.

I would like to break down the book a little bit and go over some highlights here, but I know that if I started I wouldn't be able to stop.  You can be sure that I will bring it up in future posts too, so I'll leave you with the insistence that you should read These Beautiful Bones.  Whether or not you care about theology of the body or Catholicism, you will find that it's 100% worth reading.

Fall in Love

I am that girl.

I didn't always love fall.  In fact, I used to hate it.  It was that gray, rainy season full of muddy walks to school and wet, slimy leaves sticking to my shoes. It was brown, and it required raking, which required being outside--I used to hate being outside.  Worst of all, fall held nothing to look forward to except colder and colder mornings and cars covered in frost and ice.  So much ice.

When I was a sophomore in college, everything changed.

It wasn't because I discovered pumpkin spice lattes, or cardigans, or scarves.  And I definitely hadn't gotten excited about the impending death of everything in nature.  No, it had been a combination of graces that led me to change my mind about the season one day.

It had been a mild fall, so the day wasn't terribly chilly.  Dark clouds had begun to roll in to contrast the morning sunshine.  A great breeze picked up and it was as if the sun-kissed trees were waving me on.  I felt the Spirit moving around me and I breathed deeply, and I knew that I love fall.

That semester had followed a dark, depressing summer for me.  I was struggling to adjust back to life at school, to become more financially independent, and to make new friends (some of my best friends from my freshman year were studying in Austria for the semester).  

One Monday night, I wanted desperately to just sit in my dorm room and feel sorry for myself, but some friends invited me to go bowling with a big group of people.  At first I declined.  I'm awkward around people I don't know well, and in my emotional state, I wasn't sure I'd be able to choke up the energy.

As I sat in my room I realized that I had a choice.  I didn't have to let my depression weigh me down.  I could stay there and sink further into my depression, or I could get up and go and maybe have a good time.  Besides, if I went and it was awful, I never had to go again.  Suddenly, there was a strength inside of me (the Holy Spirit, I'm sure), determinedly pushing me to my feet.  I would not let the depression win!

I had no idea that the people I would meet that night would change me forever. It became a weekly tradition--Monday night bowling followed by either Tim Horton's or Taco Bell and/or a movie at someone's house or a random dance party in a parking lot on campus.  We would always meet in the cafeteria for lunch and dinner, taking over two long tables with our laughter and conversation, sitting for hours in that gross building because we were having such a good time.  We were an eclectic group, but for the first time in my life, I felt like I had found friends with whom I really belonged.  I'd had good friends growing up, but never one solid group with similar beliefs and interests.  These people became like a family to me.  Through them, the Lord pulled me out of my depression and showed me who I am--a loved young woman.

That fall, I learned agape.

What followed was the opening of my heart to the Lord.  I gave Him everything, and the next year was the best of my life.  It was challenging and full and colorful and I thought I fell in love so many times but it was really just once--one long plunge into the ocean of Mercy.  At times it was dark and painful and sometimes so lonely I couldn't breathe, but my tears of sorrow always became tears of thanksgiving.

The following fall I was in Austria, where I fell head over heals in love with Jesus and His Mother--I heard God better in Europe for some reason.  Maybe because I lived here:

Yeah, that definitely helped.  It helped me get through the coming year of uncertainties and separation and certainties and alienation.  More pain followed me through the year and pressed on more intensely in the fall of my senior year, and in the pain I discovered real strength--reliance on God.

Strength isn't independence.  It's dependence on God.  That's a lesson I still learn every day.  It's a lesson I finally put into practice two falls later when my heart was lonely, but I placed my trust in God and His perfect timing.  The next week a young man bought me dinner, and we fell in love.  The next fall, our love only grew stronger.

And this year I hear so many people complain about fall and how it's so cold and rainy and gross and everything dies and winter is coming and that means snow and ice and cold.

And all I have to say about that is NOT "pumpkin spice latte pumpkin spice latte pumpkin spice latte" but agape. 

Agape.  The love God has for us.  The love we have for God.  The love we have for one another.  The love. There is so much love in the club!

It's what I think about when I think about fall.  It's what I remember when I wake up at 4:30 and suddenly it's 7 am and the sun still isn't shining.  I think about evenings in the cafeteria and the smokey bowling alley with the people who changed my life forever.  I think of the place of incredible beauty, the place of terrible pain, the place of love lost and love found, the place of death turned new life.

This love is available to all of us, all the time, and we have a choice--to love or to hate, to let ourselves be loved or to let our lives weigh us down, to hide from the world or face the rain with a smile and a heart full of gratitude.

Fall may be the season when everything dies, but life always goes on and starts anew.  And through all the ups and downs, we get by with a little help from our friends.

Thank You, God, for mine.

Love Good Music

I've been searching for some new good music lately, so I signed up to be a patron of Mysterium Records' Love Good Music community.  For only $10 a month, I get a CD and the inner satisfaction of knowing that I am supporting amazing artists as they "explore the mysterious intersection of art and faith in modern culture."  (Obviously, you can give more than $10 a month--if you do, you will also receive more CDs each month. . .just check the links above for more info!)

Much to my delighted surprise, this past month the CD was Army of Me's new album Searching for You.  I first discovered Army of Me a few years ago with the 5-song EP Make Yourself Naked.  I fell in love with the sound and the lyrics influenced by John Paul II's Theology of the Body.  It is deeply spiritual without sounding like it. . .if that makes sense.  In any case, it's been about two weeks now since I received Searching for You, and I haven't been able to stop listening to it.

On this album, Vince Scheuerman's voice carries his sweetly poetic and deeply meaningful lyrics across the waves of his music.  The album has heart and soul and is the perfect soundtrack for anyone searching or thirsting.

 There's just something about it all--the way the lyrics blend so perfectly in the search for light, love, and healing in this often dark world, the way the music tugs at that part of your soul thirsting and longing for more than what this world has to offer, the way you know that it all means more than you can grasp on one listen so you just keep listening, and searching. . .

Open Fire

He builds a fire like the boy scout he is--

newspapers, matches, planks of wood

that turn flames green and blue and purple.

The light autumn breeze blows

smoke in the face

but we are fine:

content.

He busts out a cast iron pan to make us a snack,

drops popcorn seeds in,

covers it with foil and we wait.  

The butter catches on fire,

and we watch the sad popcorn burn,

then try again

a different way.

It's edible this time, so we eat

content.

Sirens wail and we wonder if the drunk kids on campus are at it again.

The sirens don't fade into the distance;

they come closer.

The sirens wail for us.

The firemen come around back, 

say they got a call that a fence was on fire,

but they see that all is contained.

"What are you cooking?" one asks.

"It was a sad, half-ass attempt at popcorn."

"Glad to hear it.

You're not allowed to have an open fire in Dayton 

unless it's for cooking.  

Always make sure you've got some marshmallows handy in case we show up."

He winks, they leave, we laugh:

is that true or was he just saying that because he wants toasted marshmallows?

Redeeming Love

It was a scene in Jesus of Nazareth that struck me to the core: when the sinful woman came and washed the feet of Jesus with expensive ointment and her tears.  That woman was me.  That was me on the chapel floor letting my tears fall at the foot of the cross because I am unworthy.

And yet, I am loved.

I am loved to an unimaginable degree.  Loved beyond comprehension.  Though I stumble, though I sin again and again, I am loved.  We all are.

It is a redeeming love that pursues each of us.  A knocking at our hearts to be opened.

Jesus came for the sinners, not the righteous.  To the would-be killers of the adulteress he says,"Let he who is sinless cast the first stone."

 

No stones were thrown that day.  Why?  Because no one is perfect.  We are full of weaknesses, struggles, fears.  We make mistakes and bad decisions. Therefore, Jesus came for all of us.  He died for all of us.  As he hung on the cross, in the last breaths before his death, he forgave all of us.  By his blood, we are forgiven, and redeemed, no matter how grave our sins.

I've learned that this redemption is not exactly passive on our end.  God has done all the work, yes, but it comes down to a movement of the will to believe.  Often this is the hardest part--getting over ourselves enough to be humbled to the point of of accepting that we need Him.

Sometimes we believe that we are righteous enough, that our sins are not so great that we really need him.  I really am a good person, and that's enough.  It's not enough.  Heaven isn't earned--it is desired with the whole will, with all heart and soul.  You have to really want it.

When we want it, we find ourselves confessing our sins regularly.  I find that I confess the same sins over and over, and Jesus says "Go and sin no more," and I wonder how that's possible.  I wonder if I've really even been set free.  If I were truly set free, wouldn't I be able to stop doing the same stupid things?  Why can't I make it out of the church parking lot before sinning again?

"Forgiveness is only real for those who have discovered the weakness of their friends and the sins of their enemies in their own hearts, and are willing to call each human being their sister and brother." (Henri J. M. Nouwen)

I'll be honest--I'm generally not willing to call the angry, hateful customer my brother.  I'm not willing to call the obnoxious woman in line in front of me my sister.  I'm not willing to acknowledge that I have neglected to use my turn signal before too.  I'm not willing to let other people have their bad days.  I am not willing to forgive, but I expect to be forgiven.

"To be a Christian means to forgive the inexcusable because God has forgiven the inexcusable in you." (C.S. Lewis)

It all comes down to a movement of the will to believe.  And maybe the truth is that I don't want to believe.  Maybe there's a part of me resisting, because I know that to go and sin no more is going to be extremely painful--the death of my pride and my self.  Maybe I believe the fact that I am forgiven just as much as I believe the fact that I will sin again.  That is where the problem lies--when I focus too much on my own faults (or even too much on the faults of others), and weaknesses, and sins, and not nearly enough on Jesus.

His grace is enough.

He does not condemn us.  Neither should we condemn each other, or judge each other, or even criticize each other.  We need to try to understand each other, because "To understand all is to forgive all."  (Evelyn Waugh, Brideshead Revisited) 

I believe that this is key to learning how to love our neighbors as Christ loves us.  To try to understand where they are coming from, and to meet them where they are at is what we are called to do.  It's what Jesus does for us.  It requires patience, and the constant swallowing of our pride, and often we fail, but that's what confession is for--to receive that kiss from Jesus on the forehead, to hear him say, "Neither do I condemn you.  Go and sin no more."

I aspire.

And I'm finding that the best way to do all of this, is to come to know Jesus better, through the gospels, the sacraments, the liturgy, prayer.  The more I seek him, the more I find him.  He's often in the most unlikely places, but he's always there, waiting with open arms for us to come to him.

I want to believe, Lord; help my unbelief!

The Fountain Pen and the Crayon (part two)

Continued from The Fountain Pen and the Crayon (part one) by guest writer Nick Scott.  I hope you enjoy this concluding piece to our adventures in Baltimore as much as I did!

Ah the open road. . .anything can happen on a road trip. Everything is fresh, new, and filled with excitement around every turn. I have always found driving to be a passive form of amnesia. Forget where you’re going, forget where you've been. Allow the wind to whistle through open windows, let the sun shine from above and fill the cabin with music. Days like this are meant for cruising and not blind speed. 

Dear God, this is a beautiful country!

Climbing up the mountains through the clouds, we pass a scenic overlook where all we see is fog. On a sketchy road through uncivilization we seek food and fuel but only find fog.  Then the clouds break and the sun shines and suddenly we are surrounded by water—a mountain lake shimmering deep blue diamonds beneath green slopes, and boats--lots of boats. This then becomes the highlight of our drive--such an oasis of beauty could not be found on the turn pike or toll road.

Our arrival in Baltimore was without trumpetis convocation.  You see, Baltimore isn't really a roll-out-the-red-carpet kind of town. It’s more smile-and-compliment-as-you’re-stabbed-in-the-side--“Charm City” it’s called. Still though, we were together and not in Ohio for a full weekend.

Back home, my Fridays are usually spent at the corner seat of a finely established Irish bar in Dayton, Ohio. Myself, a man named Jackson, Shamu (like the famous orca whale), Rob, Whitey, our benevolent host Mr. Flanagan, and occasionally countless others all seem to cross paths on Friday afternoons. We discuss life, fullfillingly meaningless things, topics of good nature, and just enjoy the breaks from the ordinary before the avalanche of the weekend crashes down upon our heads.  Occasionally Jackie will receive a pass from the purgatory of her day job and swing in wildly like Quasimodo yelling "Sanctuary!" (*editor's note:  this is only a slight exaggeration. . .) cornering up for a Guinness with the rest of us.  Given that Friday was our only semi-full day together in Baltimore, we felt compelled to carry on our Dayton routine to settle our souls before the wedding festivities began.  I had heard from the man named after a famous whale of a place in Fells Point in Baltimore called Leadbetter's.  Since you should always follow the orders of men named after famous whales, we went off in search.  

Fells Point  is an oasis from the grime of the city. I imagine that since it is filled with countless bars, restaurants, and old television landmarks, it is populated by a decent kind of people, the kind who don’t stab you in the side, but rather smile and just steal your wallet. We walked along the water's edge enjoying each other’s company as we searched for our original destination and the purpose for our adventure to Never Never Again Land.  We found the hole in the wall called Leadbetter's only to discover that on a holiday Indy race weekend in a major metropolitan city a bar didn't open until 4pm. What manner of hysterical nonsense is this? I see the people on the loose in search of food and beverage and this place offered none. We were desperate now, our plans thwarted, time was short and we needed to act quickly to salvage our day. Back-tracking toward the car we noticed a place called Slainte on the horizon. It seemed yuppie-Irish but for sure they would have another culture's good food. We popped in, settled up to a table, and placed our order.

I must be honest, as I don’t even remember what we said or if either of us spoke. I felt we were the silence in a storm; people flying by in all directions surrounded us.  Our thoughts were on the day to come, and, distracted, I left my wallet on a bench by the water.  I realized when we had returned a half hour later to the hotel.  Sure that someone would have taken it by now, but hoping for the off-chance that it was still there, we made the thirty minute drive back to the water.  Much stress and prayer later, the wallet was found exactly as I left it.  In the 8th most dangerous city to live in, my wallet sat safe on a bench in public for over an hour--a Baltimore Miracle!  But now we were late for the rehearsal. . .

Racing downtown we were dressed to our best ready to stand in support for these two preparing for their day of celebration. I was semi-instructed to put my normal nonsense aside. We would from this point on direct our focus toward the one we would soon call Krevin. Intrigue is my only feeling this wedding eve. When it's close family or a couple you know well getting married, you understand what’s happening and in many ways it can almost be boring and uneventful. Not the joining of two as one, but the motions of the days leading up to the big day. This was different, strange being a wallflower at this lovely occasion. It was clear from my view that this evening and the next day would wrap around these two like a thick cocoon and fill them with God, love and excitement.

Is there a more beautiful setting for two people to join hands than a well sorted old church? It’s like having the home court advantage, it has to help the occasion even if only slightly. Friends and family are gathered, music is playing and it’s almost time. I must point out however that I fear some who were in attendance might focus on the heat of this sweltering August day. Was it actually heat? Or was it something greater, far beyond our understanding? I was there and I felt something else:  love. This same wedding between these two people in the middle of winter would have felt the same. I truly felt like God was warming each of our souls in attempt to share the feelings these two had for each other. 

The parties have assembled and the music has heightened--it’s time. At that moment, whatever anyone felt about the thought of “heat” was gone. Stricken instantly from the conscious mind all our focus was on the celebration. Music filled the air accompanying a liturgy that felt like a floral breeze. We should all be thankful to have savored this brief moment in time. I’m a man of top tens and this one was up there.

Ah wedding receptions, a reason for guests to be appropriately drunk. Just a short trip downstairs and we as guests were treated to what could have passed for a hidden Tuscan hideaway. Lights circled the space with laughter and smiles filling the air. A unique calm settled over those of us in attendance and we were treated to tales of each half of Krevin past. We sat, chatted, and enjoyed the most delicious dinner one could ever have. I mean that in all sincerity. Our meal felt homemade and that is something special. A homemade meal is like a lighthouse on a shoreline, it will always lead you home. I believe strongly in the power of a meal, the combination of family and friends around a table creates an impenetrable force. It reminds us of what is really important, and will always warm the soul.

I should emphasize one thing about this entire tale of nonsense, fountain pens, and drunken crayons.  It's not the sights or sounds that any of us will remember, not the words that were spoken or the delicious food we ate.  What each of us will remember is how these two made us feel.  For a few special days in August, two people were kind enough to share their love for each other with their closest friends and family.  To Krevin I say, may your days be filled with smooth seas and calm breezes.