Invisible Tears

  
She’s in front of you in the checkout line at the grocery store. She’s the treasurer of your son’s PTA. She teaches piano to your daughter. She and her family sit behind you at Mass. She’s your boss, your best friend, your sister, your mother. She’s you. And she’s had an abortion.

I’m not going to talk about statistics. Abortion isn’t about statistics, it’s about babies. I’ll let the other side talk numbers if they want to. Let’s just say that everyone in America is related to a baby who has been aborted. A baby you never got to hold or feed or play with or watch grow up. That little sister you didn’t have. That older cousin who never drove you to the mall. The uncle who didn’t teach you how to cheat at cards. The tapestry of our life loses another thread. Bit by bit, baby by baby, it comes unravelled. All of us are made less. We all lose. Think of your family at Thanksgiving, gathered around the table to share a meal and give thanks. Now imagine the empty chair (or chairs) of the family that was never born. How much fuller our hearts and lives would be with them in it.  

Why a woman has an abortion is as personal as her own heartbeat. But surely only a very few made the choice without torment and despair. Did she see no way to support her baby? Did she have to hide her baby’s coming from her parents or boyfriend? Or did they pressure her into having an abortion? Was she too ashamed to find another way so her baby could live? Did her husband drive her to the clinic so she could abort their child? It’s never a simple medical procedure, no matter what she’s been told. She’ll never forget the smell of the disinfectant or that the nurses laughed at shared jokes. She’ll remember the sounds of the machines they used and how cold she was, trembling under the thin, blue sheet.  

How many times over the rest of her life is she haunted by that day? Is there a single week that she doesn’t remember it and think of the life that once lived inside her? I don’t believe that most women “celebrate” their abortions, like some on the other side try to do. I believe they remember their babies. I believe they love the baby that wasn’t born. I believe that love is how they hold themselves together on those nights they can’t sleep and they try to imagine what their child would look like and what their baby would sound like when it laughed. I believe the wound of their abortion never fully heals.  

But we can help. We can try and understand that there are situations leading up to every abortion that we don’t know about. We can’t know their struggle. So we’re called to be merciful as our heavenly Father is merciful (Luke 6:36). Being pro-life also means being pro-mercy. Listen to her story and show her the same acceptance and encouragement that you’d want to be shown. Honor her suffering. Offer her a chance to feel loved and not judged. Pray with her. Help her to find the help that she needs. Rachel’s Vineyard is a post-abortion healing outreach that offers women a path to recovery (1-877-HOPE-4-ME). These women are our daughters, our sisters, our cousins, our co-workers and our friends. They’re not statistics. Their tears are our tears. 

“Thus says the Lord: In Ramah is heard the sound of moaning, of bitter weeping! Rachel mourns her children, she refuses to be consoled because her children are no more. Thus says the Lord: Cease your cries of mourning, wipe the tears from your eyes. The sorrow you have shown shall have its reward, says the Lord. There is hope for your future!” 

         —Jeremiah 31:15-17 

Sweet Silence

  
You might think I’m a little crazy for saying this, but here goes: I can’t wait for Lent to get here. It’s late in coming this year because Easter is late as well. We already have daffodils blooming this week, but we won’t begin Lent until March 1, which is Ash Wednesday. There’s something appropriate about Lent in late winter, when it’s still cold and icy and nothing seems to point to spring. Lots of folks experience Lent as a time of deprival and withdrawal, which goes along with those dreary winter days. But this year things will be different, at least here in the South. It looks like we’ll be making our Lenten journey wearing flip-flops.

And maybe that’s what we need this year. Maybe we need a Lent that seems a little less of a forced march and a little more like a walk in the garden. I think we deserve it after the last few months we’ve had, don’t you? This year, I’m seeking silence. I want and need time to shut out all the noise of the world and rest. I need interior silence; silence of the heart. I’ll be making some changes to insure that I get that silence, too. More unscheduled time, less online time. More prayer time, less social time. More alone time, less “busy-ness.”

There’s a wonderful quote by St. Augustine (354-430 AD) that helps me keep my focus each Lent: “God means to fill each of you with what is good, so cast out what is bad! If He wishes to fill you with honey and you are full of sour wine, where is the honey to go? The vessel must be emptied of its contents and then cleansed.” Each Lent we’re tasked with examining our hearts, and our lives in order to seek out that “sour wine” which is keeping us from receiving the fullness of God’s grace. That’s why some people give up their attachments to favorite foods or drinks or other distractions from God. They hope to use these little sacrifices as a way of decluttering their lives.  

For me, the surest way I know to hear the voice of the Lord is to spend time in silence. These days, that’s so very difficult. It’s easy enough to turn off the television but harder to disconnect from the phone and the computer. Even more difficult is finding the quiet inside our hearts, which can be pulled in so many ways by the demands of family, work and our other commitments. Cardinal Robert Sarah calls these “the dictatorship of noise.” Our modern lives are often ruled by the chatter of media and we rarely allow ourselves to be immersed in solitude and quiet. Unless we enter into that interior silence the whisper of God’s voice is too-often lost in all that background noise. That’s the gift of Lent—a season given to us each year which invites us to slow down, take time, turn off, and listen.

Lent is coming and I pray that my journey to Easter will be like those warm, quiet afternoon walks that Adam and Eve shared with our Lord in the Garden. I need to spend time in silence with God, to pare down everything in my life that distracts me from Him. My vessel has become full of sour wine and I long for the honey of His consolation and friendship. I pray that everyone reading this will embrace the gift of this Lenten season and make the time to walk in silence with the Lord. Springtime is here and your flip-flops are waiting. Don’t miss it!

“The greatest difficulty of modern man is to search for God in silence.”

     —-Cardinal Robert Sarah 

Negative Spirits

  
They’d saved for years to build their dream house and were finally moving in on a warm fall day. She was in love with their custom kitchen and he was looking forward to enjoying football season in his big “man cave” downstairs. As they settled down to spend their first night, though, something was wrong. That big screen television downstairs was on, blaring so loudly they could hear it two floors away. Shaking his head, he made his way to the basement to turn it off. Had he left it on, he though to himself. He couldn’t remember. But when he got downstairs, he discovered a much larger problem than he was expecting. Sure enough, the television was on with the volume set on high. The bigger problem? The TV wasn’t plugged in.

He saw the plug and the cord curled there on the shelf. He inspected it and looked at the back of the TV. He used the remote to turn down the volume and then, turned the set off. The sound stopped and the screen went black. He went back to bed without saying anything to his wife. He wasn’t sure what he’d have told her anyway. But it didn’t matter because just as he got into bed, they both heard the TV come on again downstairs. There’s a lot more to this story, but I won’t share it here. Let’s just say that the problem they had in their new house were eventually resolved with the help of a Catholic priest and continued prayers.  

Stories about strange or “other-worldly” experiences fascinate us. One look at what’s popular on television reveals how much many of us like watching zombies, vampires, witches, time travel, and magic. Ghosts are a discussion we might have have another day. What the couple above experienced in their new home wasn’t a ghost but a poltergeist. This is a manifestation of a spirit that, while perhaps not truly evil, serves to annoy people and cause disturbances that can be seen or heard by us, like a TV set that works without being plugged in. There’s no definitive Catholic teaching on much of what might be considered by popular culture to be paranormal. But, let’s face it, the Church is in the business of the supernatural. Until just a few years ago, we called one of the persons of the Blessed Trinity, the Holy “Ghost.” Church history is full of extraordinary miracles and Saints with amazing, out-of-this-world gifts and abilities.  

We have to remember that every spirit is subject to the power of God, Who created and sustains them. He gives us all that we need to confront and overcome any bothersome spirit, beginning with the Sacraments of His Church. Baptism, Confirmation and frequent Confession are the armor He provides us. The Holy Eucharist is Christ Himself, truly present. The prayers of the Church and the assistance of the angels and Saints also help us to dispel any bad spirits around us. Blessed crucifixes and holy water are powerful sacramentals against evil. And anyone who has seen a scary movie knows that when you really need the big guns, you call in a Catholic priest. They’re armed with prayers that work against all kinds of nasty spirits. And I can never understand why folks wait so long to contact a priest in these situations. A favorite Catholic prayer for protection from all manner of evil is this one:

St. Michael the Archangel, 

defend us in battle.

Be our defense against the wickedness and snares of the devil.

May God rebuke him, we humbly pray,

and do thou,

O Prince of the heavenly hosts,

by the power of God,

thrust into hell Satan

and all the evil spirits,

who prowl about the world,

seeking the ruin of souls.

          —-Amen.

Remember that God’s love and protection will surround and uphold us whenever we ask for His assistance.  

That Glass of Water 

  
I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not the best at recycling. I do great with paper and glass and aluminum cans. But I occasionally forget my canvas bags at the grocery store and I’m usually pretty confused with all the different kinds of plastics. So I cheat. And since reading that we ship most of our plastics to China via diesel-powered container ships, I’ve stopped feeling so guilty about that part of it anyway. But one thing that I’m very passionate about preserving and protecting is water.

It’s not necessarily because I’m a country girl who grew up seeing how important clean water is for crops and animals. That’s important, sure. But it was during a retreat week about 20 years ago that everything I thought I knew about water was radically changed for me. The priest who was leading the retreat was also a professor of chemistry and he explained a lot of spiritual truths with science examples. Without getting too technical (and because I’m not very technical anyway) let’s start with Creation. When God made the earth and the seas, He made all the water that there ever has been. And since then, all that water since Creation has been recycled over and over again through rain, evaporation, snow, steam, freezing and thawing, etc. over and over again. Yes, some small amounts of the hydrogen and oxygen that make up water may have been sidelined into other matter, but for the most part, the water that God created is still the water we see in our rivers and oceans, in the snow and ice on the mountains and in the glaciers and even in the ice cubes in our soft drinks.  

So imagine you’re standing on the bank of the Jordan River and you watch as Jesus allows His cousin, John the Baptist, to baptize Him in the flowing water. As the Jordan River moves past Jesus, it’s forever changed, forever transformed by the presence of Christ within it. As it flows into the Sea of Galilee, it changes it forever, too. Finally, the water that touched Jesus flows into the Dead Sea. With no outlet, its waters escape by evaporation, rising as water vapor into clouds and eventually falling as rain somewhere else. Since that day at the Jordan, the water transformed forever by the touch of Christ has been raindrops and snowflakes and clouds, all over the world, many times. For me, Jesus’ baptism sanctified all our water, in all its forms.  

Certainly the Lord used the things of the earth to teach, to heal, and to draw us to Himself. Most especially, He uses wine and bread to become His Body, Blood, Soul and Divinity in the Holy Eucharist. While that glass of water in your hand isn’t a Sacrament, for me, it’s still a holy reminder of Jesus’ presence in the world, and in my life. He is present, not just in prayer, or in Church, but as intimately close to us as the air that we breathe and the water that we drink. One of my favorite Saints, St. Catherine of Siena, said it this way: “God is closer to us than water is to a fish.” What a wonderful image of our loving Father! He surrounds and supports us as the Giver and Sustainer of our lives, at every moment.  

I’ll forever be grateful for that retreat so many years ago. It made me look at the natural world differently, with more reverence and more gratitude. Jesus left His throne in heaven to live here with us, to grow up in a human family, to love His human friends, and to make us His children through His death and resurrection. I’m grateful that a simple glass of water can remind me of His nearness and love. 

“If God spoke creation into existence, should we be surprised when creation speaks back to us about God?”

           —–Margaret Feinberg 

Christ Crucified

  
High above the altar in our parish church is a near life-size Crucifix. Jesus Christ is portrayed in the full agony of His suffering on the Holy Cross. His bruised and beaten Body is dripping blood from all the wounds He endured. His face is contorted in pain. Anyone who sees our Crucifix confronts the suffering and death of Jesus. For some, it is repellant–too bloody, too awful to look at. Others gaze upon Him almost in a rapture of adoration, losing themselves in Christ’s complete offering of Himself for our salvation. No matter how you approach the Crucifix, any Crucifix, you’re confronted with the reality of what Jesus did for us on that hill outside Jerusalem.  

The Passion of Christ wasn’t an intellectual experiment. It wasn’t some kind of mental mind game that God employed to reason us into salvation. It wasn’t a parable or a mere story to be told to the grandkids. This wasn’t a philosophical exercise that the Lord presented to us as a starting-point for debate or research. The Passion was bloody and dirty and horribly cruel. It was a real man, in the prime of His life, arrested and beaten almost to death before being nailed to the Cross. He endured hours of mortal agony, offering no resistance, asking that His Father forgive the men who were killing Him. He poured His life out, literally, unto the last drop, out of love for you and me.  

That’s what I see when I see our Crucifix. Yes, it’s bloody. Yes, it’s even offensive. It’s a shocking thing to see in a Church. And that’s what makes it so perfect. The Crucifixion is shocking and blood and offensive. And without it life is meaningless and without hope. There are lots of folks who never contemplate the Crucifixion or the love of our God Who died to give us life. All we have to do is look around us, or read the news, to see a world blind to Calvary. We see the enemy gathering its forces in cities and countries around the world, and even in our own country. We see innocent people killed for their belief in Christ. This has happened before in the history of our world and we know what to do. “…we preach Christ crucified”(I Corinthians 1:23).  

Christ crucified. When I look at our Crucifix I see His love and sacrifice for me. I see His mercy in forgiving His tormentors. I see His humble submission to His Father’s will. I see the complete commitment of a life to love and service. In the Crucifix, I see Love holding nothing back. Spending time before the Crucifix is time at the foot of the Cross, in prayer with my Savior.  

My protestant friends often have a bare Cross in their churches, and we share in a love for it, too. But the Cross didn’t save me—–Jesus crucified on the Cross saves me. That sacred presence of His Body sanctifies the wood of the tree. Without His Passion, the Cross is just another cruel Roman tool of death. When I see a Crucifix, I see hope for the world. I see mercy for the sinner, love for the forgotten, healing for the wounded. And joy for those who mourn. I see the courage that I need to share His love with a broken world. I see our only Way, our only Truth, our only Life. No political leader, no secular philosophy, no economic regime can bring us the peace we all crave. Only Christ crucified is the answer to every question and the solution to every problem the world will ever have.  

How beautiful it is to stand before the Crucifix simply to be under the Lord’s gaze, so full of love.”

                    —-Pope Francis 

Cast Your Net

  
At the end of the day, we should ask ourselves, “How did I draw others to Christ this day?” We can have all kinds of good intentions, but we know where good intentions can often lead. Folks don’t know our intentions, they only know our words and our actions. So maybe the question should be,”What did I say and do today to draw others to Christ?”

Well, if you walked around with your head down staring at your phone, chances are you didn’t do a whole lot of leading by example. How many opportunities to help, to show kindness, to be merciful, or to offer hope do we lose because we’re so involved in responding to those little glowing screens in our hands? I do this way too often, especially as a way of “killing time” while I’m waiting in a line, waiting in a doctor’s office, or even as a way of not engaging with the people around me. I’m being self-centered and proud—-hardly an example of a joyful disciple of Christ. 

In order to reveal our Savior to another person, we have to be open to engage with them. This seems incredibly obvious, but so many times we don’t do it. Look people in the eyes. The cashier at the supermarket. The bank teller. Your spouse. Your child. Listen to them. Don’t just mentally prepare what you plan to say in response once they’re stopped talking. Really listen to their words and the meaning behind them. You may hear something you weren’t expecting. Ask questions. Be patient. Don’t feel that you have to make small talk to fill in any silences. Sometimes silence is very important. Connecting with another person in that way can be the first step in sharing the love of Jesus. 

Joy. That’s right, joy. If there’s one thing that should distinguish a Christian from an unbeliever, it’s that we live our lives with joy. Everyone can be happy in the good times, but I’m talking about being joyful even in the worst of times. Joy comes from the gift of faith and the Holy Spirit. Joy is the deep and abiding assurance of the love of Jesus Christ. I love the story of St. Lawrence as an example of Christian joy. He was a deacon in 3rd century Rome, during some of the worst times of Christian persecution. He distributed alms to the poor, which won him the anger of the Empire. As punishment, he was strapped to a grate over a raging fire. After he had been burned alive for a time, he told his torturers, “You can turn me over now—I think I’m done on that side!” Now that’s joy—an enduring happiness which grows in relationship with Jesus.  

If you faithfully engage with the people your meet every day and you listen to them and reflect back the joy of Christ, you can be assured that your life will bear the light of Christ to others. You don’t have to be a professional preacher or write inspirational books or teach Sunday School. Just be who God made you to be and live each day in the hope of the Cross. God will set people in your path that are hungry to have what you have to know the One Who gave it to you.

“Joy is a net of love by which we catch souls.”

       —-St. Mother Teresa 

The Thin Veil

  
My mother suffered a series of strokes before her death several years ago. Already enduring a second bout with cancer, she was spending much of her days watching television news, which had become a favorite activity during her long illness. But after that initial stroke, she didn’t so much watch the television as watch a spot on the wall about 2 feet above the screen. This would go on for hours. She would smile and nod as if she agreed with whatever it was she saw there, but since she couldn’t speak, we were never able to find out what that was. We all long to know what we’ll experience once we die. The veil which separates our earthly life from the one to come seems thin at times. We love those stories about near-death experiences. The Church teaches us that after we die we experience a personal judgement before God. But what will that be like? Who will we see? Will we recognize our loved ones there?

Steve Jobs was raised by his adoptive parents in a home without much religion. He studied Buddhism for a bit, but he also described himself as an atheist, or an agnostic. Yet, when he died in 2011, his wife provided him with a Christian funeral. We might not know what he believed, but we know that his family revealed his last words to be: “Oh, wow. Oh, wow. Oh, wow!” What was he seeing? Who was he seeing? He seemed impressed, and a bit awed.  

We’ve all heard the story of the country doctor making a house call to one of his patients. The doctor always took his dog with him on these visits, and his pet would sit patiently outside the door. That day, the dying man asked his doctor if he knew what death was like. In answer, the doctor opened the door and his dog gleefully bounded into the room. “You see this dog?” asked the doctor. “He didn’t have any idea what was on the other side of this door. All he knew was that his master was in here waiting for him. And that was enough.” For a more poetic insight, J.R.R. Tolkien has the wizard Gandalf describe death like this: “The grey rain curtain of this world rolls back, and all turns silver glass…and then you see it. White shores. And beyond…a far green country under a swift sunrise.” To me, those are both beautiful images.  

The Church also teaches us that it’s prudent to meditate on death. We look at our life in relation to its ending and we take things like sin and repentance more seriously. Sin has eternal consequences, and life is so precious and brief. One of my favorite authors, Pat Conroy died this past spring and he reflected on how short our sojourn is on this earth. “Why do they not teach you that time is a finger snap and an eye blink and that you should not allow a moment to pass you by without taking joyous, ecstatic note of it, not wasting a single moment of its swift, breakneck circuit?” Indeed. We’re too often distracted by distractions, and we look up and another year has passed us by.  

I found this reflection which I think beautifully illustrates both the mystery and the joy of passing into eternity. I hope you’ll enjoy it here in the beginning of another new year:

And this is the consolation—that the world doesn’t end, that the world one day opens up into something better, and that we one day open up into something far better. Maybe like this: one morning you finally wake to a light you recognize as the light you’ve wanted every morning that has come before. And the air itself has some light thing in it that you’ve always hoped the light might have. And One is there to welcome you whose face you’ve looked for during all the best and all the worst times of your life. He takes you to Himself and holds you close until you fully wake. And it seems you’ve only just awakened, but you turn and there we are, the rest of us, arriving just behind you. We’ll go the rest of the way together.” 

         —-Scott Cairns 

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