Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Question of the Day
Sunday, January 25, 2009
The Dawn From on High Shall Break Upon Us
Last semester, I attended a lecture on God in which the speaker discussed the Hebrew term 'El Shaddai." She translated it to mean 'that which is more than enough," and emphasized that God is abundance and generosity; God does not merely suffice, but overflows. It was a beautiful and memorable talk, but sometimes I recall it and find it difficult to see how that truth resonates with lived or observed experience.
I know this is simply part of being a human with limited understanding, but sometimes I cannot understand how God can offer so much and yet leave so much unfulfilled:
You believe in a God who protects, and somebody you love gets hurt.
You believe in a God whose Spirit gives fortitude, and you feel yourself getting more and more weary.
You believe in a God who is light of the nations, and you see societies polarize in the darkness of extremism.
You believe in a God who calls, and it seems to you that God won't lift a pinkie finger to help you answer.
Today, a friend from South Carolina called me to chat because her father is dying of cancer and the unfathomable nature of God was getting hard to take. Both my friend and her dad have been hoping that he would make it at least through the summer, since she's planning to enter a religious order and he really wanted to be there to proudly see her take that step. But it doesn't look as though her dad is going to live that long. There's so much grief on so many levels, and so for my friend right now, it's harder than usual to make sense of this world when we believe and know that God is good.
So, what do we do when God doesn't seem to suffice, let alone be 'that which is more than enough'? I really don't know, but tonight a few lines from the Canticle of Zachariah, Luke 1:68-79, struck me as particularly nuanced in their optimism:
In the tender compassion of our God
the dawn from on high shall break upon us,
to shine on those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death,
to guide our feet into the way of peace.
Zachariah was looking forward to the births of John the Baptist and Jesus Christ, but I think the words are still relevant to a world which yearns to be more completely and wholly drawn into God. Thus the use of verb tenses is incredibly important for us in this waiting world. The gospel maintains that a dawn exists, but this is a dawn which is yet to be completed in the reigning kingdom; we are still looking forward to the time when it shall break upon us from on high. The gospel deems us the recipients of compassion, but recognizes that we currently "dwell in darkness" and are not fully awake to this compassion though it is genuine and constant. The gospel proclaims an eternal peace, but understands that we are limited,not yet fully experiencing it, and that we must be led toward it. This is a Wisdom which is highly aware of its own illusiveness for us.
I realize that this reading does not directly address that painful and awkward sense that God might not be 'living up' to all that we think he should. Rather, it rephrases the conundrum in terms of our temporal awareness instead of God's reliability, which is probably a good and healthy shift to make. If God is indeed essentially "more than enough," then it is simply the incompleteness inherent in our current lives which leads us to feel that something is not sufficing. Of course we're not content... our souls are meant for that dawn and eternal union with God, so nothing else is ever going to fill that yearning for Wisdom. When we think to ourselves that this life doesn't make sense, we implicitly pay homage to the truth that life should and will be fulfilled in the glory of God. And hopefully, the knowledge of God's compassion for us in our state of limited perception will make our confusions a little more comfortable to move through.
I think I am beginning to get too theoretical, so I had better stop writing and go to bed. Please pray for all those who are experiencing loss or having trouble understanding the patterns of God in life, especially my friend and her father; for although we choose to trust in God's overflowing goodness, it doesn't make the painful things stop hurting.
Since we know that the dawn from on high shall break upon us: May the all-powerful Lord grant us a restful night and a peaceful death. Amen.
~Stephanie Clare
A Beginner's Blog
Life at the Limen
Jamey’s excellent post below got me thinking. Saying goodbye is one of my least favorite things to do—perhaps because I don’t think I’m very good at it—and for those around the CSC bracing to make their own goodbyes, I feel your pain.
I was lucky to have a similarly strong faith community where I went to school in Chicago. Much like at the CSC, Sunday night Mass at Madonna della Strada was an event, the pinnacle of the week ahead. For my group of friends, Madonna della Strada—in Italian, “Our Lady of the Road”—became synonymous with the unity and support we felt together alongside our own treks. In the days after the pomp of the graduation ceremonies had died down, one by one these people packed up and left. By the time I said my last goodbyes, I was surprised to discover just how deep my well of tears dipped down.
Jamey suggested trusting your gut and having faith in yourself when making those big decisions which lead you to make those goodbyes. I’d echo that. But above all, you have to trust in the healing and clarifying power of time. Things might not start out easy.
I trusted my gut, turned down a job with Teach for America that would have sent me deep to the soul and blues of the Mississippi Delta, and went back to Chicago, unsure where that first paycheck would come from. Staying around town and finding most people I was closest to spread around the world, I felt a distinct difference when I’d go to Mass at Madonna—if I’d go to Mass at all. The absence of my peers suddenly made the chapel feel significantly less welcoming than it ever had before.
That year, I jumped around to a few jobs—none of which factored in to what seems to be my career path—but as I struggled, that year I learned more about me, and how to find instances of happiness amidst serious personal doubts, than I probably ever have in any other single year. That year, I aligned myself much better with a sense of who I was. Separated from this community that had helped me for so long, I was forced to take the training wheels off and go into my own solitude to realize that what I most wanted next was what was on my heart all along. College had continued seeing me formed and fashioned, and it just took me a little separation to realize that.
Jamey’s right. These first jobs after college will profoundly influence your future. Just not in the way you might expect. Post-graduation life is difficult; there’s no denying that. But go ahead and take a few chances. Take a job that will challenge you, engage you, and force you to step outside of yourself—even if it’s something you’ll only do for six months or a year, and never again. The lessons waiting for you there are vast and just as important as what you learned in the lecture halls and laboratories. If you don't feel challenged or engaged, odds are you're barking up the wrong tree.
One caveat: truly do make the most of the time you have remaining. Don’t wake up in six months and carry regrets about things you wanted to do. Let the friends and people you love know how much they mean to you. This is a special time in your life that you’ll look back on with soft eyes and a warm heart. And even if it hurts, trust your gut and live each moment for what it is—a beautiful, sometimes painful and awkward, but always instructive and life-giving, expression of the gift of life that God has given us.
Friday, January 23, 2009
Faith in Business: It's Not Too Late
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Par. #22 Christ the New Man
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Lots of Walking to Do
This morning, a second-grader taught me about the apostleship and the ways in which symbolism can become too easy and too vague. The second grade at St. Ambrose is supposed to be memorizing the names of the 12 apostles for this upcoming Friday, and one of their projects today was cutting out paper fish shapes and writing a disciple's name on each colored fish. The teacher had me go around the room and help each student thread their fish onto a piece of yard so they could have the whole catch on a string. It was a really cute project about the 'fishers of men' and the students did a very good job cutting and labelling.
One little boy named Cameron, however, had some very unusual looking fish on his desk. Instead of the simple oval-with-a-tail model, his apostle-fish had multiple extra appendages attached all over them. When I came up to string the fish, Cameron's desk neighbors pointed to his odd-looking fish and told me I should cut off all the extra stuff because he didn't do it right. I assured Cameron that he had done a fine job and that I was not going to cut anything off his fish, but I couldn't help wondering what these amoeba-like creatures were supposed to be. Thinking that Cameron must have had some creepy deep- sea creatures in mind, I asked if there was a reason he had decided to add tentacles to the apostles.
"No, they're not tentacles!" Cameron explained. "They're legs. Peter and Andrew had lots of walking and talking to do."
It was a delightful moment, and I thought it was very insightful of Camerion to realize that fish bodies weren't going to be adequate for all that the followers of Christ needed to do. After all, they were called out of the water and away from their boats to engage people in a new way. If we were going to make these holy people into fish for symbolism, then of course the fish needed feet! Being an apostle was the opposite of sitting in a pond breathing bubbles. The word meant 'someone sent out' or 'messenger' and Cameron had given his cut-outs the tools necessary to be that. Those fish on his desk looked more than a little strange, but they made quite a bit of sense once I really thought about the essence of those early saints on the earth.
~Stephanie
Monday, January 19, 2009
Managing Faith: The Visibility of Giving
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Damocles' Sword
"Greek legend tells of Damocles, a poor courtier who envied the life of Emperor Dyonisius II of Syracuse. Damocles felt that the ruler was fortunate to have so much authority and power and flattered him excessively for what his prosperity. Then Dyonisus, noting the courtier's jealousy, offered to switch places with him so that he could taste that fortune first hand. Thinking himself quite privileged, Damocles agreed enthusiastically. In the evening a banquet was held, where Damocles reveled in wearing the royal robes and being waited upon like a king. Only at the end of the meal did he look up and notice a sharpened sword hanging by a single horsehair directly above his head. Suddenly seeing the entirety of the position, he lost his taste for rich foods on his plate and the power of his seat, and hurried away from the throne to return to a less precarious life."
What does it mean to live in a wealthy country, come from a supportive family, or attend a university? I don't think it means that God is waiting to drop a sword on me - that doesn't resonate with my understanding of a loving God - but I do think it means I would be a fool not to recognize that the luxurious banquet table is a precarious place. I would be a fool not to take every chance I get to hop off the throne and help someone who doesn't have a table spread with opportunities. Today somebody did that for me, and it was amazing to see a person take leave of her comfort when she could have so easily stayed situated.
This morning, I had to go to the Cardinal Rigali Center about seven miles south of here to take the 'Protecting God's Children' workshop that is required for anyone who wants to volunteer at a Catholic school. I don't have a car, so I biked there from my apartment, which normally wouldn't have been a problem except that it was so extremely cold today and I lost my mittens a few days ago. The temperature was hovering around zero this morning, and by the time I got to the Center, I was so cold that I was feeling really nauseous and my fingers felt like they were dying. Even at the end of the workshop, I was still so cold that I couldn't stop shaking and I sat there dreading the freezing ride back to campus.
But afterwards, the woman who'd given the workshop came up to me and offered to drive me back to wherever I needed to go. She must have seen me arrive by bike and felt sorry for me. In any case, I was very grateful and totally amazed that she would make such a generous offer. She worked at the Center and had no reason to drive north. She had a warm office. She could have stayed quite comfortably indoors and gotten her work done. But she kindly and generously left her banquet table of warmth to drive me and my bike back to Washington University. I was back in time for class, with all my fingers, too!
Perhaps this is what the Christian is supposed to do in Damocles' situation. We neither sit at our royal banquets reveling in the comfort, nor run away from the good things we have been given. But we can use what we have to help someone who is not wealthy in that particular way. People who have cars can help those who don't. People who benefit from good educations can help those who can't. People who were lucky enough to start life on top can lift up those who weren't.
"Much will be required of the person entrusted with much, and still more will be demanded of the person entrusted with more" (Luke: 12: 48).
~Stephanie
My Little Pineapple
Do you remember your All-Time Classic Heartbreak? Sure you do. Mine happened sometime in that interminably long and fuzzy part of my life between the times I walked across the stage at my college graduation and the moment I felt even a bit confident about the direction my life was taking. By the way: nowhere in my life manual do I remember reading that life in your 20s would be so confusing. Where's the self-help literature here?
One of the major redeeming factors in that interim, dark part in my life was a job I had working in a short-term day care at a posh athletic club in Lincoln Park, Chicago. Believe it or not, it wasn't the brown diapers or spit-up that most appealed to me (though, after leaving this job, I truly do believe I am now officially Mr. Mom-certified), but of course, it was the people that I met at the club that made the difference.
One particular difference-maker was a little fuzzy new pineapple named Jack. Jack and I bonded over the baby swinger, the bopper, and romping on the floor with the orange and blue plastic rings. Jack's mom also took to me, really helping make me feel welcome in her young family and reassuring me about my own future. Literally, I made a wonderful new friendship that helped pass me through the Chicago winter. But it wasn't until I connected the dots on Jack's birthday that I really had an ah-ha moment.
It was the very night of Jack’s birth, in a nearby part of Chicago on an otherwise typical and brutally cold December night, that my heart took its devastated u-turn. Just as Jack and his parents entered a world of their own firsts, I entered my time of beginnings.
To me, Jack represents the promise and amazing possibilities that accompany any change. The winter months weren’t easy, but as I grew closer to Jack and the other kids and staff at my job, I slowly uncovered a new path that would brighten my days, a path that would lead me to where I am today. A place that I feel pretty damn good about.
I'm starting to feel more and more confident that God's love is like this--only better. No matter what happens, no matter how badly we screw it up, God waits, and indeed wants, to hold and guide us. Now, on the nights when I lie awake and stare at the ceiling, too anxious to sleep, I try to recall the promise that last Sunday we heard once came crashing down from the skies over the River Jordan:
“You are my beloved Son; with you I am well pleased.”
Not a bad deal, if you ask me.
Brian G, clocking in
Introduction? I'm a teacher and campus minister at an all-boys high school, and I absolutely love my job, despite how much I grumble when I'm grading essays or, even worse, prefecting freshman lunch. I'm an American Catholic (thank you, Fr. Gary) who happened to land this sweet gig living at the Catholic Student Center over a Bud Light and a game of cornhole. Living in such close proximity to Forest Park is both a blessing (because I love to run) and a curse (because my excuses not to run carry much less weight). And: Virgo all the way.
Becca Veto and I are currently tied atop the RCIA perfect attendance list. I'm going to have to miss next week because of a retreat. I may or may not arrange to have Becca's soup poisoned at Mass and Soup. I don't like to lose.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Question of the Day
Managing Faith: The Saddest Company in the World
I was reading an article in a business magazine about an online dating service that runs on little to no overhead (fascinating) when I read a passage about some of this company's competitors. One particular company stood out. I had to read the premise of the company several times, because I literally couldn't believe my eyes.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
A Kite of a Soul
This afternoon has been extremely windy, and it made me wonder if perhaps being a soul is like holding onto a kite. The Catholic Encyclopedia says that the soul is "the ultimate internal principle by which we think, feel, and will, and by which our bodies are animated." What exactly does that mean? I don't know, but it seems to require a metaphor of movement, connectivity and sensitivity.
I think kite-flying is a very beautiful experience because it connects and involves you with movements that you otherwise could not feel. If you look up at the sky, it looks big, blue and static. But if you fly a kite in that sky, you suddenly feel the powerful pulls and pushes of the wind up there. The string tugs and dips, loosens and swoops, rises and lifts, and you become part of all that movement.
Maybe God gave us souls so that we can experience the movements beyond our normal awareness. Sometimes we are joyful in a deep, spiritual way that is more than surface-level happiness, and we can feel the wind pulling our kite-souls up by the heartstrings. Sometimes we feel restfully content and peaceful as our kite-souls drift and sway on a calm day. Sometimes we feel unsettled and anxious because difficult decisions are buffeting the kite-soul. Sometimes we feel like the world is falling apart when stormy weather seems determined to crash our kite-souls.
But no matter what is happening to the soul, it is good to acknowledge this essence and keep it flying. If we are souls, then we are constantly thinking, feeling, and willing our way to God - and that is something joyful.
The soul is the "ultimate internal principle by which we think, feel, and will, and by which our bodies are animated." I don't understand what being a soul is (and I'm not very familiar with Picasa or Microsoft Paint), but this is kind of what I imagine a kite-soul flying close to God would feel like:
~Stephanie