I've been reading Gilead, by Marilynne Robinson, and yesterday I came upon a fascinating diatribe from the narrator about the Ten Commandments, particularly "honor thy mother and father". I couldn't copy and paste from the text, and it's a lot to type, so to read what I'm talking about, click the link below, then click on the book cover and search inside the book for "ten commandments." It'll take you to the first page of the diatribe. Great fodder for thought, especially the passage about the ways the commandments have been misused in the past (i.e., to justify slavery).
Monday, April 27, 2009
Dissecting the Ten Commandments
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Under the Tuscan Moon
I just wanted to share with everyone my excitement about tomorrow's spring event at Oliva on The Hill, which we're calling Under the Tuscan Moon (7-10:00). There are currently 96 people signed up to attend, so we're expecting quite a crowd. The weather is supposed to be beautiful, and I plan on spending my time in the courtyard area.
If you're interested in coming, contact David Montgomery as soon as possible at montgomery@washucsc.org or 314-935-9191 ext. 224. Tickets are $50. I hope to see you there!
(Also, a special thanks to Catering St. Louis for sponsoring this event.)
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Rethinking Boredom
Do you think you feel bored? How do you experience your everyday Christianity?
The other day I was bored studying, so I started looking up words in the Oxford English Dictionary... and I found that the words "bored" and "boredom" were only used for the first time in 1852 in a Charles Dickens novel. This fascinated me because most words have very, very long histories going back to the 11th or 12th century. Why is "boredom" such a recent concept? Did people before then have the same feelings of the commonplace, but assume they were the norm rather than something to be described? Or did they feel the commonplace, but see it as neutral or even positive?
When I am doing something and it strikes me that I am bored doing it, suddenly I am less content in it. The concept does not describe, but rather creates a sense of dissatisfaction and impatience. I suddenly worry that I am missing something, that life is supposed to be more exciting, and that I'm supposed to have something in addition going on. But until that moment, I am actually quite happy and absorbed studying, cleaning, cooking, daydreaming or whatever.
Perhaps the newness of the term shows us that we don't have to frame the commonplace as a necessarily negative experience; it's not a given inherent in human experience, but rather an association of just the last hundred years.
What does this mean for our spiritual lives? Although it's good to be striving for holiness, maybe we don't have to freak out and doubt ourselves if there's not much happening at the moment. This past year and a half has been a great one for me as I've learned more about the Catholic faith, started spiritual direction, gone through RCIA, spent the summer with the Carmelites, helped with the Awakening retreat, sponsored in RCIA, etc. My mind has been expanding at a crazy rate and I know the Holy Spirit is in all of this and will be in it in the future.
But I surprised myself the other evening when I was reading about a saint and I suddenly worried that I was bored with it. For some reason, St. Therese just wasn't very interesting at the moment and I didn't even feel in the mood to read about any other saint, either. And I was concerned because this was negative lack, right? What if I was no longer on the edge, no longer on the ever-expanding horizon? What was wrong with me?
I don't know exactly what to make of this, but maybe it's just a moment or just a shift with no crisis attached. Experiencing feelings of the commonplace doesn't have to be framed as "boredom" which is a new term that unfortunately indexes existential negativity.
Maybe Therese will be more interesting tomorrow. Or maybe my new horizon isn't in the lives of the saints but rather in something else the church has to offer. Or maybe God just wants me to be content in the moment. In any case, I'll never say I'm bored, and then I won't be!
The other day I was bored studying, so I started looking up words in the Oxford English Dictionary... and I found that the words "bored" and "boredom" were only used for the first time in 1852 in a Charles Dickens novel. This fascinated me because most words have very, very long histories going back to the 11th or 12th century. Why is "boredom" such a recent concept? Did people before then have the same feelings of the commonplace, but assume they were the norm rather than something to be described? Or did they feel the commonplace, but see it as neutral or even positive?
When I am doing something and it strikes me that I am bored doing it, suddenly I am less content in it. The concept does not describe, but rather creates a sense of dissatisfaction and impatience. I suddenly worry that I am missing something, that life is supposed to be more exciting, and that I'm supposed to have something in addition going on. But until that moment, I am actually quite happy and absorbed studying, cleaning, cooking, daydreaming or whatever.
Perhaps the newness of the term shows us that we don't have to frame the commonplace as a necessarily negative experience; it's not a given inherent in human experience, but rather an association of just the last hundred years.
What does this mean for our spiritual lives? Although it's good to be striving for holiness, maybe we don't have to freak out and doubt ourselves if there's not much happening at the moment. This past year and a half has been a great one for me as I've learned more about the Catholic faith, started spiritual direction, gone through RCIA, spent the summer with the Carmelites, helped with the Awakening retreat, sponsored in RCIA, etc. My mind has been expanding at a crazy rate and I know the Holy Spirit is in all of this and will be in it in the future.
But I surprised myself the other evening when I was reading about a saint and I suddenly worried that I was bored with it. For some reason, St. Therese just wasn't very interesting at the moment and I didn't even feel in the mood to read about any other saint, either. And I was concerned because this was negative lack, right? What if I was no longer on the edge, no longer on the ever-expanding horizon? What was wrong with me?
I don't know exactly what to make of this, but maybe it's just a moment or just a shift with no crisis attached. Experiencing feelings of the commonplace doesn't have to be framed as "boredom" which is a new term that unfortunately indexes existential negativity.
Maybe Therese will be more interesting tomorrow. Or maybe my new horizon isn't in the lives of the saints but rather in something else the church has to offer. Or maybe God just wants me to be content in the moment. In any case, I'll never say I'm bored, and then I won't be!
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Clumsy
It's funny.
I mean it's the peculiar and interesting type of funny funny... and the powerful silence gripping it, grips you. The Grace bluntly revealed by it is quite satisfying to the soul, but clumsy.
Usually it happens as unexpected as a bolt of lightning and equally as startling. It ushers a silence that presses its presence upon you and crushes your will to disturb it. It's peculiar how simply silence establishes its authority with it while re-establishing the authority of the spoken word by virtue of its absence.
It's a delicate, strangely elegant moment with a sharp temptation to say something but... silence says it best. It's clumsy and humbling how Grace gets revealed, shared yet still remains hidden in its silence.
It's interesting how so many dire things become, at this moment, frivolous and inconsequential. Whatever was so pressing, important or unsuitable becomes oddly, irrelevant.
It happened the other day when a friend told a story that took place a long time ago, though time had little affect on him. The story brought to life the clouds that carried the rain which warned of the thunder that echoed the lightning which shattered the silence... and revealed it in a profoundly Graceful way.
Who would have thought seeing a grown man cry could be such a wondrous thing.
Funny.
It's funny.
I mean it's the peculiar and interesting type of funny funny... and the powerful silence gripping it, grips you. The Grace bluntly revealed by it is quite satisfying to the soul, but clumsy.
Usually it happens as unexpected as a bolt of lightning and equally as startling. It ushers a silence that presses its presence upon you and crushes your will to disturb it. It's peculiar how simply silence establishes its authority with it while re-establishing the authority of the spoken word by virtue of its absence.
It's a delicate, strangely elegant moment with a sharp temptation to say something but... silence says it best. It's clumsy and humbling how Grace gets revealed, shared yet still remains hidden in its silence.
It's interesting how so many dire things become, at this moment, frivolous and inconsequential. Whatever was so pressing, important or unsuitable becomes oddly, irrelevant.
It happened the other day when a friend told a story that took place a long time ago, though time had little affect on him. The story brought to life the clouds that carried the rain which warned of the thunder that echoed the lightning which shattered the silence... and revealed it in a profoundly Graceful way.
Who would have thought seeing a grown man cry could be such a wondrous thing.
Funny.
Monday, April 13, 2009
The Good News
Don't you love it when there's good news but no bad news? This is one of those days.
Thanks to the generosity of all of you who were inspired by our matched collection this Easter, the total collection (pre-match) from this past Easter was $54,401.18. Let me repeat.
$54,401.18
You all are amazing! Thank you so much for your generosity!
(This post was updated on Wednesday, April 15.)
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Stripped
Naked He stood stripped on the cold marble floor of Pilate's Praetorium. Surrounded, a garrison of soldiers mocked, spat and crowned Him with thorns. "Crucify Him, Crucify Him!" echoed into the chamber.
Alone, Jesus' heart had to have been racing and chest heaving. Refusing to deny who He was, Jesus responded to His accusers final temptations with silence. (A peek into the third beatitude: meek)
These austere circumstances are revealing. Through this gauntlet, with only faith, trust and love, Jesus carved the eye of a needle He needed to pass through to enter His Kingdom and our Salvation.
Maybe this final stripping of Jesus shows God knows how painful it can be as the world strips its assets, our idols, back from us (think stock market, etc.). And Jesus' path will be the one we take into His Kingdom. The world inevitably disappoints and betrays, leaving you rejected and alone. And that's the good news!
The intent is never suffering for suffering sake.
On the other side, God's peace awaits... the one that surpasses understanding, un-burdens, un-worries, and makes life worth living. It's the peace that teaches you to love in spite of, during and even because of suffering.
Redeemed, there's a thrill of hope and a weary soul rejoices. Nothing of this world will give it to you; and nothing can take it away. Not even a garrison of soldiers.
Naked He stood stripped on the cold marble floor of Pilate's Praetorium. Surrounded, a garrison of soldiers mocked, spat and crowned Him with thorns. "Crucify Him, Crucify Him!" echoed into the chamber.
Alone, Jesus' heart had to have been racing and chest heaving. Refusing to deny who He was, Jesus responded to His accusers final temptations with silence. (A peek into the third beatitude: meek)
These austere circumstances are revealing. Through this gauntlet, with only faith, trust and love, Jesus carved the eye of a needle He needed to pass through to enter His Kingdom and our Salvation.
Maybe this final stripping of Jesus shows God knows how painful it can be as the world strips its assets, our idols, back from us (think stock market, etc.). And Jesus' path will be the one we take into His Kingdom. The world inevitably disappoints and betrays, leaving you rejected and alone. And that's the good news!
The intent is never suffering for suffering sake.
On the other side, God's peace awaits... the one that surpasses understanding, un-burdens, un-worries, and makes life worth living. It's the peace that teaches you to love in spite of, during and even because of suffering.
Redeemed, there's a thrill of hope and a weary soul rejoices. Nothing of this world will give it to you; and nothing can take it away. Not even a garrison of soldiers.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Saints and Smiles
Catholic religious art is so great, especially with a sense of humor!
Credits go to www.lolsaints.com for great images of the saints we love so much.
The kingdom of heaven... and what's the other one for?
The Feast of the Annunciation:
Blessing of the animals:
Lord of the Dance: Holy fashion:
The original gansta:
Credits go to www.lolsaints.com for great images of the saints we love so much.
The kingdom of heaven... and what's the other one for?
The Feast of the Annunciation:
Blessing of the animals:
Lord of the Dance: Holy fashion:
The original gansta:
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
The Zoo at Mass
Just thought I'd share a funny story about this past weekend's mass from my personal blog.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Pierced
SilenceHoldsRevealsConcealsEverything.
Confided
Within
Silence
Is
Grace.
The clanging bell tolls with a hollow cowbell sound and like cattle we are summoned to the trough. Overflowing with milk and honey, enough never satisfies, we starve. Victimized by the trillionth promise of safety the world conjures up, we covet. Like Pavlov's dog expecting satisfaction, we drool.
The noise and commotion,
Clatter and clamor
Empty desire and blind ambition
Pulverize silence like a bloody jackhammer.
Blotted transgressions masquerading as grievances and regrets, dreams smolder as the body gets older and vain hopes of the promise of something extra... silence amidst this violence seems preposterous.
Children of Grace, heirs to inheritance
Your prayers have been heard for Holy Innocence.
Faithful to the Solemn Pact
Silence knows its time to act.
The sheer magnitude of silence dwarfs violence and the Grace confided within exposes its folly. Listen.
The church bells ring!
Extolling The Exemption.
The Angels sing!
Of the prodigal's redemption.
Knowing innocence reestablishes our trust in silence, Innocence did. That's when Innocence in Silence absorbed the violence, absolved and then transformed it.
Glory the day when Silence shouted
The violent winds, Grace re-routed.
Laying bare a Love so fierce
Willingly hung Innocence Pierced
SilenceHoldsRevealsConcealsEverything.
Confided
Within
Silence
Is
Grace.
The clanging bell tolls with a hollow cowbell sound and like cattle we are summoned to the trough. Overflowing with milk and honey, enough never satisfies, we starve. Victimized by the trillionth promise of safety the world conjures up, we covet. Like Pavlov's dog expecting satisfaction, we drool.
The noise and commotion,
Clatter and clamor
Empty desire and blind ambition
Pulverize silence like a bloody jackhammer.
Blotted transgressions masquerading as grievances and regrets, dreams smolder as the body gets older and vain hopes of the promise of something extra... silence amidst this violence seems preposterous.
Children of Grace, heirs to inheritance
Your prayers have been heard for Holy Innocence.
Faithful to the Solemn Pact
Silence knows its time to act.
The sheer magnitude of silence dwarfs violence and the Grace confided within exposes its folly. Listen.
The church bells ring!
Extolling The Exemption.
The Angels sing!
Of the prodigal's redemption.
Knowing innocence reestablishes our trust in silence, Innocence did. That's when Innocence in Silence absorbed the violence, absolved and then transformed it.
Glory the day when Silence shouted
The violent winds, Grace re-routed.
Laying bare a Love so fierce
Willingly hung Innocence Pierced
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