Behold, now is a very acceptable time

Lent started on Wednesday. 
I had prepared this really great post on the history of ashes to mark the start of the Lenten season.
And an argument on whether or not the use of ashes to mark people's foreheads was contrary to the traditional Gospel reading read in Catholic churches all over the world on the first day of Lent.


The post started like this:  

Today at church we read the standard Gospel selection from Matthew 6: 1-6, 16-21 in which Jesus warns His followers to give alms secretly, and not to call attention to oneself while praying or fasting. 

It's a message that made a lot of sense to me, growing up and now. Performing good works and praising God are things that should be done for their own good. Our relationship with God is personal, private, and certainly not a show we're performing for those around us.

Yet then as a child I noticed, after this Gospel reading, we would all get to our feet and have the cross marked on our foreheads in ash. A clear sign for the rest of the day that we are fasting, and that we had gone to church. 

So isn't that exactly what Jesus warns us against? 

Today I argue, no. Not at all.


 Then I went to to explain the use of ashes by the Catholic Church throughout her history, and how that's changed. And then I explained the contextual significance of Jesus' words. And then I brought the whole thing together with what the modern Church believes the emphasis in Lent should be about.

But. Here's the thing. If you want to know those things you can certainly look them up. You found this blog. You know what "Google" is. The point here is that I have a really great sounding argument for people who say "hey aren't those ashes on your head hypocritical??" but I no longer feel the need to post the argument preemptively in my blog, as though I am approaching Lent defensively.


Because that is exactly what I was doing, you know. Approaching Lent defensively. 

So, no more of that. From here on in I will be entering Lent honestly and thoughtfully. 


I will even explore the reasons I was feeling defensive about Lent.
I am absolutely open to questions, and if I get very interesting ones I may even blog about them, but I'm not going to field imaginary attacks to justify my own growing unease with this solemn Church season. 


I promise.

Rehashing Advent: The dark, the light and the Hallelujah

The Hallelujah

I was really excited this year about Jack visiting from Costa Rica for Christmas. Jack is my mother's cousin, and I met him for the first time last spring when Mom and I visited Santa Ana. He's a really fun person, and he and I are very alike in spirit and humor.

The last few weeks I have been preparing for Jack's arrival. Although he was only spending one night at my house before going to stay with my Aunt Mame, I wanted everything to be perfect. I scrubbed my apartment from top to bottom. It took five hours. I even cleaned the inside of my medicene cabinet. Did I think Jack would care about my medicene cabinet? No. But I cared. I cleaned my pantry. I bought a six pack of Coors, his favorite American beer. I put together a selection of books for him to read. I spent two days creating the most "welcome back to New England" meal I could think of, Beef and Potato stew with Guinness.
Before I left for the airport Tuesday night I set the table for two, turned the crock pot to "simmer," and put Dad's old leather jacket in my car so Jack would have something warm to wear. Everything was perfect.

Then everything fell apart. Jack didn't get off the plane. While other happy families reunited at the gate, I stood holding Dad's heavy jacket, distraught and worried. I got terse with a security guard who sent me to the wrong gate. I had Jack paged. Someone looked up his name and told me Jack had missed the flight; he was on the next one. I had two hours to wait. I sat and thought about the stew simmering away in my kitchen. I thought about how early I had to get up for work. I longed for my ipod. I got grumpy.

Once Jack arrived, things started looking up. We didn't stop talking all the way home. I forgot how tired I was, and put my early morning shift out of my mind. On the way to my apartment we passed a pizza place. Jack nearly jumped out the window of the car because he hadn't had a decent slice of pizza in twelve years. Excited for his "first" taste of American pizza, I stopped the car quickly, and he ran into the little store. Then I remembered my stew at home and started to laugh out loud.

I had spent all this time preparing and working and planning. In the end it was a good thing because my house was clean and comfortable, and Jack ended up eating some stew after his pizza anyway. But still, things didn't go as I planned.

This Advent I promised myself I'd really prepare a place for Jesus. I tried to be mindful every single day. I said I'd pray an hour a day at least. I told myself I'd find extra prayer services to attend. In the end, I didn't do that hour of prayer every single day. But I did pray more often. And I missed Mass twice but I went to a very moving yoga - prayer service at Hope Church. I also attended Taize, which I wouldn't have done if I hadn't missed Mass last week.

In and of itself preparing is not generally bad or futile. Because otherwise the apartment would be cluttered , the fridge would be gross and there'd be no six pack of Coors.
But flexibility is key in planning. It's important to keep in mind that airlines aren't always on time and that sometimes a man just wants a slice of pizza.

We can pray for Grace and make ourselves as open as possible in preparation, but it's still all up to God. Rigidity in faith, I am learning, might not be as useful as I once thought it was.

So, (ready for a corny and moralizing anaology to end this one?) I'm going to keep making stew but I'm not going to freak out about how many potatos to buy,* because in the end we might end up just getting a pizza and eating both.


Hallelujah!
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*right, Shannon?

Rehashing Advent: the dark, the light and the Hallelujah

I challenged myself this Advent to think about my Faith in new ways, and to open myself up to unexpected changes in my relationship to others and God. I also made a rather secular deal with myself to do at least one fun thing every day until Christmas in the hope of rekindling the spirit of the child who waits with hope and joy (and without stress) for December 25th each year. So I give you the Dark, the Light and the Hallelujah of my Advent journey.

The Dark

On the fourth Sunday of Advent I overslept. Still, I wasn't concerned, knowing I could catch a 5pm service at St. Paul's in Harvard Square. After sledding most of the afternoon with a friend, we grabbed a cup of cocoa at Diesel in Davis Square. We got to talking and before I knew it, I was running late. My watch read 5pm exactly as the train pulled into the Harvard Square stop. I realized that I still had about a ten minute walk to the church. Thinking quickly, I decided to play things safe, stay on the train to Park Street and then take the Green line to a 6pm Mass at St. Cecelia's. Better to be early than late, I reasoned, the events of the previous week fresh in my mind.

I was freezing when I finally got to St. Cecelia's. While we were sledding I had failed to bail out of my saucer on one unlucky run and ended up in a small brook, which had soaked my clothes through. Still, I was early, and consoled myself knowing I'd have time to warm up and meditate before the service. But when I got to the door a sign posted read "Silence Please."
The church was full of candles. And empty of people.
"Welcome to Taize," a man greeted me warmly.
My dismay showed on my face and the man's face fell too.
"There's no 6pm Mass today because the students are all on break," he explained, "but you're welcome to join us for prayer."

The week before, as I partially alluded to, I was late to church and missed the Gospel reading. On top of being late, when I got in line for Communion, somehow the priest looked me over and returned to the altar without administering the Sacrament. I was left standing alone in the center aisle like lost toddler or a forgotten bride. God's unwanted child. No Gospel. No Eucharist. Essentially no Mass on Gaudete Sunday.


I'm a pretty terrible Catholic in plenty of ways but weekly Mass is a discipline that I practice the way some people play an instrument or do martial arts. I have attended Mass in many different cities, states and countries in all sorts of languages with all sorts of people.

And now, this Advent, at a time when I have been focusing more instead of less on my faith... I somehow managed to miss church two weekends in a row.

I thanked the man and took a copy of the music. I walked down the center aisle, my snow boots creating jarring noises in the silent room. The candle light danced all around me and I tried to remind myself of how much I love Taize services. I tried to tell myself that it would be good for me to just listen to God for an hour instead of just reciting all the traditional prayers. I tried to clear my mind. Then I knelt down and tried to stop myself from crying.

a bit of light Advent Reading

Over the past four weeks of Advent one of the things that has kept me the most on track with staying spiritually mindful has been the writing of a man whom I have never met.

I found Stephen Hough's blog on the first Sunday of Advent when I googled the phrase "darkness to light," which led me to the first of his four Advent posts.

Four sentences in, I was hooked.

Hough, an internationally acclaimed professional concert pianist, decided to choose a new musical piece each week, and explain it in a seasonal context.

It wasn't what his entire blog has been about during Advent. I'm guessing that religion is not a subject matter he speaks of often since in that initial piece he writes "for the next four Sundays, atheist, agnostic and freethinking readers might want to avoid posts with the word ‘Advent’ in the title - you have been warned!"

I have become a regular follower of his blog (and recommend that you do to), because he is a truly engaging writer no matter what the subject matter is, but for now I'll focus on the four Advent pieces. It's been fascinating to read about the season through the eyes (and ears!) of a professional musician who is also extremely well versed in Church theology and doctrine.

The musical pieces he chose to write about are as follows:

1. Prelude Chorale and Fugue, Cesar Franck
2. The Fountain and The Bell, Federico Mompou
3. F minor piano sonata (specifically the second movement), Brahms
4. Ave Maria, Franz Liszt

The pieces he chose to explain are not explicitly religious. In fact, the only one I immediately registered as liturgical was Ave Maria. But Hough writes of the composer's backgrounds as well as the historical context of the pieces. He also focuses on the music itself, the notes, the melodies and the instruments. The way Hough connects each musical masterpiece to the themes of Advent reminded me of the way someone else may find God in a sunrise, or in the ocean waves, or the movement of an electron.

I also took the time to read some of the conversations taking place in the comments sections of the four Advent pieces. Because I do not have a large or steady faith community of my own here in Boston*, I found myself drawn to these discussions between Catholics, Protestants and atheists. Together they've created conversations in which Hough's ideas were questioned, built upon and further explored.

I was amazed as I read through the various conversations. Everyone who comments, it seems, is genuinely interested in creating dialogue to further each individual's understanding of Advent. Hough also takes part in these conversations, explaining and defending his own views when necessary, but very open to the ideas of his peers and readers. People don't always walk away from it agreeing. But everyone comes to the table willing to listen and interested in hearing what was said in response.

I will certainly be posting more about my own thoughts on the season in general, and especially on Advent 2009. In the meantime I hope that if it interests you at all you will click on one of the links above and read some of Hough's insight into how these four pieces capture the pre-Christmas season.
He has certainly been an inspiration to me these past four weeks.
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* the subject of an upcoming post for sure

Hidden

This is a rare post because it is very personal, and largely un promotional of "Misch" as a savvy RN with a sharp comic wit. Proceed with compassion and caution.

I mentioned recently that my Lenten journey was less than successful this year. After admitting it out loud I upped the stakes a little bit, and tried to find the peace and love that has centered my life in the past.

As I drew Jesus closer in my prayer life, I became happier, healthier and more fun to be around. I stopped feeling burned out at work and began reaching out to old friends. Clearly, my faith had needed some serious healing.

Unfortunately, inspired by this change in myself, during Holy Week I dove head first into a bunch of theology which I found I simply do not have the support systems to be dealing with.

Easter, which is the celebration of the Resurrection of Jesus and the Redemption of humanity through His rising, is supposed to be a day of great joy and hope.

And, it was. But with it came what felt like centuries worth of anxiety and bad feelings.

I was visiting family all day long, and tried to focus on how good it was to be with loved ones. I tried to generate the happiness that spirituality usually brings to me. But anxiety kept building up inside me. Instead of feeling awake and joyful in the Risen Lord, I went to bed at 7:30pm just to escape my thoughts.

As of right now I am in the process of seeking help from several friends in various doctrines.

I have prided myself since leaving college at not having a home parish. I have bragged about how I sometimes go an entire month without mass in the same place two weeks in a row. I go every week, but count several different locations as "my church," depending on the zip code. It's because I refuse to forfeit weekly mass to my hectic schedule as a performer and nurse. It's a system that has for the past two years allowed me to never feel cut off from the Sabbath day even in the craziest of weekends.

But now I find that this system, although convenient, has robbed me of the very thing church was made for. Community.

I have questions. Big questions. Questions that are keeping me awake all night long.
And no one to field them.

It will never be a question for me whether God exists or not. Nor will I question the Divinity of Jesus. Right now, more than almost ever in my life I am questioning the idea of church, religion, and the Bible.

It has happened before. It's not new news. I've struggled a long time with some of the same issues.

People closest to me will remember some of the biggest times of spiritual wrestling in my life. When I was in high school I almost didn't become confirmed*. In college, sophomore year most people will remember how I wanted to become a nun. I even went to a retreat at a convent for women my age thinking of the same commitment. I think fewer people will remember that the very same year I almost left the Catholic Church because I thought women should be ordained. (A good friend of mine who is now a priest talked me down from that one.) After I found peace in my decisions to neither leave the Church nor become a nun my life was calm for a while. Another struggle came junior year.

I don't see myself as particularly strong because of these battles. I can never be sure if I've won over doubt or just silenced a snooze button. In the end I'm mostly just relieved to have the joy of believing without fear or anxiety back in my life.

I am sharing this with you for two reasons. One is so that you can relate.
In the past I have been scared of sharing what I consider spiritual weakness with others. I felt they'd then doubt my leadership in the Church, or doubt my ability to help them with their own spiritual needs. But now I know that it is only through our weaknesses that God can make us strong. I believe very strongly in God. But I know something in my life is being called to change, and I don't know what it is. And if knowing that I'm going through this helps you, then it is good to share it.

The other reason is to try to branch out my community more. If you pray, please keep my troubled heart in your prayers. If you don't pray and you'd like to sit and logic some things out with me, I'd be up for that too. I believe we are called to Faith which means sometimes walking blindly. But it never means walking unthinkingly. It has been a combination of my mind and my heart which has brought me here through God's grace. And that is how I will move forward again.

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* My parents told me that it was my choice to make and they'd love and accept me either way which was very wise. It has prepared me for a lifetime of making informed decisions for myself.

Toy Boat Toy Boat , T-Pain, Bless my throat

Laura called me into her room to watch this last night when I got home from work.
I loved it. It's no Dick in a Box, but these days what is? Without spoiling it I will say that the exposition to the joke is quick and easy, the rhymes are clever (and some of them are even tight), and the simplicity is inspired. Of course, as soon as T-Pain got involved I was hooked anyway. My favorite very quick shot (don't blink, you might miss it) involves a man who is very unhappy with grass.
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In other internet news my favorite blog author is back in the country and is writing again. When Other People's Emergencies lit up again in my Google Reader I thought I was imagining things. Welcome back, TS!
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Annnnd in real life news, I was at St. J's Saturday night for the 7pm Mass to lector when Sister M informed me that I was also going to be helping with the Blessing of the Throats. I got a bit anxious. But then I thought about all of the things I usually dislike about the Church and one of them is how I feel that the hierarchy can get really possessive about God. So for a lay person like me to go around blessing throats, that's way more in line with my actual beliefs. I don't think we always need intercessors. We can bless each other.

So I stayed and blessed throats after Mass. The absolute best part was that once I memorized the blessing I could look into people's eyes. I was smiling uncontrollably because it was kind of silly -- me with those huge candles and so much shorter than everyone else. Since I was grinning so madly, the otherwise very solemn congregation started to smile back. So as I said the blessings, we just smiled at each other, and sometimes laughed a little.
I got to just stand and make eye contact and smile with so many strangers. To me, that was the whole blessing in a way. As we handed candles back to Fr. M later he winked and said, "You know it doesn't work without the candles." And we all laughed, the veil lifted. We don't need candles or oils or waters. It's all in the people. Tradition is just a way to get everyone there at the same time. Like going to your high school football game on Thanksgiving. Being in a church where the priests think that way and understand religion in that way too is so refreshing.