Exploring thoughts with purpose ℠
You are the light of the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hid. Nor do men light a lamp and put it under a bushel, but on a stand, and it gives light to all in the house. Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven.
– Jesus speaking in Matthew 5:14-16
She stumbles in just as the little bells are rung in front, moving as quickly as she can while remaining silent but-for light footpatter. Rushing to the side of the pew, she genuflects just before the priest and altar server make it to the center aisle. Quickly unfastening her coat, she drops it to the seat, wincing as her phone thuds hard against the wood. A little noise, truly, and still before the opening prayer…
“In the name of the Father, and of the the Son, and of the Holy Spirit…”
Nodding as she joins the, “Amen,” she can’t help but grin: technically, she was on time, and this church is starting to feel like home. The loud woman in front, the super-pious people in the rear, the man who knows the logistics of the day-to-day operations on one side adjacent the main aisle, the woman who knows the entire history of the parish on the other side and near the side aisle, the man who holds the door for everyone sitting in the rearmost seat… Despite this not being “her” church, she knows the daily attendees, misses them when they aren’t there, and simply feels as though she could belong here. For the first time in a long time, she feels at home.
Sitting for the reading, she picks up the missal, deftly flipping to the proper page to follow along. She still struggles with pacing her reading to match that of the lector, but having the words in front of her helps her to focus on them anyway. At least she can read and re-read the passage with the background of having it read to her; that’s better than piecing together the day’s agenda because the verbal words aren’t in and of themselves sufficient regardless of the skill of the reader.
The psalm is read. She matches the cadence, but the loud woman is also the fast woman who refuses to pause for the commas. Smiling both in acquiescence and loving annoyance, she draws herself nearer the pacing of the loudest, fastest responder. She can’t quite bring herself to match it as it doesn’t make musical sense and thus grates against her instincts, but she struggles in the attempt. By the final repetition, it’s almost passable as matching. The other congregants are somewhere between the two versions.
Standing for the Gospel, she listens closely to the acclamation; the change of liturgical season also changed the tune, and she hadn’t heard the one at this church location yet. It was different than all of the ones she was used to, so she focused intently as the initial call was made, then responded quietly as she tried to mimic it. The first time was close; the second response was spot on.
As the priest reads the Gospel, she holds fast to the little book in her hand, trying to look at the priest while focusing on the words. Her non-book hand grips the pew in front of her tightly. Slowly, she raises the missal and glances at it, tracing the verses through to the end quickly, then moving her eyes back to the reader, holding a mental image of the words in front of her to follow along. “The Gospel of the Lord.”
“Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.”
They sit, and the priest starts explaining the message from the readings. Sitting on the edge of her seat, she drinks it all in. This is her favorite homilist: he speaks plainly and meaningfully, his words have real-world relevance, and she trusts what he says. This unassuming middle-aged man who likely wouldn’t recognize her had a penchant for enthralling her. She sometimes even grabbed her phone to take notes, either to write down a quote or to remember to look more into a topic later.
Concluding, he shuffles back to his seat on the other side of the dais. After sitting for a moment, he stands, and the congregation stands with him. More prayers, and calls-and-responses later, the people in the pews find themselves on their knees. The host is consecrated as the bells ring jubilantly, transforming into the Body of Christ as the priest lifts it high above the altar. Hiding her face, she grinds her teeth but can’t stem the trickle of tears as Heaven and Earth are joined during the transubstantiation. The chalice with the water and wine is consecrated as the bells again ring, changing into the Precious Blood.
Standing for more prayers, she wipes her tear ducts as subtly as she can. It gets her every time.
They kneel again for the presentation of the transubstantiated Jesus. She pinches her eyes closed, all too aware of her unworthiness, until…
“Behold, the Lamb of God. Behold Him who takes away the sins of the world…”
Her eyes fly to the Eucharist, unworthy yet unwilling to refuse the invitation to behold him. Just as quickly, when the prayer is finished, she removes her gaze. “Oh Lord, I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof, but only say the word and my soul shall be healed.” The priest consumes the Body and Blood, then distributes it, first to the altar server, then to the congregation. She wipes her eyes again as she steps into line. One by one, each receives the Body of Christ then filters back to their kneelers for silent prayer.
As the priest finishes the distribution, he returns to the altar, cleanses the receptacles, puts everything in its proper place, and returns to his seat. He sits for a few moments, then he stands. Concluding the celebration with a closing prayer, the priest wishes everyone a good day. The congregation recites the Prayer of Saint Michael, the angel leading God’s armies in the fight against the Devil. The priest exits.
She closes her eyes for an extended blink. Her lips curl into a warm grin, and she nods, knowing that she is properly armed to face the day.
The Veil Removed is a short film (5.5 minutes) on YouTube well worth the watch. (It says it’s about 7 minutes, but the last minute and a half are credits.) It shows us what is actually happening at Mass as the host becomes the Eucharist, enhancing the experience for any believer.
Many recognize the practice of “giving something up for Lent” and use it as an opportunity to better themselves or their habits. Do you perhaps have an addiction to Oreo cookies or Doritos chips? Maybe you read a lot of drivel and it’s souring your life? Are your daily habits what they should be for you to be your ideal self, or is there one you want to subtract or add to get there?
If you want to start one habit this year to better yourself, Lent is the best opportunity: it’s an open invitation to unity with others by “offering up” something. The practice includes giving up a certain kind of food (the cliché being chocolate), quitting a bad habit (such as smoking or drinking), or starting a new habit (such as running every morning or praying every evening). This can be used any number of ways; the key thing is that whatever your Lenten practice is, it should draw you closer to God.
As a lay Catholic, I practice the Lenten preparation for Easter every year. Some years the habit sticks better than others. (I gave up cursing in three distinct Lenten seasons, for example.) Some years are more ambitious than others. (The first time I gave up my foul mouth I was in undergrad and surrounded by people who actively prodded me to not keep that practice; the third time, my circles were more supportive.) Some years are about adding things in (like a daily morning swim routine or a nightly walk). What I do changes every year, yet every year it’s something to bring me closer to God.
This practice is called the Lenten sacrifice. Many of us go to one end or the other of the intensity spectrum, either going all out because only the most difficult task will suffice or sliding by with the least amount of effort but it still counting. I have fallen prey to each of these practices generally as a result of thinking I have to prove my Catholic-ness. However, being the most hardcore isn’t the point, nor is checking some box on the list.
The word sacrifice is derived from two old Latin terms: “sacer” and “faciō.” Sacer means sacred or holy; faciō means to do or to make. Combined, it becomes sacrificō and has a literal translation of doing for the Holy One. Thus, a sacrifice doesn’t have to be tremendously strenuous, and a Lenten sacrifice isn’t about checking all the boxes. It’s simply doing something, big or small, to offer to God.
In that same vein, God doesn’t want us to suffer. He welcomes all of our offerings – whether they are painful trials and tribulations or inviting Him to spend an evening with us while we spend time with friends. Sacrifices can take many forms. As long as we are offering something to the Holy One, it constitutes a sacrifice. Every time we stumble, literally or figuratively, if we give that to God, it’s a sacrifice. Every time we smile or laugh, if we give that to God, it’s a sacrifice. Every time we bake a cake or watch movies with friends or spend time with family, if we give that to God, it’s a sacrifice.
See the theme here?
So long as we offer something to God, we are making a sacrifice. The reason this practice is so much at the forefront during Lent is because we are preparing for Easter, the celebration of the Resurrection of Jesus. As we continue through Lent, we draw nearer the day of the Resurrection, and as we draw nearer the day of the Resurrection, the more focused we should be on God. What better way to become more focused on God than to think of Him every time we do a specific thing that we are doing for Him?
This is also why we try to offer a Lenten sacrifice that affects us at least daily: it gives us a prime opportunity to frequently focus on Christ. It doesn’t have to be particularly onerous or dreadful or troublesome; it just has to be something that causes us to look to God. Maybe we look to God for strength in finishing a run while training for a marathon; maybe we focus on Him in thanksgiving for five minutes of peace during a hectic week. The result is the same: time spent walking with Christ. This is what the Lenten sacrifice is about.
Are you doing a Lenten sacrifice? How does it draw you nearer to the Holy One?
Is that a thing?
I’ve been wishing people a cheerful “Happy Ash Wednesday!” all day. I mean it, I feel it, and I truly want today to be a happy one, yet at the same time, every time I’ve said it, I’ve wondered if that’s a proper greeting for today. It simply seems out of place, perhaps even off. We’re kicking off the season of Lent, many of us fighting incessant tummy rumblings before it’s even socially acceptable to admit as much; what could possibly be happy about that?
Easter is it’s own (post-Lent) season; the question is, what reason is there to be happy about Lent?
Two words:
(1) Progress
(2) Mine
The concept is simple, but it requires some reading into the season to understand how it applies. Lent is a season of repentance, of turning away from sin (anything that takes us away from God), so that we may more clearly focus on God. We seek to better seek God in our lives; sometimes we do this by deleting negative attachments and/or adding God-focused habits. The goal of Lent is to choose God over worldly pleasures, comforts, and other temptations.
(That’s not to say that these things are bad; they might be quite good. For example, it is good to have a nice bed to sleep in that supports you so you can sleep well and better serve people come the new day. This bed certainly counts as a worldly comfort, but there’s nothing inherently sinful about it.)
Over the course of Lent, we should find ourselves nearing God. Now, that’s a necessarily relative term because we are all starting from different places, but it is simultaneously objective because we are only measuring against ourselves. Specifically, if I move ten paces, we can measure whether I ended up closer to or, alternatively, farther away from God. There is a key element missing here for us to take that leap.
We need to know where we are.
Lent is a time for self-assessment. We determine who we are and where we are on our journey of faith so we can figure out the next step to take us closer to God. Introspectively assessing ourselves enables us to move forward by allowing us to orient ourselves; in determining our current location, we can see a little more clearly how to get where we’re headed. Being able to see the path strengthens us to take it, even when the road isn’t easy.
Specific to Ash Wednesday (happy today!) is this particular word: mine. It’s not normally what I think of when I think of Ash Wednesday, and I’ll keep it brief because I recommend watching Father Mike Schmitz’s video for more information on this point.
On Ash Wednesday, we get ashes smeared on our foreheads in a very particular way. The ashes symbolize what we are – ashes and dust, creatures made by God. In the grand scheme of things, if we zoom out on time and assess the value of all of humanity over the course of eternity, that value is, approximately, nil. Nothing. In the grand scheme of things, we don’t really matter. Except: Jesus.
The ashes go on our forehead as a cross. This is Jesus claiming us as his own by marking us with the sign of the war He waged for our hearts on Calvary. That cross of ashes says two things: we are nothing, and yet God wants nothing more than our hearts. Jesus loves you. Jesus loves you so much that He lived, died, and rose from the dead to claim you as His own knowing full well that you weren’t going to be perfect and knowing full well that He will love you through your imperfections. That is the message of today, and that is certainly worth celebrating.
Happy Ash Wednesday.
Dancing and eating and partying and eating and drinking and more eating and reveling and even more eating… Maybe even catching some beads here and there….
How are you celebrating Fat Tuesday?
That’s the translation, French to English: mardi is Tuesday and gras is fat. Certainly one of the most descriptive names, although not one of the most inspiring. (One of the many reasons some New Orleanians prefer to use the term Carnival.) You might be thinking, What an odd name; why would anyone call a celebration a fat day?
Quite plainly, it’s crunch time for fattening up in preparation for the Lenten season (otherwise simply known as Lent). During Lent, people prepare for Easter. This starts with fasting from all the pleasures in our lives that draw our attention away from God. The goal is to be laser-focused on God, His goodness, His mercy, and His love, by the time of the Resurrection at the Easter Vigil.
Part and parcel to that is not eating as much. Traditionally, the faithful fast throughout Lent as part of the practice of Lenten preparations for Easter. To prepare for the time of fasting, we eat up so we don’t wither away. Logistically, it makes sense… though the practice has clearly gotten a bit beyond that. Now Mardi Gras is celebrated as a holiday all its own, with specific foods and revelry (and debauchery, but that is easily avoided).
New Orleans is known for having the best Mardi Gras celebrations Stateside. People come from all over the world to party in the streets, catch the throws (beads, shoes, painted coconut shells), and generally laissez les bons temps rouler in whatever way that means to the reveler. I can vouch: the celebrations last for weeks, the city is crowded with tourists, school children get a vacation week, workers get time off (and use it to avoid touristy areas), and it’s the most relaxed chaos I could ever imagine. By now, the early afternoon of Mardi Gras day, all the parades are over and most locals are winding down with family festivities in their own homes. (Meanwhile, tourists are probably drinking up everything they can in the French Quarter from Bourbon Street to Café du Monde.)
(Sidenote: if you want pro tips on visiting The Big Easy, reach out to me. I know where the best po’ boys [local sandwiches] are, which spots are worth a visit in the French Quarter, the best snowball spots in the city, and how to prepare for an awesome time. If you’d like a tour guide, also feel free to touch base – I’d love the excuse to go back!)
The point is, today is a day for taking it all in to enable us to make it through the upcoming battles. (Lent is effectively the season set aside for us to wage a war with our demons so that we can focus on God, so it’s a battle. Charge!) In honor of the day, and in preparation for tomorrow, I’m cleaning out my fridge. I somewhat started early as I’ve been cleaning out my pantry for the last couple of weeks, but today the target is merely the fridge; I have a lot of leftovers from an event this weekend, and all of them are getting eaten today.
I’m also using today as an excuse to reconnect with friends, including those who love the celebration, those who love to hide away from it, and those who have no idea that today is Mardi Gras. (Fun holidays like today make exceptional excuses to reach out to just about anybody.) It’s also been a relatively quiet day of introspection: how do I want to better myself, what goals am I pursuing and how can I pursue them better, and how can I make the most of this Lenten journey?
I’ll tell you more about my plans for Lent on Thursday. Today, I have a few more hours of revelry. (For me, it’s much more low key than attempting to navigate the streets of the French Quarter on a night like tonight.) I’m even thinking of stopping at a Dairy Queen for a Blizzard treat as the ultimate mid-winter indulgence. (After that wonderful salad, I may be too full even for such a treat. I would probably make room for a drive-thru daiquiri if I were in Metairie, though. Priorities!) Amidst everything else, I’m already making plans for the future.
Next year, I’m making a king cake.
How about you? How did you celebrate Mardi Gras today? What are you looking forward to this Lent? Where do you plan to be come Easter day? How are you going to springboard from today to get there?
You have plenty of courage, I am sure. All you need is confidence in yourself. There is no living thing that is not afraid when it faces danger. The true courage is in facing danger when you are afraid, and that kind of courage you have in plenty.
– L. Frank Baum, The Wizard of Oz
Let us have faith that right makes might, and in that faith, let us, to the end, dare to do our duty as we understand it.
– Abraham Lincoln,
Cooper Union Address
Two simple words (well, three depending on how you count the contraction), yet they can be so important.
One of the daily Mass celebrants wishes everyone a good day after the concluding rites. The congregation is split in the response between, “Thank you, Father,” and, “You, too, Father.” Not every priest says this at the end of Mass; as I think about it, he’s the only one whose Mass I recall recently attending who does. Somewhere along the line (probably in my childhood), I ended up with the latter response becoming habit.
First, a quick note: it isn’t simply rote when he says this. Yes, I suspect it is habit, but the way his face fondly lights up as he makes eye contact with us when he says it tells me that he means it, sincerely. It’s adorably heartwarming how much he truly wishes us to have a good day.
Second, I noticed the alternative response (“Thank you”) only recently. I don’t know if I simply haven’t been listening to the people around me, if nobody in the church I learned my response deviated from the one I knew, or some combination of the two. Given that I have noticed the consistency of the dual responses over the past week, I’m inclined to think it’s a combination of factors.
Third, and the highlight tonight: how often do I reply with a heartfelt “thank you?“
Not very often.
I’m well-practiced at the art of saying thank you when it’s warranted and slipping in a thank you when appropriate, but how often do I pause to express deep gratitude? How often do I feel true gratitude? Am I pausing to appreciate the gifts God gives me on a daily basis? Am I thanking Him for His gifts? If so, great! If not, why not? I find that I am appreciative of numerous random things, but I don’t often speak that thankfulness. I have been working on that, but I know there is still room to grow. There is another point that I noticed today is probably related.
I am cleaning some stuff out of my room, including getting rid of the things I don’t need. The first item went today: a jewelry box I posted on Freecycle. (That was fast.) The recipient arrived to pick it up, a warm smile on his face, and he said, “Thank you.” For the first time in recent times, I offered a sincere, “You’re welcome.” It felt full and real and true. I was so glad we connected, and I was so glad that I could give him that jewelry box. That’s the only way I know how to explain it.
There are plenty of occurrences when people thank me for something. That’s not the source of my lack of, “You’re welcome”s – my response is. When someone thanks me for anything, I brush it off with some sort of euphemism to stand in for it. “It was nothing,” or, “Don’t worry about it,” or, “Of course,” are my responses of choice. None of these are the same, even though they make for adequate social substitutes.
For me, these responses downplay whatever I offered the other person, sometimes to the point of self-deprecation hidden behind them. My responses show I don’t think highly of my contribution because regardless of how well done it was, it could have been done better. This is always the case, even if I squeezed out my very best product: I could have done better. In effect, it sometimes turns the response into an apology for not contributing something more worthy, even though the recipient may love the offering precisely as it is.
But that’s not the point. The point is not that something more perfect could have been given, the point is that I offered something of myself for the benefit of another. When I offer my time, talent, and treasure out of a place of joy and love, it’s something to celebrate – even though it’s not perfect. We give of ourselves not because what we have is perfect, but because He will make our offerings perfect and use them to draw us closer to Him.
So this is something I will be working on, the gratitude-recognition dynamic. With an eye toward Lent, I think it’s even more imperative that we think about showing appreciation for that which is done for us as well as recognize the value of what we offer others, the worth and dignity of ourselves. What better way to celebrate what Jesus did for us on the Cross than to look for what He sees in us?
Thank you for taking the time to read this post; I hope it was enlightening. You are welcome for this post; I hope it inspires you to love yourself and others more fully.
The homily this morning discussed perfect timing. I have lived it – today most noticeably.
The priest was talking about how one of the ceramic Stations of the Cross stations was broken last year in the late summer/early autumn. It was shattered – the kind of broken that superglue alone doesn’t really fix even with all the patience in the world. Soon thereafter, he met with a friend about something completely unrelated in a different state and the friend mentioned the local parish getting some ceramics refurbishing done. The interaction led to him contracting that company to try to fix or replace the broken station. They did a fantastic job, and delivery was this week. It is hanging in its proper place now – just in time to kick off Lent next week.
You know the feeling of perfect timing? Sometimes it seems as mundane as the light changing to green just before you pump the brakes; other times you walk into a store just as a sale kicks off on precisely what you went in to buy. (The latter happened to me when I went to purchase specialty chocolates for an event: everything that I was interested in went to 75% off for about thirty minutes before it was removed from the shelves due to season change. Instead of hoping to get enough with $30, I walked out having spent less than half that and knowing there would be leftovers of some of the best chocolate. That was epic.)
I hit the jackpot with perfect timing today: I arrived at Mass just as it was starting (despite my waking up twenty-plus minutes late), I got to a meeting just as the person I was looking for arrived, I ran into someone I needed to speak to who only ducked into the office for a few minutes between outside meetings, and I found my Children’s Bible yesterday when our topic today for Alpha was How and Why Should I Read the Bible? … Unfortunately, that last one was lost on me; even though I coordinate for Alpha (meaning I send out the emails reminding the team what each session will be discussing), I forgot that tonight was about the Bible and left mine next to the door. Oy vey. I also ran into someone who told me Catholics don’t read the Bible. (Maybe this whole thing is really perfect timing the other way around: now that I found it, I need a reminder and some encouragement to read it. Message received.)
And that’s just today: I had a perfect meshing on Monday as well. (It’s not quite timing, but it’s related.) I traveled for a meeting on Monday to the same area I have choir practice, so I decided to pack a bag and just stay for the day. I had several hours between the meeting and rehearsal, but I had plenty to do that went with me. As I put my car in park and reached for the door to walk to choir practice, I realized that I didn’t have any of my music. Ugh. I resigned myself to having to borrow some, copy the night’s notes onto my copies, and returning the extra copies later. But when I walked up to the choir loft, I found nobody; the place was vacant. I texted a friend who promptly replied that practice was canceled due to the holiday.
Imagine the chances of that: the one time I leave all of my music at home is the one time that we don’t have rehearsal and the one time I missed the memo that we didn’t have rehearsal.
There are so many perfect timing or “happy coincidence” stories in my life that I simply cannot remember even half of them. For example, I also dressed particularly professionally (and chic) today for a meeting and ran into someone I didn’t expect to see; the circumstance made me smile a little extra. Also, I needed a piece of scrap paper to write some notes on, and one piece of paper turned up that wasn’t fit for any other use. Moreover, someone who has attended very few sessions attended tonight, and she was precisely the person I needed to talk to about an opportunity that presented itself yesterday which I find both daunting and thrilling. These examples are just from this evening.
But enough about me; how about you? What times can you reflect on in your life in which you approached a table, topic, or person just at the right time? How have things fallen together just right? When is the last time you read something that struck a chord? Have you ever said something that you weren’t expecting to say to someone only to find that was precisely what that person needed to hear? How do you trust God to let some of the pieces to your puzzle fall into perfect place?
One, two, and three –
This, that, the other –
X, Y, and Z –
When is the last time you felt like you were on a roll? When have you been totally in tune with your mojo? What were you able to accomplish that day?
I had one of those days today. It was crazy cool, and I certainly didn’t expect the day to go anywhere near as well as it did. I attended Mass, apologized to a friend, put in over three hours of billables reviewing decisions, sent emails, compared like teas, received calls, made calls, sent more emails, cleaned up my paperwork pile, sorted a “do soon” pile, tested tech, cleaned my room, sorted items into boxes for storage and tagged them, moved a bunch of stuff to storage, took a few items out of storage, took a bunch of pictures, finally posted stuff on Freecycle and Craigslist, and even found my jammin’ CDs that have been missing for several months. I got stuff done today that I wasn’t expecting to have time for until tomorrow.
And I still feel zippy.
Today was ridiculously productive, and I still feel like I’m flying. (I’m going to crash so hard when I zonk.) I was active and proactive, I was getting things prepared to move forward, I was reading through homework reading for fun as I was waiting for people to answer the phone. When was the last time you were given a reading assignment and you actually wanted to do it? I can’t remember the last time I was so excited to read about anything and stayed excited through the entire endeavor… well, other than fuel cells. (Okay, so I just remembered one, but typically I lose my enthusiasm after a little while.)
Oh! Also, I found something I’ve been looking for even longer than the awesome CDs that resurfaced:
Epic find, I tell you, epic find.
And I still have room in my storage unit for quite a bit more stuff – probably more than I want to part with for my day-to-day. I have more pressing matters to attend to tomorrow, but I am excited to get back to this and determine what exactly can go into the storage unit. (I’m convinced it’s just about everything.) Have I ever mentioned that I thoroughly enjoy real life Tetris? (My storage unit is a 5′ x 10′ plot packed with stuff floor-to-ceiling from the back forward with a path through to access everything with space at the front for temporary storage. It’s perfectly executed.)
Even moreso, I’m thrilled for the things I’m going to get done tomorrow. With today’s work out of the way, I can attend to tomorrow’s tasks freely and with proper focus. (It also put me in the right mindset because tomorrow I will be assessing office space. Speaking of office space, I was offered an office space today… I am totally thrilled about that to the point that, especially coupled with the excitement of today, I don’t know how to respond without sounding like an over-excited tweeny-bopper.)
So, again, I ask, when was the last time you were on such a roll? What were you doing to get you there? How did it start? More importantly, how did you keep it going? What was the best part about it?
I’m looking forward to facing tomorrow’s challenges with the same vigor, getting just as much done, and feeling even more accomplished because tomorrow’s tasks are even more critical to the march forward. Today was more about opening the gate; tomorrow is concerned with taking those first few steps down the path.
What does your tomorrow look like?