Let Us Make God in Our Image, After Our Likeness 'Cause It'd Be Awesome

This might hurt your brain, but stay with me friends.

Imagine if he came the way we wanted him to? Imagine if Jesus answered the problem of evil with a punch rather than his paschal mystery?

He would've kicked the devil's butt. He would've been ripped, with muscles on top of his muscles. A combination of brains and brawn. Bolder than Bourne, slicker than Spider-Man, more convicted than Captain America and every move in slo-mo. The lance set to pierce his heart on the Cross would've bounced off and snapped like a toothpick! Nothing would break him. He'd have busted up the Romans and religious leaders in a Divine Smackdown the likes of which the world had never seen!

"Lord, do you want us to call down fire from heaven to consume them?" (Luke 9:54)

"Yes, I do. Let's kick some taḥat!" (Luke 9:55, revised)

Yes, if God were made in man's image... we'd all be wowed, then bored to tears. 

"That was awesome! What else is on?”

I saw the latest X-Men film this weekend, and it was awesome. Don't get me wrong, Rebecca and I will be watching this chain of films until we're 90 (because they'll still be making this franchise when we're 90)! Lots of fun, lots of flash and fireworks, classic good versus evil (though the characters are getting morally foggier these days, aren't they?) and then the credits rolled. Fade to black until another new translation of the same old, same old throws its glowing flashes on our sedentary faces. (There was a remarkable and refreshing gem in this X-Men film though.... wait for it ;)

Last night's movie, scheduled as a 9:10 viewing, didn't actually start until about 9:30. It was preceded by 20 minutes of previews. Most of these were coming attractions for the same perennial distractions. Stuff blowing up, slow motion acrobatics, killing, fighting, quelling evil forces with opposite force, which then ushers in a fragile peace until the sequel. Now, what I find reassuring as a "theological anthropologist" (my unofficial job title) is the recognition that bad needs to be broken. We must fight evil and rescue that which is good. This is a theme so deeply engrained in our stories. But "making right" has a better word and a more effective one than the firing of bullets; it's redemption. 

This word changes everything. and it all goes back to that paradigm shift when Christ first hit our "fault line" with the tectonic shift of gratuitous grace. Those aftershocks still reverberate throughout human history, backwards and forwards. Our realignment comes now by our allowing ourselves to be set into this new geographic configuration by faith, not fists. Retaliation and redemption are two very different answers to the problem of evil.

Point is this: There must be a fight. There will be blood. There must be. To quote the Princess Bride for the thirteenth time on this blog, "Life is pain... anyone who tells you otherwise is selling something." But it's all about what we do with the blood and pain and suffering that comes from that first punch. 

The amount of blood and violence and suffering in our blockbuster movies today is staggering, but honestly it's no more staggering than the battles and death in the Bible, especially, uh, the crucifixion. In this latest X-Men film, however, a powerful twist enters in and truly redeems suffering in a beautiful way.

In a climactic scene (slight spoiler alert here) between young Charles Xavier and old Charles Xavier, we receive a pearl of wisdom on how to treat our "enemy"... how to open up to a peace that just might have the power to stick, finally, after so much fighting; 




"The greatest gift we have is to bear their pain without breaking and it comes from your most human part, hope." 

- Charles Xavier

Wow. The scene has so much more to it, but I want you to go and taste it for yourself.

So back to Jesus... who is the quintessence of this kind of compassion (which means to suffer with).

Recall he came the way the Father wanted him to. He answered the problem of evil not with a punch, but with his paschal mystery. He took the punch, and let it penetrate him (literally in fact break him), through and through. "Rather, he emptied himself, taking the form of a slave... becoming obedient to death, even death on a cross." (Philippians 2:7-8)

This is the "movie" that continues to truly move me. And with an ever building sense of joy and Easter hope, all the while trying to unite my own personal small bit of suffering to his, I'm looking forward to the sequel!

"In the world you will have trouble, but take courage, I have conquered the world.”

- John 16:33

The Raising of the Cross

This early 17th century baroque piece, The Raising of the Cross by the Flemish painter Peter Paul Rubens, is a dynamic whirlwind of emotion and energy. The central panel draws us in with its dramatic diagonal slant. The artist has Christ's body gleam, rippling with strength and power, even in this moment of supreme weakness (for "power is made perfect in weakness" as St. Paul says in 2 Corinthians 12). Gathered about the Savior is a host of men, equally virile, lifting the Cross high, like a flag of victory over a field where much blood has been spilled. It is the field of the world, and the fight lies within each one of us... "The 'heart' has become a battlefield between love and concupiscence" (TOB, 32:3).

The side panels show us the weeping women on the left, and on the right, Roman soldiers carrying out their duty. With the lens of the Theology of the Body, however, we see much more. The feminine panel glows with warmth, fragile beauty, and heartfelt concern. They are moved by the pathos of the Christ deeply. They receive it, feel it, internalize it. The masculine panel is bristling with raw energy, banners clap in a storm wind, sun and moon wrestle in the clouds as an apocalyptic eclipse ensues. But mirroring the outstretched hand of Michelangelo's Adam, who clearly influenced Rubens in this work, we see a man yearning, reaching out to touch that redemptive gift of the Christ as he is lifted up. We all must pine for him, for he is our peace! May all men and women appropriate this great gift of the Christ! And like the figures of Our Lady and St. John, situated on the "feminine" side, let us recall that, before the Lord, all our hearts are called to the feminine first. To receive, to take within, then to bring forth again in fruitful, faithful, self-giving love!

"And I, if I be lifted up from the earth, will draw all unto me." (John 12:32)

___________________________

Originally published for the Theology of the Body Institute newsletter, September 2012.

Pieta

A mother and child in the wreckage of Japan.

I can't imagine the heartbreak of this woman. I believe she is the child's mother but I have no information about the photograph. Regardless, this anonymous image has been repeated all over, again and again, since the earthquake in Japan.

There is no comfort I can see except in the melding of this pieta with Mary's pieta; Our Lady holding her broken Son at the foot of that instrument of death, the Cross. I don't know what a person can do or say, or what a friend coming in to help can do or say. One can only hold the other. Feel the salt of tears, the sobs. The heaving chest, the blank stare. Absolute pain and loss requires absolute quiet and reflection; the earth feels the blade pierce and cut through, lifting up a patch of ground. Turning over the rich soul-soil of our inner life and exposing it to the light of day. It happens, but we don't like it. But at least we are not alone in it. The Sower sows the seed, the Word, into this empty space in the furrowed heart. We receive it. Never more vulnerable, never more ready than after the rains of sorrow and the storms of suffering. And we hope the seed takes and someday, life returns.

[Posted with iBlogger from my iPhone]

Expecting Grace

My wife posted a beautiful series of simple, a cappella songs she composed and sang for our little ones, loved and lost through miscarriage over the past seven years. There are special hymns for Grace Elizabeth, our precious daughter who lived just 10 hours in this world, and for our little boy who is almost and unbelievably two years old. I hope you can consider supporting her music, again, composed in the midst of our first steps with infertility, through the hidden gifts of the Snowflakes adoption program, and into the "cross walk" of our days with our unborn Grace.  She sings of the day Grace came, and returned to God, and she sings of the little Simon - our adopted baby boy - who came not a moment to soon to help us carry that cross. The link for the CD is here.

We pray for any and everyone ever touched by the pain of infertility, the loss of a child, and for those discerning adoption. Our full story of Grace is here, and we always welcome thoughts, questions, and comments on these most intimate of faith/life issues.

Peace and Prayers,
The Donaghys

Peace and Pain

"Jesus came, although the doors were locked, and stood in their midst and said, “Peace be with you.” Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here and see my hands, and bring your hand and put it into my side, and do not be unbelieving, but believe.” Thomas answered and said to him, “My Lord and my God!” - John 20 "Peace be with you"... Peace is what we all long for, deep down. Often we imagine it lies on some white sandy shore or on the winning side of a Powerball ticket. But ironically, peace is often found not in the absence of sorrows and responsibilities but in the quiet acceptance of them. So often, it's in the still center, the eye of the storm, where there is peace. The story of Thomas above is a powerful reminder of this truth. Jesus returns. He is glorious, alive, healed. But he has scars. Good Friday cannot be separated from Easter Sunday. Incidentally, it's been said that there is only one man-made thing in Heaven: Christ's wounds. What a sobering thought. Christians are not living in a fantasy world. Dreaming up pipe dreams. Walks through rose gardens. In the immortal words of Guns 'n Roses, we know that "every rose has its thorn..." Unconditional Love, the force that Jesus unleashed upon the world by his life and death, is a curious mix of pleasure and pain, joy and sorrow. So even in the midst of that first Easter, that shockingly beautiful, scandalously incredible, dream of all dreams miracle of the Master's return from Death, there was death's reminder. Scarred hands. A pierced and open side. So let's not deceive ourselves. Love is pain. Love hurts. Peace has a price. Without this wound of Love could we ever peer in and behold the very real, beating and pleading Heart of our incarnate God?

What Must I Do?

Two weeks after the tragedy of the earthquake in Haiti, and people of good will are still wondering "What more can we do for Haiti?"

Many of us realize that there will be no real change in Haiti so long as the gifts sent are merely cash or the construction of a new infrastructure. Haiti needs more. Haiti needs our hearts. Haiti needs communion with the community of the world. Haiti must not again be forsaken. We must see in Haiti's brokenness an opportunity for togetherness.

We must do for the least of our brothers and sisters as if we were doing for Jesus Himself. For Jesus is truly among us, in the "distressing disguise of the poor."

For many too, I think, another question is rising out of the smoke and dust of this tragedy; "Where is God in all of this?" I believe the answer is not up in the clouds... God is in Haiti. Again, since Jesus has entered our world, our world is not the same. The Author has entered his own pages. He has bound Himself to the paper and ink of our history through the Incarnation of the Son of God. So where is God in all of this unimaginable suffering? He is at its heart, for He has already suffered unimaginably.

I don't believe God is simply looking down from Heaven. I believe He is also looking out from the rubble. God is on the Cross where He has been hanging for centuries.

"So where are we in all of this?" I think the first place to start is at the foot of this Cross, looking on Haiti who has been pierced, hands and feet and side... head crowned with thorns, and in seeing let us believe! Let us hold Haiti like the Pieta...

God is in Haiti. And He is calling out to us...

"Come, all you who pass by the way, look and see whether there is any suffering like my suffering..."

- Lamentations 1:12

Where is God? He is in our suffering, He is really in it. And so now none of it should go to waste. Not a drop of it, for it's mixed with our blood, sweat, and tears. As the priest prays in the Mass, "By the mystery of this water and wine, may we come to share in the Divinity of Christ who humbled himself to share in our humanity."

May this God of blood, sweat, and tears bless the blood, sweat, and tears of Haiti, and of all the generous men and women who are now lending a hand to a suffering people.

"For we are like olives, only when we are crushed do we yield what is best in us."

- Talmud

In Gratitude for the Gift of Down's Syndrome

The number of children born with Down's Syndrome has decreased in recent years. Those families found with such a "defective" pregnancy are encouraged by some doctors to "ease their suffering" by aborting their babies. Rebecca and I were so advised when we learned of our daughter Grace's condition of acrania. But in so doing, in attempting to eradicate "suffering" from our lives or the lives of our children, we destroy the very gifts God has in store for us. Yes, gifts.

Father, forgive us, for we know not what we do.

God always sees a greater good in the things we label bad. He sometimes allows nature to take it's course, and we are invited to move through this wounded world with eyes wide open, and hearts ready for anything.

Prayers for Little Mary's Family

For those who have followed the story of little Mary Coffey, please know that she went home to God yesterday morning. Having lost our daughter Grace this past January, their story has been especially close to our hearts. Grace lived just 10 hours, little Mary was nearly three years old, and now these precious ones will always be remembered... always! The cross of their pain and suffering has been planted deep in our hearts, and has already touched so many! Now Grace and Mary both dance in Heaven's Song; as Catholics we believe in this reality! But the notes to that Song can sometimes seem very distant. May God comfort the Coffey's now, and all who have lost a little one, with the healing balm of His peaceful Presence. 

My friend Tony has captured a beautiful memory of seeing Mary Coffey the day before yesterday  and I wanted to share it with you below. His blog is here - The Joyful Faith

WEDNESDAY, JULY 15, 2009 Mary Coppa Coffey

Our great friends Jim and Felicia lost their beautiful and wonderful daughter this morning. We are so sad to lose this amazing treasure, but as Jim said to me this morning, they are at peace knowing that they have a Saint in heaven watching over them forever. they have all ready fullfilled their role as parents, they raised a Saint, they brought to the world a saint, and now she will be spending her time in heaven doing good on earth for her family and for others. I wanted to relate a story about Mary, I went and saw her yesterday, and it was really a very meaningful experience for me. Here was a little child who just underwent heart-surgery, but she was performing heart surgery on me, literally, staring at her was ripping my heart open. In the 20 minutes I was with her, I was beginning to understand something of beauty, and how much the world needs Mary. I thought to myself many times, wow, she is so beautiful, it taught me an amazing lesson, to look past the surface and look right to the heart, look right to the soul. Her grandpop said something to me that also struck me, without souls like Mary, the world would fall apart," Its good for our human hearts to burst when we see such beauty.

Change We Can Believe In

We've all heard those dramatic movie trailers that start off in shadowy, ominous tones.... "In a world full of darkness.... in a time of war.... in a city torn by hatred and violence.... ONE MAN stood for justice..." etc etc.

Then we get all fired up watching Mr. Biceps (insert the latest Hollywood toughie) fight the powers that be and WIN, and the moral is once again... "One man can make a difference."

One man, that is, toting a large semi-automatic weapon.

But these remedies in the fight against Evil are always short-lived, aren't they? Lots of explosions and hairpin turns and sweet moves, but only a temporary peace is established.... until.... The Sequel!

I believe one Man did make a difference, once and for all. And He not only changed the exterior, but more importantly, the interior realms of the human heart. After all, that's where all of this wickedness is stemming from, isn't it?

No external structure can save us, let's face it. No economic stimulus is strong enough to stimulate the heart to Goodness. That takes a certain kind of grace. And no Democrat or Republican can save us either, not even one born "on Krypton." (hmmm, that may explain why he's so out of touch with things on earth). It's not a machine or a mechanism or a mortal man that can save us. This job of redemption must be done by the God-Man, Jesus Christ. If sin is an assault on Infinite Love, then it will take an Infinite Love to repair the breach. And Jesus is Infinite Love. He is Divinity united to Humanity. He is, as Pope John Paul II out it, "the human face of God and the Divine face of Man."

These events of Holy Week are both ancient history and present to us at the same time. They are history, and hisstory, and herstory. How is this possible? How is it that the Church in Her liturgy can dwell in a kind of Eternal Now for these three days? The answer is wrapped in the Mystery of the Man Who was God enfleshed; in this God Who gave us His flesh in the Eucharist to be our food, to be one with us, and to give us that grace that can finally change our hearts.

"This is my body, given up for you."

Pope recently said that this Week of Weeks "offers us the opportunity to be immersed in the central events of Redemption, to relive the Paschal Mystery, the great mystery of the faith."

From the Garden of Gethsemane to the hill of Calvary, every step and every drop of precious blood had an infinite merit. And it would merit us greatly to receive its value. The door is open now, the first steps have been taken, and even now He is about to embrace that Cross anew for us, in His timeless act of unselfish love. And in every unselfish act of ours, every moment we become a gift for others, united to Him, we can lighten that load; ease that weight. So let's walk with Him now, like Simon, like Veronica, like John, and Mary, and the countless saints and mystics of ages past.

May His Passion find its sequel in us.

Our Amazing Grace

I've shared about our story of adoption, both with our baby boy (so new and so beloved to us), and of our little ones over the last few years, 12 of whom went to God before ever seeing the light of day. I'm so happy to say that, for a short while, Little 13 saw that light. Baby Grace Elizabeth came to us early on Sunday, the feast of the Epiphany and of St. Elizabeth Ann Seton (we think Gracie planned it that way). We waited, praying, while the c-section proceeded. Someone sneezed and we all whispered "God bless you." And the doctor said "That was Grace." What a way to come into the world! Blessed in her very first seconds. She cried and squeezed our fingers, she turned her fragile head towards the light more than once. I baptized her with water from a tiny cup and we prayed, not knowing how long she would live in her condition. Then she fought for 10 hours before going back to God. She gave up her spirit just after the Angelus bells at 6pm. For how this day unfolded in the plan of Our Father, we could not have asked for more. We had the tremendous blessing of family, grandparents, uncles, aunts, and cousins around her, hugging and kissing her all day. Photographs and videos were taken, our pastor came and blessed her, and a dear friend from Maryland came too; he and his wife having lost their own precious daughter at birth, and truly knowing our pain. We sang "Amazing Grace," we prayed together, and Gracie met her big brother too. We wept, wishing she could stay, but at the end of the day we had a sense that she was going. Family left the room after saying their goodbyes, (over 20 people who had shared time with Grace), and then in our dimly lit room, Rebecca, S., Grace and I huddled up. We kissed her and sang hymns, and prayed some more. S. rested peacefully beside his sister for an hour, allowing his parents the grace to cherish every breath Grace took. For an hour, a holy hour, we kept vigil. And then she went home, and now she is whole. We are so thankful for all of the prayers of people near and far. Messages have come literally from all over. What does this mean? That life is precious, that one little life so fragile and so fair as Grace's can have such an impact on our hearts. Grace Elizabeth lived just 10 hours but filled our hearts with enough memories for a lifetime. Every little move she made was magic. We have truly felt "carried" this week by so much love and support. So now, from the hospital, we're just resting, reflecting, and praying. God has been with us at the foot of this Cross; on it in fact with Grace, we believe. We prayed for one miracle and got so much more.... "grace upon grace." Grace Elizabeth Donaghy Born - January 4, 2009, 8:04am Died - January 4, 2009, 6:08pm Baptized, Beloved, and Beautiful. We will NEVER forget you, our little saint. Rest now in your Father's arms. Love you forever, Mommy, Daddy, and your big brother S. "Every human life is sacred, because every human person is sacred."

- Pope John Paul II ________________________ Read all the posts on Grace's Story Listen to Rebecca's Song for Grace Embryo Adoption Amazing Grace

Pio, Something Smells!

PREAMBLE: Before we even begin today's reflections, I have something to smell you, I mean tell you. One of the coolest things about Padre Pio and the way God likes to work lies in the acclaimed "odor of sanctity" that often follows the holy ones. Yes, believe it or not, when God allows miracles to pour forth from His beloved saints, they are sometimes associated with fragrances. Therese is roses, and Padre Pio is often known by the scent of... tobacco. This to me is beyond awesome. Tobacco.... brilliant. "For those who believe, no explanation is necessary. For those who do not believe, no explanation is possible." Today the Church celebrates the Feast Day of one of her most beloved and most misunderstood sons... St. Pio of Pietrelcina. Born on May 25, 1887, he died on this day in 1968, and today is still affectionately known as Padre Pio. I say he was misunderstood, but more accurately I mean missed. This is simply because so much attention was given to the miracles that Jesus let flow through his hands that many missed the simple truth of who he was; a quiet man of extreme austerity who praised, loved and served Jesus and the Church passionately his whole life. He hated the attention the miracles brought. It's like the image of a man pointing to food and the dog stares at the finger instead. "Look at the food, not my finger!" I think that was perhaps his greatest cross in life. People coming to him looking for some fireworks or a show, or to cut a piece of his robe as a souvenir... yes, they did. They did it to St. Francis of Assisi too. Heck, they did this to Jesus! And perhaps I should stop saying "they" - we do too. "God, give me a sign! Prove Yourself to me!" Well, maybe our intentions aren't always that extreme. We just want recognition or affirmation, right? Maybe something merely tangible is all. And the funny thing is, God is quite willing at times to oblige! Wasn't everybody flocking to Jesus for cures, and didn't he cure many bodies? The woman with an illness of 38 years came to Jesus in a crowd of starstruck followers and she said "If I could just touch the hem of his garment, that would be enough." And she was right, it was enough. But for Jesus, as for his followers like Padre Pio, the enough wasn't enough until he got both body and soul, mind and heart. In a word all of us. So why did God allow so many miracles through St. Pio's stigmatized hands in 1950's and 60's? Maybe He will use anything and everything when the timing is right to get our attention? What follows is an excerpt from EWTN's special section on St. Pio for today's feast. Let's celebrate the extraordinary wonders of God today, and wonder how we can become more like Him in our often ordinary daily life. Bilocation and Odor of Sanctity The phenomenon of bilocation is one of the most remarkable gifts attributed to Padre Pio. His appearances on various of the continents are attested by numerous eye witnesses, who either saw him or smelled the odors characteristically associated with his presence, described by some as roses and by others as tobacco. The phenomenon of odor (sometimes called the odor of sanctity) is itself well established in Padre Pio's case. The odor was especially strong from the blood coming from his wounds. Investigation showed that he used absolutely no fragrances or anything that could produce these odors. The odors often occurred when people called upon his intercession in prayer and continue to this day. Among the most remarkable of the documented cases of bilocation was the Padre's appearance in the air over San Giovanni Rotondo during World War II. While southern Italy remained in Nazi hands American bombers were given the job of attacking the city of San Giovanni Rotondo. However, when they appeared over the city and prepared to unload their munitions a brown-robed friar appeared before their aircraft. All attempts to release the bombs failed. In this way Padre Pio kept his promise to the citizens that their town would be spared. Later on, when an American airbase was established at Foggia a few miles away, one of the pilots of this incident visited the friary and found to his surprise the little friar he had seen in the air that day over San Giovanni. As to how Padre Pio with God's help accomplished such feats, the closest he ever came to an explanation of bilocation was to say that it occurred "by an extension of his personality." - (visit here for full article)

Fire and Freedom

Before His gaze all falsehood melts away. This encounter with Him, as it burns us, transforms and frees us, allowing us to become truly ourselves... His gaze, the touch of His heart heals us through an undeniably painful transformation “as through fire”. But it is a blessed pain, in which the holy power of His love sears through us like a flame, enabling us to become totally ourselves and thus totally of God. - Pope Benedict XVI, Spe Salvi

I love the Pope. I love this challenging invitation from the Holy Father, a man anointed and appointed by the Holy Spirit to guide and govern the Church on earth. And though this invitation speaks of great pain, I take the greatest comfort from these "burning" words of his, because... 1. I know they are true, and 2. He has the courage to tell us this truth. Christianity is not a sugar-coated religion, an escape, or a crutch. It is not unrealistic, or naive. It is standing arms outstretched in the midst of scorching winds; it is stepping into the white hot furnace where the three young man danced before an evil king of this world in the Old Testament. It is a New Testament. It is a test, it is our testimony.... a blessed pain, in which the holy power of His love sears through us like a flame, enabling us to become totally ourselves and thus totally of God. And as a dear professor of theology once told me, "Everything that happened to Jesus must happen to us." So when we find ourselves in this fire of sorrow, then we find ourselves in the best of company.

Amazing Grace

An update on our Snowflakes adoption story.... We had another ultrasound this week, and our baby's condition has not changed since the diagnosis of acrania. We're still holding out for our miracle, through the prayerful intercession of Pope John Paul II, because nothing is impossible with God. And what our baby needs is the impossible. Bone where there is no bone; a total and complete healing. We did receive a tremendous blessing, though, in coming to discover the baby's sex. So we welcome to the world, though still hidden in the womb, our little girl, Grace Elizabeth. And she is a dancer. In our 22nd week, the images seem so clear. She came waltzing out of the murky shadows of the ultrasound screen, in a dimly lit room at the perinatal testing center. We could see her hands waving, the bones of her tiny fingers, her heart pounding strong and fast. When the technician, Janene, said "It's a girl," I felt such a swell of emotion. Coming to know someone's name has a power in it. It's a privilege actually. And now it strikes me as so much more personal than before... We have a little girl... and we will always have a little girl. Sixteen years from now, come what may, we'll be celebrating her birthday. We'll speak of her, dream of her, talk to her, and if the miracle doesn't come (though in a certain sense it is here already) we'll ask her to wait for us in Heaven. And we'll all look forward to meeting her in that Perfect Place where everything is whole and every tear is wiped away. But here below, this new knowledge is a two-edged sword; even as it helps us cut through a section of the sadness by our naming and knowing our little girl, it tears at us because we must consider all ends; we might have to say goodbye just as we say hello. I know it's not by coincidence that we found this all out on the Feast of Our Lady of Sorrows. Feasts of Mary and the saints have been curiously aligned with our visits and appointments throughout the past couple of years. A comfort on this way of the Cross. Grace Elizabeth.... be strong, be whole, be healed. We love and wait for you. Keep dancing in your watery world as we treasure every second of this journey.

10,000 Years

When we've been here ten thousand years Bright shining as the sun. We've no less days to sing God's praise Than when we've first begun. - Amazing Grace When I was in college seminary, our rector gave a homily that I've never forgotten. Well, at least the line I'll quote today. I remember it so well because I thought it was goofy when I first heard it. Really goofy. And I think he said the line three times. We all thought it was goofy, and had a good laugh afterwards (wasn't that very Christian of us?), thinking it was one of those "how not to preach" moments to keep in mind, should we be called all the way to ordination. But now, years later, having left those studies and discerned this beautiful vocation to marriage, having experienced so many joys and sorrows already that Life has spilled out before us, watching five fast years unfold like delicate wrapping paper from each "present" moment, the phrase from that homily has come back to me. "The main thing is to keep the main thing the main thing." That was it. Want to hear it again? OK. "The main thing is to keep the main thing the main thing." You can sort of put your inflection anywhere, which is fun. For example, "The main thing is to keep the main thing the main thing." Though, personally, I think I like "The main thing is to keep the main thing the main thing." This sentence, of course, begs the question: What is the "main thing"? Right now, it's easier for me to see than ever. In the midst of the fires of our sorrow, of possibly losing our unborn child, all the plans, desires, dreams, worries and wants of a lifetime just melt away, like paper tossed onto a burning wood. What matters most? The main thing is life with God in it; with God all around it, surrounding it... because this life and this suffering make no sense without Him. Honestly, this suffering makes no sense with Him. I think suffering falls sometimes without rhyme or reason; it can be random and reckless. Sometimes we bring it on ourselves, it's the friction caused by the scraping of sin in the world against God's original dream for us. But mostly I think it's the fallout or aftershock of that rebellion, sending rippling waves throughout the universe. "Thorns and thistles grew," nature rocks and rolls and reeks havoc, from the macro to the micro, the physical and the spiritual, and even into the tiny cells of a little baby that should be healthy and whole. I don't know what it is keeping me afloat. I'm not angry at the world or God. I'm just in a white-hot furnace of sorrow. Barring a miracle, our baby will die. This is insane and this is burning us. I'm not carrying the baby, but I'm doing my best to carry Rebecca and the baby. I don't know what to say. But I know God isn't doing it to us. It's not His fault. It's not our fault. His disciples asked him, "Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?" Jesus answered, "Neither he nor his parents sinned; it is so that the works of God might be made visible through him. - John 9 The main thing, it seems to me, is a life with God in it. The kind of God Who Himself entered into this mess, bore suffering to the extreme, and redeemed it. He tells us to carry on, the way He did unto the Cross itself. The main thing is for us to know we need God. We pray that this suffering might end in a miraculous healing so that the works of God might be made visible through our baby. We are fervently praying for this. But in it all, I remember the main thing is to keep the main thing the main thing. Love is here, burning us in sorrow. But in 10,000 years this sorrow will have passed, have been redeemed, transformed. In eternity we pray that we will be surrounded by the beautiful little ones we've adopted and lost. And the destiny of our 13th little child, who soon will be given a name, we don't yet know. We live in hope for life here and now, to have the grace to walk a little life through the beauty and the brokenness of this world, and we hope for life in its fullness in the world to come for all of us. I must keep alive in myself the desire for my true country, which I shall not find till after death; I must never let it get snowed under or turned aside; I must make it the main object of life to press on to that other country and to help others to do the same. - C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity Pope John Paul II, intercede for us.

"Embracing" Suffering?

I watch the movie The Passion of the Christ about six times a year; five times with the five sections of freshmen I teach at Malvern Prep, and usually once at home with Rebecca during Holy Week. Needless to say, the powerful images, encounters, music, and ancient languages in this film are deeply ingrained in me the way few things are. One of those images occurs as Jesus is pushed by the people outside of the walls of Jerusalem (and this image alone speaks volumes) and encounters his cross for the first time. One of other condemned criminals watches the Christ kneel and take hold of this tool of torture and press his face against it, almost lovingly. "Fool! Look how he embraces his cross!" I've been thinking about that line these days, now two weeks into our own way of the cross. When I was a kid, fresh from my own "awakening" to the reality of God and the call to a relationship with Him, I used to be perplexed by the whole "embrace your cross" mentality. I was reading about it in the lives of the saints, and over and over again I could hear in their voices such a passion for the Passion, a real love for suffering. I struggled with my own attitude towards the cross. I thought... "Well, these guys are saints, I should feel this way too, but this sounds nuts." It was very unsettling, almost morbid, I thought. "Is this what God wants of me? Doesn't He want me to be happy? Am I missing something here?" Suffering is a funny thing. It surrounds us all like air, it trembles beneath nearly every step we take, and sorrow echoes in so many of our conversations every day, but we rarely look it in the eye. Our right to the "pursuit of happiness" as Americans has become an all out mad dash, an arms flailing race towards almost any door that will get us out. Anything but that narrow, cross-shaped Door that seems to lead only to pain. But here's the truth we're coming to see, and strangely it was quoted to me in a movie back in 1986 that seems totally random right now, but perfect. The Man in Black says to the Princess Bride... "Life is pain, highness. Anyone who tells you otherwise is selling something." Well, there it is. Ever since the Fall there has been conflict, pain, death, and war; inside and outside our hearts. So what do we do with it? Most people want to run from it (hedonists), some people pretend it doesn't exist (Buddhists), a few take a morbid pleasure in it (masochists), and a few, a select few, have come to peace with it by allowing themselves to be nailed to it, trusting in a greater plan. So the saints weren't nuts, though some may have been slightly off balance in the penance department. Really they were just.... realists. Just like the One Who came in a body to take on Death like a hero. And He destroyed it. He really did. So all of this is to say that I think I'm going to pray harder every day facing not fleeing from this cross that Rebecca and I have been allowed to carry. Maybe some will say "Fools! Look how they embrace their cross!" (We've already gotten that from the eyes of one of our doctors). Good Friday has come early again. But we hope it leads to a miraculous Easter Sunday, and we're imploring the prayers of a man who bore his cross heroically, Pope John Paul II. We don't know how long this via dolorosa will twist and bend, but I want to feel the wood, let the weight of it sink in. I was encouraged by a good friend to swim into this dark abyss, and keep swimming into Rebecca's pain as a mother, to swim and not to give up. He said that at a certain moment, if I hold fast like an Olympian, then I'll make a quick turn, like Michael Phelps, and we can rise again into golden light. I'm banking on that!

All Shall Be Well

Today, Catholics throughout the world celebrate a feast and sing a
hymn of praise for the gift and beauty of the human body. This is a
feast of hope in the resurrection of the body, and our eyes are gazing
in wonder at the beauty of a human body: the Ark of the Covenant, the
New Eve, the Mother of Mankind, the Woman clothed with the Son. Mary.

We revel in the beauty of her body, not as the world does, with a
beauty only skin deep; we see the big picture, not parts but the
whole. Like a crystal that shines throughout, it's the body "capax
Dei" - capable of the Divine. The body as a temple, God's dwelling
place, open to Grace, now glorified and divinized!

Mary is taken up into glory today. And why should this seem so
unlikely, this mystery that seems not to appear in the Bible? Isn't it
in fact the Song that suffuses the entire Bible? This song is the
original music, the song of life, the Song of Songs, and the score
that sin tore apart and twisted. But we still in this valley of tears
remember the melody. Mary's Assumption into Heaven is God's symphony
for sinners.

And so we gaze in wonder, and reflect on the fact that for us too, by
His Grace, what has fallen shall be raised up, what went sour shall be
sweet again, what was broken will be repaired in us. And not by our
merit, or by Mary's alone. In the end it is all and always the Son who
supplies the Light in this darkness.

As we pray for the healing of our unborn child, I relish this feast of
the Assumption even more. We're asking for a miracle, for God can heal
all of our wounds, weakness, cancer, acrania, disease, decay, and
deformity even now, today. In this moment He can make all things new.
He did it before and if He so wills it He can do it again. So I pray
He pours His redemptive and healing power into the womb and bring
forth life! Through the hands of Mother Mary, like a channel of grace
from God, through the prayers of Pope John Paul II, Apostle of the
Human Person, and all in the Name of Jesus... let it be done unto us
according to His Word. Mary, Mother of the Unborn, pray for us.

Island of the World

A few months back, a friend recommended I read Michael D. O'Brien's novel Island of the World. Familiar with his work (Fr. Elijah and Strangers and Sojourners being my favorites from his Children of the Last Days series), I said "Sure, I'll have to pick that up." Little did I know it would take two hands to do so (it's 839 pages) and a good couple of months to finish it. Today, I read the last sentence, closed the cover, and am utterly and completely exhausted.

I feel like Frodo, lying in that soft bed of grass in Ithilien after his torturous trek through the pits of Mordor. In some ways, I'm reminded very much of the feelings that the Lord of the Rings stirred up in me at my first reading. It was a sweet melancholia, and in some ways I didn't want the tale to end. With Island of the World the pain was much sharper. It's realism pierced like a sword. Here was not a myth but a man, and I grew up with him, from the age of 8 or 9 until his late 70's, through love and sorrow, pain and poetry; the span of his life and experiences is massive and deeply moving. O'Brien's craft is growing more tender with the years. His characters seem to palpitate, their heartbeats pound right off of the page as they move through the world, taste and dance and sing and suffer. I suffered right along with them, and these wounds will be with me, I think, for some time. Reading this book was like open-heart surgery, and I didn't even realize I needed this operation! But the wound revealed is what St. John of the Cross called the Wound of Love. This book preaches without preaching our need for the tonic of forgiveness.

Wow.... I can't say more but to suggest committing to the work of reading this novel. And pack tissues... yeah, lots of 'em.... and you'll throw the thing down a couple of times too, by the way. It's crazy.... a crazy powerful tale of rapturous beauty rapt in frail mortality.

Peter Kreeft, one of my all time favorite authors had this to say about Island of the World.

"You will not want to put this book down until you finish it, and you will continue to live in it even after you close its covers. This story will change you. It will make you a wiser, better person. Is there any greater, rarer success we can hope for in a mere book than that?"
- Peter Kreeft, Ph.D., Boston College. Author, The Philosophy of Tolkien

Write up from O'Brien's website:
"Island of the World is the story of a child born in 1933 into the turbulent world of the Balkans and tracing his life into the third millennium. The central character is Josip Lasta, the son of an impoverished school teacher in a remote village high in the mountains of the Bosnian interior. As the novel begins, World War II is underway and the entire region of Yugoslavia is torn by conflicting factions: German and Italian occupying armies, and the rebel forces that resist them—the fascist Ustashe, Serb nationalist Chetniks, and Communist Partisans. As events gather momentum, hell breaks loose, and the young and the innocent are caught in the path of great evils. Their only remaining strength is their religious faith and their families... Ultimately this novel is about the crucifixion of a soul—and resurrection."
- from O'Brien's website

Abortion Changes You

A new podcast is up on the very controversial topic of abortion. Michaelene Fredenburg is the creator of Abortion Changes You, an outreach for those affected directly or indirectly by abortion. Staying away from the polarization that often takes place in the culture, Michaelene instead focuses on the hearts left wounded by abortion, She has created a place for healing, sharing stories, and building a new life after the fallout of a practice that is taking its toll on countless unseen victims every day. Michaelene's own story follows.... please consider passing this story on to someone whom you know needs support.

"When I became pregnant at 18, I had an abortion. I was completely unprepared for the emotional fallout. I thought the abortion would erase the pregnancy. I thought I could move on with my life. I was wrong. I experienced periods of intense anger followed by periods of profound sadness. When my feelings became too difficult to deal with, I reached out for help from a trained counselor. With counseling and the help of supportive friends, I was able to enter into a healthy grieving process. In addition to grieving the loss of my child, I slowly became aware of how my choice to abort had impacted my family. I was surprised and saddened that my parents, my sister, and even my living children struggled to deal with the loss of a family member through abortion. Over the years I’ve heard many heartrending stories about abortion. Although each story is unique, a common thread moves through them all—abortion changes you. Yet there is no forum to help abortion participants—and the people who are closest to them—explore this tragic truth. Although abortion has touched many of us, we rarely share our personal experiences regarding it. This is what led me to write a book that shares some of the stories I’ve heard. There was also a need for a safe space for people to tell their stories, explore the ways abortion has impacted them, and find resources. We created AbortionChangesYou.com to fill this need. It is my hope that this Web site will assist you as you seek to make sense of your abortion or the abortion of someone close to you."

Passion Reflection #3 - Veronica's Veil

(Kindnesses small as seeds can stand as long as mountains, and be remembered until the end of an age... Such is the motion of a woman's veil, cupped in trembling hands upon the Face of the Man of Sorrows).

She stood out in a crowd.
It was the eyes above all
A stream of compassion
That flowed through the wall
Of hatred and anger
Jealousy and fear
Veronica saw Suffering
and dared to draw near.

Here the drama unfolded that has since been remembered, through time and through tales her act has engendered the same look, the same leap
Out of self, out to others,
To the small and the sorrowful, to the least of our brothers.

To ease the world's wounds is the saint's vocation.
To make a veil of the heart and the mind is our mission.
To catch tears and calm fears turns our pride to submission.
And in every small act of mercy or compassion,
His Face shines again from the servant-heart's passion.

Passion Reflection #2 - Peter and the Battle of Prayer

What a scene the Passion of the Christ begins with; tension, fear, foreboding from the first few seconds of the film.

On the night Jesus was handed over, he made his way to the Garden of Gethsemane, taking with him his three closest friends; Peter, James, and John.

How beautiful that Our Lord has these levels of intimacy; the family friends of Bethany, the Twelve, and these three men who have walked with him now from the beginning. (What are the levels of intimacy in your life? Do you have a trinity of souls to share your sorrows with? Two friends? Even one is a tremendous blessing).

But in the mystical, moist night air of the Garden of Olives, Christ is alone. His friends sleep while he burns in the fires of sorrow. Pressed down by the weight of the world's sin, he is living out in his body what the name of this place embodies; Gethsemane is a Hebrew word meaning "olive press." Jesus is fully man, and fully God, and he knows what is coming. Yet blood flows from his anxiety. His capillaries break under the anguish and strain of what lies ahead. But not only blood; the sweet oil of mercy flows out. Oil rich enough to light the lamps of countless souls for a billion centuries.

Torches appear in the murky shadows. Peter awakens and comes to Our Lord. But he has not prayed, he has not been pressed. He is not ready for this encounter. His reaction to Jesus' arrest will be reprimanded by the Prince of Peace; "Put away your sword, Peter. For those who live by the sword, die by the sword."

Bishop Fulton Sheen once spoke of this moment of Peter's. Without that solitary encounter with God, that quiet communion with Him in prayer, we do not receive His oil to light our lamps. We are operating on our own devices. We move out of our own initiative, rather than by the spark of the Holy Spirit's.

Peter has been sleeping while Christ has been praying. If he had been in communion with the Lord, "watched one hour with him," what might have happened?

So for us.... What fuel are we running on? What impels us to do the things we do? Is it coming out of that stillness we have spent in the Garden of Prayer, or from somewhere else? Perhaps from our own busyness, our own agenda, our foot in the door and last word opinion?

Step into His stillness then. Sit and pray in this Garden of Shadows and watch one hour with Him. Let Him tell you when the time is right for action.