Rebellion and Obedience Part II

I am not sure how many of you readers can relate, but during Mass, my mind wanders. The thoughts usually are concerned with wishing that I was in bed right now, wondering what I will eat after Mass, or I typically think mean things about the pesky parishoner who says their responses half a second ahead of everyone else in the congregation. But considering the Mass readings of late, and the focus on the joyful mysteries of the Rosary, this morning I was thinking of something else. I was considering the regretful tendency of some Catholics who, when they do not comprehend some teaching of the Church, choose to ignore it, disbelieve it, or at worst cut personal ties with the faith. I was thinking of Mary this morning in relation to this. In Luke's Gospel, Mary makes it clear she does not understand the message of God given through Gabriel (Luke 1:34). I would also suggest that Mary did not understand the implications of giving birth to God, made man. With all of this "against" her, she still responded with a humble "yes" to God.

Too often I find Catholics who hear of a ceratin teaching and sneer at it after having made a half-baked attempt to comprehend it. This often generalizes into a "sneer" of the Church at large and may lead to a contempt of organized religion, particularly Catholicism (at least this is what I find to be true, I hope I am wrong). Mary provides the alternate example of what we should do as faithful Catholics. Not fully understanding a teaching does not imply that we should "throw the baby out with the bathwater". Rather, we should calmly consider the teaching, and perhaps even say yes to it as Mary did to Gabriel. The Church is God's messenger to us, as Gabriel was God's messenger to Mary. I am not advocating blind faith, I am advocating trust in God and His Church. Let us not fall into the skepticism and nihilistic views of our world. If we cannot trust in our Church leadership, why are we Catholic? The beauty and simplicity of our Blessed Mother encourages us to show others that there is still hope in this world. We are to shine as a city on a hill. We are to shine especially now, during these last days of Advent.

George Bailey and Our Wonderful Lives

Among the many classic Christmas movies I watch this time of year, one of my top three favorites is "It's a Wonderful Life". The theme in this movie that I pick up on so readily each year is that George Bailey never, ever does what he wants to do in life. His dream is to travel to exotic places, and to see and do big, wonderful things. Yet time and time again his best laid plans are thwarted by external circumstances. I can't help but feel very sorry for him during the movie because he knows he is doing the right thing, but it breaks his heart to do what he should do, but does not want to do. His character is the perfect example of someone who is obedient to what is required of him for the happiness of others. The lesson of the film though, is that he clearly overlooks what he has in life and especially the good he has done for others. Because of his sacrifice, others could have a better life. In that sense George Bailey is very Christ-like. Setting aside personal ambition is so very difficult for all of us, I find myself having enormous difficulty reconciling the sacrificial life Jesus calls me (and all people) to, with my desires and plans. It does not seem fair at all to sacrifice for others, to lay down our desires so the other person can shoot up higher. As paradoxical as it sounds though, I believe that somehow, making ourselves vulnerable and sacrifical will make us happier than any person on earth who does only what they want to do. I can't say I understand this, because I don't. This is a mystery of God beyond me, but something inside me tells me it is true. Something tells me to look inside the manger and see the greatest example of sacrifice and happiness. The most mysterious paradox in history came as a baby for us. It makes no sense. Does it have to? All I know is that I am happy, that's all I permit myself to say on the matter.

Gratitude

Gratitude. Often when we are down, different people, maybe our friends or family, remind us to count our blessings. That seems like pretty shallow and cliched advice when our hearts have been broken, or when our hearts simply have no strength to carry on for the time being.

But if we truly, truly consider what we have to be thankful for, our hearts cannot help but want to burst with love for the gifts we have in out lives. We say we are grateful for family, friends, God, etc. But so often we say it without thinking of what they all really mean in our lives.

A friend shared this article on Facebook, and I simply can't keep myself from sharing with all of you, too - it would be an injustice to keep it to myself. (It is written mainly to those who work with youth in parishes, but I found it extremely relevant to my life... perhaps because I am precisely a young adult who works with youth and other young adults in many areas of my life!)

This article calls to me as a verification of something I know to be true in my life: the call to a challenging life is far more attractive than coasting along "easy street." I have been blessed to have a community of people who daily challenge me to examine my life and live in a true and open way. It is a struggle, but it is a happy struggle (as strange as that sounds) because I know it leads me closer to Christ.

I think this article points out something that resides deep within every human heart: the call to something - some One - greater than ourselves.

*****

Click here for the full article and citations: http://catholiceducation.org/articles/history/world/wh0105.html

*****

Ah, Youth: When the Church Was Young

MIKE AQUILINA

The Church Fathers had a distinctive approach to youth ministry. I discovered it in the course of an afternoon's research.

Scouring the Patrologia Latina and Patrologia Graeca, I found nothing to suggest that Ambrose had ever led teens on ski trips to the nearby Alps. Digging through the Eastern Fathers, I came up even drier — no junior-high dances — not even a pizza party in either Antioch or Alexandria. In fact, in all the documentary evidence from all the ancient patriarchates of the East and the West, there's not a single bulletin announcement for a single parish youth group.Yet the Fathers had enormous success in youth and young-adult ministry. Many of the early martyrs were teens, as were many of the Christians who took to the desert for the solitary life. There's ample evidence that a disproportionate number of conversions, too, came from the young and youngish age groups.
How did the Fathers do it? They made wild promises.
They promised young people great things, like persecution, lower social status, public ridicule, severely limited employment opportunities, frequent fasting, a high risk of jail and torture, and maybe, just maybe, an early, violent death at the hands of their pagan rulers.
The Fathers looked young people in the eye and called them to live purely in the midst of a pornographic culture. They looked at some young men and women and boldly told them they had a calling to virginity. And it worked. Even the pagans noticed how well it worked.
The brightest young man in the empire's brightest city — a teenager named Origen of Alexandria — promised himself entirely to God in virginity. And, as he watched his father taken away to be killed, Origen would have gone along himself, turned himself in, if his mother had not hidden all his clothes. . . .
I searched volumes on the ancient liturgy, and I was unable to find a scrap of a Mass we'd call "relevant" today. There were no special Youth Masses. Yet there was an overwhelming eucharistic faith among the young people of the Church.

What made the Church attractive in the third century can make it just as attractive in the twenty-first. In the ancient world and in ours, young people want a challenge.

Tarcisius was a boy of third-century Rome. His virtue and devotion were so strong that the clergy trusted him to bring the Blessed Sacrament to the sick. Once, while carrying a pyx, he was recognized and set upon by a pagan mob. They flung themselves upon him, trying to pry the pyx from his hands, wanting more than anything to profane the Sacrament. Tarcisius' biographer, the fourth-century Pope Damasus, compared them to a pack of rabid dogs. Tarcisius "preferred to give up his life rather than yield up the Body of Christ."Even at such an early age, Tarcisius was aware of the stakes. Jesus had died for love of Tarcisius. Tarcisius did not hesitate to die for love of Jesus.
What made the Church attractive in the third century can make it just as attractive in the twenty-first. In the ancient world and in ours, young people want a challenge. They want to love with their whole being. They're willing to do things the hard way — if people they respect make the big demands. These are distinguishing marks of youth. You don't find too many middle-aged men petitioning the Marines for a long stay at Parris Island. It's young men who beg for that kind of rigor.
The spiritual writer Father John Hugo told a cautionary tale, not from the ancient Church, but from the German Church of the early twentieth century. Youth leaders faced a country depressed and dejected from its defeat in World War I. Teens seemed aimless, with little hope for professional opportunity and no clear sense of patriotism or other ideals.
The German clergy made a conscious effort, then, to accentuate the positive. They decided to accommodate the country's weakness, avoid mentioning sacrifice, and downplay the cross and other "negative" elements of Christianity. They were big on nature hikes.
At the same time, there arose a man who called upon those same youth to give up everything for the sake of their country. "He put them in uniforms, housed them in barracks — in short, he demanded that they live a hard and laborious life." This man, Adolf Hitler, won the hearts of the youth. Because no young man or woman really wants to give his life away cheaply.
Tarcisius knew better. So do the kids in your parish.
*****

Holy Hunger

There's a line in today's Gospel that really hit me tonight. Jesus has just fed the five thousand, and they're looking for him again the next day because they are hungry. I have two basic interpretations, and I easily find myself in both.

First, the physical hunger: the people don't understand the significance of what has just happened... they just think, "Hey, this guy fed us all yesterday, and now we're hungry again... where did he go, let's find him so we can eat!"

Then, there is the spiritual hunger: "I don't know what it is about this man, but he has satisfied a hunger I did not know I had before I met him. Now, I'm hungry for more - I must find him!"

Obviously, I'd like to say I fit into the second category more frequently, but if I am truly honest... probably not. I think I fall somewhere in between these two, a combination of the two. "I don't know how, and I don't know why, and I can't explain it... but this is what I need. This is what satisfies my hunger - Christ."

Last week, I had a horribly stressful day. By 8:30am, I was nearly in tears; by lunch, my mental to-do list was growing so quickly that I couldn't write everything down; by 3:30pm, I had all but shut down with frustration; at 4:30 I received a proposal that I knew would require more mental and spiritual energy than I could possibly muster. I was exhausted in every way. I had a huge list of things that needed done, a very limited number of hours in which to do them, and only a hint of something resembling a desk under the overflowing mountain of books and paperwork surrounding my computer. My mind told me to sit and be productive, but I could not. My heart - no, my entire self - longed for something else, for the only One who could bring any sense to my crazy, stressful, too-much-to-handle day.

The church was only a few hundred yards from my desk, and I knew nothing else would satisfy the hunger in my heart. So I walked away from my overflowing desk (okay, I rummaged through the clutter for my calendar, phone, and other necessities, threw them in my bag, slung it over my shoulder, and defiantly left the remaining mess for later) and headed to the church for Adoration. And I begged, and pleaded, and cried out for something - anything - because I was so hungry, and yet I had no idea what I needed. I just needed Him.

My prayer wasn't dignified, it wasn't "holy" in the typical, picture-of-a-saint-on-a-holy-card way, but it was the most honest and humble moment I've had in a while... and in its own messy way, it was beautiful. Answers to my problems? No - at least not right away. Comfort in knowing that everything I need is right here in my hand? Yes!

"I don't know how He does it. I don't know how He can feed us all. But I'm hungry, and I'm going to find Him, because His food is the only thing I've found that can satisfy."