Walk Humbly with Your God

Our parish is losing its pastor yet again. He's our fourth priest in about seven or eight years.

Wow. Let's just admit from the get go that we are a stiff necked and cantankerous people in a parish that is quite nearly drowning in debt and mired in a host of other intractable issues. Our pastor has been with us a scant fifteen months. His decision to leave came the afternoon he failed to yield to on-coming traffic and creamed another car. The main memory he has of the accident is being far more focused on the in-fighting within the parish than on his driving. Thankfully, the only damage was to the cars.

In his parting remarks, Father K addressed a few of the issues facing our church. Toward the end of his comments, he gently took us to task for perhaps having a tendency to view ourselves as "better Catholics" than the parishes up the road that sport less traditional architecture and more contemporary music. Lord have mercy, one actually has a youth Mass.

Father K was spot on.

I am a conservative Catholic. I appreciate orthodox liturgy. The atmosphere in our parish helps lift my mind and soul toward God. All of this does not make me a better Catholic.

Arrogance has no place in Christianity. Liturgical one-upsmanship brings with it a disdain for others and a singular inability to love God and neighbor as we should.

Elizabeth Foss shares several points about gentleness here. She writes:

Don't dismiss someone just because they aren't as outwardly pious as you are. Don't dismiss people at all. There's a big world of people out there. And some of those people are people from whom God intends you to learn. Even if, at first glance, it looks as if they aren't nearly as holy or smart or good as you are. Even if they aren't as holy or smart or pious as you are. They, too, were created in His image and each person--each and every one--is valuable. And worth your time. Don't discount someone because they aren't as up on theology as you are or because they don't "have religion."

After Pope Bendict's visit some years back, I surfed the net getting the take on the papal visit. I was flabbergasted at the sheer volume of virtual rotten tomatoes hurled at the papal Mass in particular. Blog after blog expressed disdain for every aspect of his visit. After reading far more than enough of this rot, I asked myself (and posed the question in a combox): Where is the light? 

Something too often goes astray somewhere on the road to liturgical correctness. You can see it in the furrowed brow, the edgy tone, and words bereft of kindness and, honestly, of joy. It all reminds me of a quote attributed to Ghandi: I like your Christ, but I don't like your Christians.

If I sound too preachy, no one should take this all to heart more than me, myself, and I. Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea culpa.

The trials within our parish have brought home yet another critical  and rather obvious point: Our priests need our prayers. One of my closest friends is the daughter of an Episcopal priest. She grew up seeing the scrutiny and pressure and division men of the cloth routinely face. It is a tough, often isolated job. You're expected to be a Jack of all trades and a master of all.

The parish priest who was, in my opinion, the finest spiritual director and homilist, wasn't the most gifted administrator. A friend of mine sent hm an email, and called him when she hadn't received a response. "I got back from trip," he confessed, "and had so many emails, I just deleted them all."

However. One day I left a phone message for him asking if I could come by to talk over issues of prayer and spiritual growth. He called me back about twenty minutes later. He was first and foremost a pastor and a teacher. Administrator? Maybe not so much.

But they have to do it all, these priests. They keep near-bankrupt schools afloat. They placate the warring factions of liturgical purists and liturgical experimenters. They seek to assemble a quality staff with meager funds to pay them. They are expected to do the impossiblele, and at every Mass they do the miraculous.

They need our prayer so much more than our criticism.

Loose lips do indeed sink ships. For every divisive comment we made, what if we had offered a Hail Mary instead? What mountains could we have  moved (and could we still move) with a batch of cookies and a Novena instead of petitions and gossip?

I have often said that motherhood isn't for the faint of heart.

Neither is fatherhood.

So Godspeed, Father K.  Hopefully, we will take your words to heart and move forward as a parish to spread the Good News and not the bad.

The Hits Just Keep on Coming

Kolbe: Mom, let me give you some parenting advice ...

He goes on to explain how body language clearly illustrates whether a certain child is lying or not. Useful tidbits, these.

***

John: I'm sleeping in Grandma's basement, and I'm not going to pee. Not one bit!

So glad to hear it.

Spilt Milk

The Mess

The Swim

The Joy

Overheard

John, in the middle of Mass: Mama, do you like my belly button? I like your belly button.

***

Tim, on afternoon plans: Mom, you take a long nap. We'll be gaming. It's all good.

***

John, to a snoring Dave: Dad, can you quit making that noise so I can sweep?

***

Kolbe: My health book is full of lies. It says fruit makes a great dessert, and that's just nuts.

***

Me: There's a wet bathing suit on the floor.

Nameless: I thought that's where I'm supposed to put it.

***

John, handing me an elaborate drawing he has finished: It's a map to Grandma's house. You're leaving tomorrow.

***

Ainsley, anxious to watch Winnie the Pooh: Pwess Pway, Mama!

The English teacher groans. The mother dashes off for an uninterrrupted cup of coffee.

***

Tim, quoting Mr. Spock: I have never understood the female capacity for failing to give a clear answer.

Only when you're harrassing me for more computer time.
***

Kolbe, watching a furniture commercial: Who wants new furniture? We want furniture we can eat on and jump on.

***

Tim, who had been fighting with his brother non-stop over some code that came on the back of a cereal box: I gave him the code. I figured one of us had to be mature, and it wasn't going to be him.

Endless Vacation?

First, a disclaimer: This is not a post intended to dis mothers with jobs.

Sarah at Fumbling Toward Grace has an interesting post examining service -- service in general, but also the particular call on a mother's life. Sarah describes thoughts she had as a college student regarding motherhood:

The idea that a woman would purposefully give up the years she is supposed to be “getting established in her career” to get married, have babies, and take care of them, seemed repulsive and nauseating.

That’s because I was living Non Serviam.

The kind of intimate, challenging, service associated with embracing any vocation, was not to be borne. If I ever did get married and have children, I remember thinking, I would of course have a nanny, or at the very least, a housekeeper. That type of work would be too far beneath me to do myself.

As a teenager and a young college student, I was convinced I would never be a stay-at-home mother. I mean, why would I? Of course I mulled  these ideas over in my head in a vacuum, long before I had ever known the drudgery of a work week, before I had ever held a newborn to my breast, before I had ever thought through the logistics of day care and commutes and long hours.

I had my first child at 33. By that time, I was well-acquainted with the pluses and minuses of the working world. I had some experiences with precious newborn nieces and nephews. And I knew I wanted to stay home with my baby.

Since then, I have never struggled with the idea -- the ideal --  of being a stay-at-home mother. I have many close friends who would love to stay home full time but circumstances don't allow it. I have friends who work outside their home and wouldn't have it any other way.

So, for me, as an ideal, being a stay-at-home is great. But the reality of it? This I frequently struggle with. I recall the day Dave came home from work and innocently asked what I had done that day.

My response? Thanks for asking, honey. I hauled plastic crap from one room to another.

I was only half kidding. It can be tedious, the life of a stay-at-home mother. I am grateful for numerous opportunities to engage in Grown Up Activities -- writing projects, service teams, this blog -- that break up the monotony and help me return refreshed to embrace this life of mine.

I am on a pastoral team that meets twice a month for a few hours. I served on the team while pregnant with Ainsley and then toted her along with me for fourteen or fifteen months. By that time, she was super mobile and into everything, so I began leaving her home. The other team members missed her and wondered why I no longer brought her along for the ride. Bottom line: I enjoyed spending two hours with big people talking about big people issues. I appreciated the break.

To be sure, we live in time when Me Time has become something of an idol. I worked with the Missionaries of Charity for  many, many years. Their Me Time? Thirty minutes of recreation each afternoon and a visit home every ten years. I confess that when I hear the word pampering bandied about as something We deserve, by golly!, I am somewhat repulsed.

Forty-zillion weeks pregnant? You deserved to be pampered! Fresh out of surgery? Pamper away! The bride-to-be? It's your time, honey.

But on a day-to-day basis, I think our culture grossly over emphasizes Me Time and Pampering. Dave and I own a timeshare. I could write a lengthy series of posts on that subject alone. Every month we receive a timeshare magazine called Endless Vacation. The title irks me to no end. Why? If we actually buy into the lie that life is supposed to be an Endless Vacation, no wonder so many of us suffer from discontentment and depression.

Life is not an Endless Vacation. It is supposed to be peaceful, joyful, and fulfilling, yes, but if it's all about Me! Me! Me!, we're in big trouble.

What did Jesus say? Deny yourself, take up your cross, and follow me. He didn't say schedule a weekly mani and pedi.

Now I am all about taking care of the people who take care of everyone else. The old saying is true: If Mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy. Friendship, prayer support, the counsel of other mothers, hobbies, enjoying lunch out -- all of these go a long way in doing what true recreation is supposed to do -- re-create us so that we can move forward in the great work that God has called us to do.

I just placed an order for Do Hard Things.  "Combating the idea of adolescence as a vacation from responsibility," says the Do Hard Things website, "the authors weave together biblical insights, history, and modern examples to redefine the teen years as the launching pad of life and map a clear trajectory for long-term fulfillment and eternal impact."

This is not an endorsement since I haven't yet read the book, but I think we can all stand to combat the notion that any time of life is a vacation from responsibility (except, of course, for vacation).

I mentioned that several months back I conferred with a friend about why it's all sometimes so hard -- harder than it should be, it seemed to me. I know that part of my struggle is that I've bought into the myth of Endless Vacation. At a certain basic level, I don't want to die to myself, to grow in fortitude, to do the hard thing.

Ainsey in about two years?

The rub is that when I overcome my weak will, when I fully embrace this life, when I stop cutting corners, when I put off  petty feelings of resentment, in short, when I truly love -- the result is joy.

The other day I picked up a sweet little book for Ainsley. It's called Little Mommy. Hard-core feminists would have a field day with this retro-tome. Little Mommy devotes a good portion of her day to housework. I actually started to laugh when I read about the ironing that awaited her. Now, I had just bought and assembled the cutest miniature kitchen for Ainsey, but I draw the line at toy vacuum cleaners and especially at the toy ironing board. Sheer drudgery, Ainsey-girl! Make no mistake about it!

So the book briefly made me laugh. But it is sweet, depicting as it does a day spent in loving service to others. Besides that, Little Mommy has blond hair and bears a striking resemblance to my precious daughter.

Looking at the pictures of Little Mommy taking her babies for a walk, cleaning house, and, yes, even ironing, begs the question: Are these jobs beneath us?

Sarah writes, "But if they are, if that is true, then who is fit to do them? If I say that someone else is fit to do the work that is “beneath me” then what I am saying about me?

Food for thought.

And now I should close and run. Thirteen-year-old Tim reports that three-year-old John has up-chucked in the hall. Sometimes "repulsive" and "nauseating" really do fit the bill.

Mirror, Mirror

Ainsley, staring into a mirror: Hi, Ainsey! Hi, Ainsey! Hi, Ainsey!

{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.

Happy Weekend to you!