A Yet-Unfulfilled Mission?

A great person once said that the first millennium of Christian faith was the millennium of the monastic. The second millennium of the Christian faith was the millennium of the secular ordained. And he said that he felt this next millennium of Christian faith would be the millennium of the laity, and let it be so.

A friend of mine has recently lamented our approach to the vocation of marriage. When looking at the diocese website she finds that, in the discussion of various vocations, there is information on the monastic life and on the life of the secular clergy, but a vocation to marriage is only mentioned in passing at the end, and even then only alluded to. What do we think of the vocation of marriage? Is it so base and common that it hardly counts as a vocation? And yet I read an anecdote, I believe in an article written by Ron Rolheiser, of an ascetic who returns home after seven years in the desert meditating on the Eucharist of Christ to see that his mother, who has never had a moment in her life of her own because of chasing after children and living the family life, is a deeper contemplative than he is. And this because she learned to give herself fully over to God, as she had given herself over to her family. Her family became a model teaching her how to give herself fully to God.

I am presently reading a book on one of the greatest mystics of our time, reading her writings and commentary on them, and marking my way through it so that I might learn and apply to my life what she learned and what she felt and what she can teach us and me. She was a nun, although a nun living in the world. And we all venerate the greatness of God through her life and actions in Calcutta. She was a nun, one who was set apart by God from the more common life of marriage and working 9-5 to return home, leaving work for the day. We can't be like her unless we deny the flesh and devote our bodies and our spirits solely to God in the way that she did. Can we?

I also see our respect and deference to the secular clergy. His Grace, Archbishop Thomas Collins, really is a spectacular man and a man of deep spiritual leading, I believe. In the hearts of many he is even akin to a celebrity, and I will confess to having succumbed to that feeling as well at times. He leads the Church in Toronto and inspires holiness in its youth and a passion for the will of Christ. And these things are all true. People follow his leading to Christ. We can't be like him unless we deny the flesh and devote our bodies and spirits solely to God in the way that he does. Can we?

Or can we? The Church has many heroes and heroines who denied their sexuality and followed Christ. Is it possible to have our Mother Teresas and Archbishop Thomas Collins among those who follow Christ to a family? For indeed Christ must lead us to bear families and serve him in the family life. If he does not, then we who raise families truly are weaker and less holy than those of the consecrated life by our very nature. If he does not, the Kingdom of God is torn apart by a caste system. And then we, who feel strongly, powerfully, truly called to raise a family for Christ... what of us?

No, we must have our own vocation which is as blessed and as holy as to the monastic life and as to the secular clergy. Whether it be recognised officially in the Church, whether it be recognised colloquially by the people, whether we can accept a vocation to such deep holiness as Christ can raise up in the life of a family, it must be true. Marrying is not simply succumbing to our passions and the lusts of the flesh: it is worshiping God with our whole bodies and experiencing the passion of the Eucharist in an intense and one-forming way, making us one with each other and one with God, and indeed His whole Church.

Can we have a married Mother Teresa? I do not know; but by the Grace of God I must believe that He will raise me up to be that, and that He will do so in the family He has called and indeed driven me to partake in.

Holy Thursday

I'm amazed at how much I do not remember of what happens on a given day during Easter. For example, I forgot that Holy Thursday means a foot washing ceremony. Father Pat did not call on me as one of his random people from the congregation, but all the same, it was a wonderful service. And again I was blessed to be able to keep vigil with our Lord in the garden.

I read a portion of Mother Teresa, Come Be My Light and was struck with how close I feel to the words I read in one of her letters. She spoke of things in her past which I struggle with and fight against now, namely pride. And she spoke about once having a fear of crosses, but now embracing them before they even come. This was encouragement to me, as I am sometimes blessed to see that a cross will be coming to me, and it does strike fear in me and I am ashamed of it. She has much consolation and wisdom to share for me. I do know some of what I have been called to do, although the specifics are not yet present in my mind. It frightens me because I know that I am too proud and because of such a vice I should not be given any such gift, but yet I am given it all the same. This pride that lives in my heart of hearts cuts and scratches as a thorn and a burr and in doing so, keeps and shall keep me humble. I can only hope that this is true and I will truly learn it.

A Prayer

Easter looms large in my vision. Tomorrow is Holy Thursday.

Lord, I wonder why you have given me what you have? And I both fear and hope that it is because of this season. But if it is, I will be sad at having lost this intimacy with you. But if it is not, I will, shamefully, feel the relief of someone no longer looking over my shoulder. But really, I want you to guide me so closely. I want to obey you in your directions which have such clarity. It is my fear of where you are leading that makes me hesitant. But I should not fear my destination, because if you are taking me there, you will be with me. More fearful would be to remain here in a pleasance without you than to go into trial with you. And so I suppose I must go with you. You who speaks through me must be with me and carry me forward as a rushing stream and help me to trust in you to guard me and prepare me as needed. And if you are for me, who can be against me? So tomorrow I will begin the walk to Calvary with you. And once it is finished, and once you are risen indeed, let me take up my cross with you and follow you. Be my Simon that I might follow you to Calvary.

Palm Sunday and Holy Week

Today was Palm Sunday. One year ago, this was The Countdown. On this day, a year ago, I began the one week countdown to acceptance into full communion with the Catholic church and Confirmation. As was said in church, this evening, this entire week is in essence one liturgy: we enter on Palm Sunday, we experience the first reading on Holy Thursday, we keep vigil with prayers as though psalms, we experience the second reading on Good Friday, then on Easter Sunday we celebrate the consecration of the Host and are sent forth.

[The next day]

It was interesting. I have felt a certain desolation of the soul in the past while growing. Yesterday it reached a certain clarity: it was a desolation tied to the journey which we follow. Palm Sunday is one of the most ironic days of the year, to me. And in a most painful way. Here we are waving our palms and celebrating the triumphant entrance of Jesus into the holy city, and in a few days we will torture and kill him. These palms are the nails of guilt, piercing the flesh. How appropriate that we should fold them into crosses which redeem their nature which drives our hopeless guilt and shame into our hearts. Instead, in this new form, their message is reformed to one naming our guilt and speaking forgiveness.

An Overdue Update

I've finished reading that book, now, and I expect I shall read it again. It has a strong emphasis upon learning to listen through journaling. I've started journaling a little, and I have found it to be a very good exercise, although a challenge to establish as a discipline. However, one must look on the source of why it is challenging: whether it is God telling you something, or if it is a sign that you should be pursuing it all the more as the devil seeks to stop you from getting closer to God. In this case, for myself, I believe it is either the latter or my lack of discipline, or something of both.

In other news, I've been reading Anticlaudianus, by Alain de Lille for Latin class. It is an interesting work, although I tend to agree with C. S. Lewis on the value of this work (Lewis had Opinions on it and Alain de Lille). Allegory of Love discusses it and Cosmographia, by Bernardus Silvestris; and while a certain kindness is extended to Bernardus for the originality of his topic, he tears Alanus ab Ilanus to shreds as an unoriginal hack. On the whole it was an intriguing analysis which I do not fully agree with, although I certainly do to a certain extent.

And on a more random note, steampunk computer things! I cannot believe I did not know about this genre until recently. Or rather, that it existed as its own genre.