Monthly Archives: August 2018

Why I’m Staying

I wasn’t going to write about this for various reasons, a significant one being that plenty of other people already have. However, being Catholic, and being an emotional, thinking person, I feel like I have to. A lot of people have written or made videos about why they’re leaving. This is about why I’m staying.

I heard in the early two thousands, when I was growing up, that there was some kind of scandal going on in the Catholic Church. I didn’t pay attention because I was a kid. It’s only recently that I’m learning how bad it has been, and unfortunately, it’s tempting a lot of people, or even causing a lot of people to leave. This has been an ongoing issue, and the Catholic Church has always had problems, but it has come to light more radically in the past couple of decades. The details are easy to find, and quite honestly, I’m too horrified to go into them here. All that needs to be known is that far too many children were victimized by men who were supposed to lead our Church, and be examples of holiness. Instead, they exploited their power and broke sacred vows they had made to God.

All I can say is that I’m sorry I didn’t know. I wish I could change the way things are, but I can’t. I wish I could somehow prove to the victims that God loves them, but I probably can’t. A lot of what has happened has come to light because of a recent report from Pennsylvania. I can’t bring myself to read it, but as far as I know, it is available to read. I could barely handle the few stories I’ve read or heard. A lot of people, probably much like myself, are leaving because, like me, they’re indignant about this, and perplexed as to how our leadership could have let this happen.

I do think that our leaders are at fault, some moreso than others, but I think we also have to look in the mirror and admit to ourselves that, maybe, in some sense, we’re a little bit to blame. Maybe we’ve been a little too trusting, and maybe, on the other hand, we’ve been too hesitant to believe it when we hear that a priest could do such a thing. I think a lot of us just haven’t paid enough attention. I’m not saying everyone is to blame. As I said, this wasn’t on my radar until recently because I was a kid while a lot of it was going on.

When I first read about this, I cried, and I have since asked God, in one way or another, “How could this have happened?” It’s because of things like this that Jesus had to carry His cross. It’s because of this that I’m staying. I’m staying for His sake. This is His Church, and it’s our Church, too. Jesus predicted that people would leave Him. He said that some will simply ignore His teachings, some will accept them while life is good, but leave when life gets hard, but some will stay.

I had a bad dream and woke up at four this morning. I prayed for a while, and eventually God gave me this: “The truth will set you free.” Jesus is the Truth, and we will get through this. Mike Donehey, the lead singer of Tenth Avenue North, often puts teaching videos on YouTube. In one he explains that once, he was praying about a bad time he and the band were going through, and God came back with, “Why do you call Good Friday, Good Friday?” Mike didn’t know how to answer, so God said, “It’s because you know what happened on Sunday.” This is Friday, and Friday sucks right now, but we also know that history has a tendency to repeat itself, and Sunday will come. God will not abandon us.

I’m staying because I believe that the Catholic Church is the traditional Church that Jesus intended. I believe in its fundamental teachings, and the reality contained in the sacraments. I believe that Jesus is truly alive and active in this Church, and I know that this bothers Him even more than it bothers me. I’m staying because I love Him, I love His Church, and I can honestly say that, though I don’t know them, I love the people who were so deeply hurt by this. To anyone reading this, I urge you to stay, pray, and do whatever you can to make our Church what it should be.

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The Lady At The Bank

On Friday I had to go to the bank with my brother and mom. My mom was helping my brother get a credit card, and I just happened to be there because we had just got lunch. An employee took my peeps to his office while I hung out in the waiting area. Admittedly, I have a habit of going off on wild adventures in my head when I’m bored, and I can go very far away given enough time.

While I wasn’t on a wild mind quest this time, I was sort of staring into space and making patterns with the tiles on the floor. There was another man sitting in the waiting area, and another employee came over to help him with something. She took him to her office, but had to come back out to do something. When she noticed me, she asked my mother in the nearby office, “Is she with you?” The employee was standing right in front of me. I didn’t hear her, but my mom answered in the affirmative. Then the employee looked at me and said, “Just checking. Hi.” I said, “Hi,” and she walked off.

What I wanted to say, and what I should have said, is that when you see someone in a wheelchair, regardless of where they are or how odd it might appear they are acting, you don’t ask someone in another room if that person is “with them.” By doing so, you are making assumptions about a person you don’t know, you are being rude, and most importantly, you are stripping that person of a degree of dignity. It is exactly like seeing a dog and asking a person nearby if that dog is “with” them; if that animal belongs to them.

That employee was ignorant, and I can forgive ignorance. I want to make an attempt now to correct some of that ignorance. Only about fifteen percent of the world’s population has some form of disability. These range from anything from psychological to physical. Obviously physical disabilities are much more noticeable, and unfortunately, physical disabilities often do come with issues like Downs Syndrome. That means that people sometimes automatically assume that this is the case, and assume that people with physical disabilities will not be able to communicate with or understand them.

I want to touch on another issue, too, however. A huge mistake people often make is essentially doing one of two things to people with intellectual disabilities: things like Downs, Autism, etc. They either have a tendency to treat the vast majority of them as though they were less than human, or if someone with one of these issues does something that seems “normal,” they are turned into a hero. At worst, people with intellectual disabilities are often the victims of cruel humor. Though we preach that this is wrong, our society still accepts it because many assume that the people being mocked don’t know they are being mocked.

In any situation when interacting with someone with any kind of disability, start by assuming the best. Recognize that the person in front of you is firstly, a stranger whom you know nothing about, and secondly, they are likely capable of much more than you might assume. Understand, too, however, that every human being perceives the world in their own individual way. I, for example, do not like crowded areas because I am always sitting and I can get somewhat claustrophobic if I have many people standing around me. This is also due to the fact that I’m simply introverted. Another person in an almost identical situation as me might love crowds and large parties simply because they are extroverted.

Lastly, I have noticed from time to time, that disabilities can put people on edge. I can only attest to this from personal experience, and it happened more when I was younger. I think people were sometimes afraid that they would offend me if they said the wrong thing or asked the wrong question. Again, this is a subjective issue, but I am not offended by questions about my wheelchair, or my disabilities. I’m not offended when people point out that I’m “driving” badly, because sometimes I’m not paying attention, and I know I drive badly. Lastly, and this is particularly for parents: don’t pull your kids away when they’re curious about a wheelchair. It’s good for kids to be curious, and it’s good for someone like me to be able to assure them that I’m just a regular human trying to survive like everyone else. I would like to emphasize that. I am weird and quirky, but that’s because I’m a writer, not because I use a wheelchair.

Something Worth Doing

This morning after I did my morning prayer, I played a stupid game on my phone for a little while. I went to bed very late last night, and really, I just didn’t want to get up. I could afford to just chill for a little, but then a thought came to my mind. I couldn’t help questioning why I was playing that game. It’s not actually all that fun, and I’m so good at it by now that it’s basically mindless. I couldn’t help asking myself if it was God’s will for me to be playing that game. My ultimate conclusion was that, while it was perfectly acceptable for me to be playing a dumb game, it probably wasn’t exactly what He wanted me to be doing.

Anyone who really wants to follow Christ ultimately has to ask what God wants them to be doing. When asking this question, though, most of us, myself included, are usually wondering what God’s ultimate plan for our lives is. We’re looking at the forest, without always seeing the trees. I reflected on this, and I asked myself, “What would God want me to be doing right now? I don’t have to be ready for work for another hour or so, and it’s not like I have to go far (I would be traveling from eating lunch in the kitchen back to my bedroom which would then be my office).” I came to the conclusion that, even if I didn’t have a concrete answer, I did know that God would want me to be doing something worth doing.

That begs the question: what makes something worth doing? What gives value to an action, practice, or effort? Ultimately, what gives anything value? I recently visited a group of third order Carmelites, and am considering officially joining their order. I’ve only visited them once, and I have a lot to learn, but my visit was amazing, and the people were probably the nicest I’ve ever met. I mention this because at the end of my visit, one of the women gave me a glass tube. Contained inside was water from the Jordan River and the Sea of Galilee, a tiny shell from the Sea of Galilee, and some dust from Mount Carmel; a mountain in Israel where the first Carmelites created their order. Measuring the worth of that tube in terms of money makes it worthless, but I thought it was an amazing gift.

Last night I was reading about the history of the Rosary, and I read that when it started becoming incredibly popular and well known, people would make incredibly fancy ones with precious stones on gold or silver chains. Mine is made of wooden beads on a plain cord. I bought that one partly because I’m the cheapest woman alive, but partly because a fancy Rosary would not be my style. It’s value is contained in what I use it for. I think about the things I consider to be my treasures. I have some religious items that I consider treasure, and some of them actually are nice, but I also consider my ability to use the English language a kind of treasure. Technology is also a kind of treasure because the ability to communicate, learn, and quite frankly, to be entertained, is valuable.

I also discovered something late last night. The value or worth of anything must be determined by something greater than itself. I often find myself marveling at the fact that the God of the universe wants anything to do with me. I am one in literally several billion people, but my Heavenly Father literally loves the hell out of me. Making sense of that love is confusing at best, and last night I found myself thinking, “Lord, you knew I’d never be able to walk. You knew I’d have epilepsy. You knew I’d be just as messy as anyone else. You knew I’d give up on you, and give up on myself for a while. You made me anyway, and you still chased me down. I just don’t get it. I’m not even important.” At that moment something stopped me. I think He stopped me because my next thought was, “Actually, you think I’m pretty important. If you say I’m important, then I’m important.” That thought made me happy.

I don’t know what God’s ultimate plan is for my life, but I do know some things. I call my godparents “Aunt” and “Uncle,” but we’re not actually related. A few months ago, I learned that their daughter, so my kind-of cousin, is going to have a baby this winter. Even before I knew this, though, I realized that I had a growing desire to be a godmother. I thought it was kind of weird desire, but I prayed about it a handful of times. This past weekend, it was decided that I would be my “cousin’s” child’s godmother. I have an amazing relationship with both of my godparents, and I hope to have the same kind of relationship with my godchild.

I often listen to Christian playlists on Spotify while I’m working. There’s a song that sometimes comes on that I kind of hate because it’s about how Christians spend too much time singing empty words and twiddling our thumbs while the outside world suffers. This song kills me because I am a sympathetic person, and I hate to see people suffer, but because of my physical impediments, I can’t go out and actively do much about it. I didn’t mention the song specifically, but I mentioned my trepidation about it to my godfather. He told me that my prayers are more effective and heard more readily because I can’t go out and precisely because I want to help. Despite the fact that I’ve witnessed the truth of it, I’ve had to have it hammered into me time and again that prayer is powerful.

I’ve learned that prayer takes faith, and prayer takes patience. It is absolutely true that God often works in ways we don’t expect, and He often takes His time. Sometimes I realize that God has answered me months or even years after I prayed for or about something. Conversely, sometimes He’ll answer my prayers within thirty seconds of me praying. It takes perseverance, and it takes practice. I’ve been praying the Rosary every night for, I think, nearly a year now, and I still get distracted. Sometimes I get a lot out of it, and sometimes I don’t. The point isn’t what I can get out of it, though. The point is what it can do.

I want to focus mainly on the Rosary because numerous significant miracles have been attributed to it. In 1214 the Rosary was presented to St. Dominic by the Blessed Mother to defeat the¬†Albigensian heresy, which taught that the spirit was good, but the body was evil. Thus, they taught that suicide was a commendable practice. The Rosary, while essentially viewed through the eyes of Mary, so to speak, focuses deeply on the life and humanity of Christ, especially since the Luminous Mysteries–those that focuss on his miracles weren’t included until later.

The devotion of people faithfully praying the Rosary is attributed to nonviolent resistance to, and ultimate defeat of Communism in Brazil in the 1960’s. It was attributed to the healing of Father Patrick Peyton, an Irish immigrant to the U.S. who was diagnosed with¬†Tuberculosis, which in the 1930’s, when he was alive, was incurable. In 1945, when the atom bomb was dropped on Hiroshima, eight Jesuit priests were together praying the Rosary less than a mile from ground zero. They miraculously survived, and suffered no radiation poisoning. Though not a miracle, I can certainly say that praying the Rosary has helped me to grow closer to Jesus and develop a relationship with Mary that I previously didn’t have.

The prayers of individuals can work miracles. That is absolutely true. I strongly believe, and I think I’m supported by history, though, that a bunch of people praying for the same thing can more readily move mountains. Even from a human perspective, it’s the difference between one kid pestering Mom or Dad for something, or two, or three, or maybe even six kids, if they have friends with them, all asking for the same thing. If you’re like me, you don’t always have people around to pray with you. That’s why getting to know the Blessed Mother, and maybe a handful of Saints is important. They may not be physically here, but they can and do pray with you and for you.

All of this is meant as encouragement to my readers, but also as a reminder to myself. If you don’t have the time, the money, or the physical ability to “go out” and volunteer or donate to charity, and that is a sincere desire of your heart, then pray. Do what you can, and don’t worry about what you can’t. Every day I can read, I can write, I can edit, and I can pray. When school starts back up for the kids, I’ll be teaching CCD. If you focus only on what you can’t do, you will ultimately do nothing, and that helps no one. Pray for the people doing the things you want to do because in this way, you are helping them, and vicariously helping the people they are helping.

I have focused mainly on praying for others, but I would like to emphasize that it’s just as important to pray for yourself. I would argue that it’s just as important to pray about nothing. We are meant to be holy and have a relationship with God. To have a relationship with anyone, you have to talk to them. I recently went to see Beck live, and I had a ton of fun. I had a ton of fun with Jesus because I prayed through the whole thing. I just said stuff like, “I’m having an awesome time. Thank you for this.” Pray when something is bothering you. Pray when you need something. Pray when you’re late to church and need a parking spot. He’s usually quick to help with that one. Pray when you find something weird or funny, and share the weirdness or the humor with Him.

Lastly, I just want to say that It’s perfectly okay to waste some time. I did a little while ago because, quite frankly, my brain was a bit fried. It’s important to make note of the things we do and the reasons why we do them. In the end, I felt that writing this was what God would have me do today, and I certainly feel that it was something worth doing.

Fences

Catholic or not, you may know that our tradition is notorious for interesting, odd, and inspiring devotions. One that I am fond of is a devotion to the Sacred Heart of Jesus. It was inspired by a revelation of Jesus to Saint Margaret Mary Alocoque. He wanted her to let the world know that what He really wanted was to grant his mercy, but that so many people simply were indifferent to Him and would not receive it. The devotion itself is really quite simple. One has to go to Mass on the first Friday of the month for nine consecutive months in a state of grace, and receive communion with the implicit intention of doing some kind of reparation for humanity’s indifference to His sacrifice.

Last Friday I went to Mass because I’ve been doing this devotion for five or six months. After church, I ran an errand and got lunch with my mom. While in the car, I turned on Spotify, because tunes, and I was in a spectacularly good mood. I found myself thinking about really random things. Because I was curious, I looked up what percentage of people are left handed, because I’m left handed. So no one reading this has to look it up, it’s about ten percent. I found myself wondering whether Jesus was left or right handed, and I wondered how many people actually take the time to consider that kind of thing. My dad later explained that it’s hard to learn to write with one’s non-dominant hand, but it’s not so hard to learn to do other things so, being a carpenter, Jesus may have been at least somewhat ambidextrous, which I thought was interesting.

As we drove from place to place, I started realizing just how many fences there were. Fences are such a staple part of suburban life that they almost escape our notice, but today, I found myself marveling at the barriers people had constructed between houses and businesses, and along roads. I actually found myself laughing at how territorial it was. It was exactly like dogs marking their territory to me. I just found myself thinking that it seemed a bit primitive in a way. Obviously fences are for our own protection and the protection of others. We have a fence around our yard so a neighbor kid won’t fall into our pool or something, but I think too often, we use them to lock ourselves in and lock others out.

Still, I found myself thinking that people spend too much time building fences, and not enough time breaking down walls. We’re supposed to break down walls. Jesus spent nearly His entire three-year ministry doing that, and He broke down the most impassible wall between humanity and God when He went to the cross. Jesus explained to saint Margaret Mary that when we participate in the First Friday devotion, we’re doing the same thing. He said we stand in the gap between God and those who are indifferent or even scornful toward Him. God chooses us no matter what, but He can’t make us choose Him.

We’re so used to fences, though, that we build walls between ourselves and our Savior. It’s easy to believe that the gap between us and God can’t be breached because He’s perfect, and we’re not, and in this life, never can be. It’s easy to forget that Jesus can do the impossible. It’s sometimes hard to believe that Jesus died for me, and it’s easy to ask the question, now what? It’s easy to ask, am I worth that? It’s easy to doubt it when, in our hearts, we know the answer is, “Yes;” when His answer is, “Yes.” Jesus doesn’t build walls. He breaks them down. He does this in his stories, and in His actions, He doesn’t stop anyone from coming to Him, and He wants us, as He did, to love the least of these.

We have to stand in the gap. We have to love our enemies. We have to have mercy. We have to heal where we can. Jesus is alive in His Church, and standing in the gap isn’t just a metaphor. We can be little bridges. Jesus works miracles in our world today. Maybe we should spend less time agonizing about property lines, and more time actually loving our neighbors.