Tag Archives: Rosary

Holy Waiting

This Advent is a little different for me because I’m, in a sense, waiting for a new coming of my Savior into my life, but I’m also awaiting the birth of my godson, who is due in January. The baby shower was on the first Sunday of Advent, and it was a good party. A lot of people were there. I normally don’t do super well with crowds, so I helped amuse a couple little kids who were there and helped make some decorations for the baby’s room. We had a two hour drive home, so I spent some of the time praying the Rosary. At some point, the phrase “holy waiting” popped into my head. My initial thought was, “I hate waiting.”

I’m naturally curious, so I did give it some consideration, “How could waiting be holy?” Waiting is tedious and boring. I am obviously not alone in this sentiment. Then another thought popped into my head: “couldn’t any activity be holy, provided it’s not sinful in itself?” I was teaching my CCD students last week, and I mentioned that I’m a songwriter. I told them that most of my songs are, in some way, about God, prayers to God, or about things that God is or has been involved with in my life. In the studio, my producer and I pray before we get to work, and it’s obvious to us when God starts really working his magic. In this way, I do think that working on my music is a holy activity.

Truthfully, though, the idea of waiting being holy is hard to wrap my head around. Then again, there are different ways of waiting. Waiting for me usually involves mindlessly trying to beat my high score on 2048. I could spend the time reading scripture or praying, but honestly, when I’m waiting, I just don’t want to have to think that hard, or really at all. I want to kill the time so it feels like it’s going by faster. The fact of the matter is, though, I’m not “killing” the time, and it’s not going by any faster. I am wasting the time I’ve been given. Advent is precisely a time for waiting, and I think it’s a time for making waiting a holy occupation.

I’ve been waiting for my godson with his parents for a long time now, but in hindsight, it’s seemed like the time has gone by insanely fast, and I’m just really excited to meet him. I am not patient, but I think, in some way, waiting to meet him has made me a little more patient. I think to understand how waiting could be holy, though, we have to take a look at what Mary did during the first Advent. She waited, but I don’t think she worried. I checked out a reflection on this by two priests and a nun, who emphasized all the interruptions of the personal plans of Joseph and Mary during that time.

From the get-go, Mary was planning to marry Joseph. That was complicated when she was asked to be the mother of God, but she said, “yes.” That again was complicated when Joseph realized that she was pregnant, but not by him, and they had to have a difficult conversation. He was planning on “divorcing her quietly,” which would have been the kind and honorable thing to do, but he was then asked by an angel to be Jesus’ foster father. Things went pretty smoothly after that, but they weren’t a wealthy family by any means, it was the first century, and anything could have gone wrong at any point during the following several months. The point is, they trusted God, and it didn’t–until Mary was eight and a half months pregnant and they got the news they had to go to Bethlehem. That was not going to be an easy journey, but still, they trusted God. They had to trust God the whole way because they didn’t know where they were going to stay, or where or when Mary was going to give birth. In the Gospels, however, there’s no indication that either of them panicked or worried too much at any point.

There’s no knowing for sure what could have been going through their heads at any given point, but obviously, they would have had normal human concerns. To not worry at all would have been abnormal. Humans have needs and concerns that are unavoidable. The point is, they didn’t let those concerns take over. They knew that God would take care of them. In the reflection video I watched, they talked about waiting with God instead of waiting for Him to do something. They also emphasized the importance of being vulnerable and being still with Him.

Earlier today, while waiting for my mom to run a couple of errands, I sat in the car and just prayed, out loud, about nice, simple things. I have a tendency to only talk to God when something is freaking me out or when I or someone I know needs something. Today I told Him that the sky He made was beautiful, and later, while eating my lunch, I just talked about food. I told Him that I’d like to know what He ate when He was here on earth because He knows what I like, but I don’t know what He liked. Maybe taste preference wasn’t much of a luxury He could afford, especially when things were getting dangerous for Him, but I’d still like to know. Maybe it’s not the greatest example, but we were waiting–just waiting and talking. That is priceless time that is not wasted.

All that brings me back to the question of “how can waiting be holy?” I think it’s less abstract than I originally assumed. Talking to God while sitting in the car makes sitting in the car holy. I think one doesn’t even necessarily have to be praying for waiting to be a holy activity, though. I remember the night my dad and my aunt went and waited with my grandmother over the couple of days before my grandfather died. I wasn’t there, but I don’t think they talked much. They just waited and loved each other and him. I think that was holy waiting, too. I think simply hoping is a kind of holy waiting.

Advent is a time for hope because we’re reminded of the first Advent, and we’re once again, waiting for Christmas. Jesus’ coming into the world to save us was a historical event, but we revisit it every year not just to remember it, but because we can personally invite Him into our lives again, in a new way, as our Savior. Saying “yes” to His love, or to anyone’s love isn’t something we do once. The “holiday season” is chaotic, and truthfully, it kind of drives me crazy. It probably drives you crazy, too. Try to find some space in that craziness to be still, wait with God, and to be vulnerable and honest with Him. That, I think, is holy waiting.

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Not Just Waiting

I miss something I’ve never actually had. It’s kind of a confusing feeling, but I’m used to it by now. I attend Mass primarily with people around my grandmother’s age, and I’m one of about seven people who attend weekly Adoration. When we sing, I’m one of the only people who sings loudly, and I don’t sing nearly as loudly as I want to. At the Easter Mass, when the priest says, “He is risen,” and we’re supposed to repeat it triumphantly, he just repeats himself because no one says anything. We’re so used to the fact that Christ is risen that it sounds like old news. It’s not old news.

I miss the joy and triumph I know people once had. I think to a lot of people, church feels like an annoying obligation. If that weren’t the case, and if people really believed what we say we believe, we’d be louder, and Reading would be a much more Christian town. Yesterday I was teaching the kids about Advent. I had watched a video done by Bishop Robert Barron about the kingship of Jesus, and about how Advent should be about preparing for the King. I asked the kids how we might prepare for a king. They didn’t really have a concrete answer, and I realized, neither did I. I call Jesus my King, but I’m realizing that I might not exactly know what that means.

I’ve fairly recently started praying the Rosary daily. I learned how to do it a while ago, but I’ve only started to get serious about doing it within the past couple of weeks. That was when I learned that demons don’t like it one bit, and that it was just a very powerful prayer in general. At first, I have to admit, it did feel a bit mechanical. Now, I can do it really without even thinking so much about what I’m actually saying, and just focus on each of the mysteries. Just within the past few days, the Lord has given me some good stuff to think about. I’ve just been doing them in circular order, so last night I did the Sorrowful Mysteries. I hate it, but last night I realized that Jesus hurts with us when we hurt and I have no way of repaying him. As I write this, though, I’m realizing that maybe praying through his Passion is my way of hurting with him.

Yesterday I read a post entitled “Love Hurts.” It makes you vulnerable, and if you’re willing to be vulnerable, you have to be willing to let your heart be broken. I wrote in one of my stories that a broken heart has to be given away to be fixed. Two or three weeks ago, the Gospel reading at church was about when the king separates the “goats” from the “sheep,” in other words, the unrighteous from the righteous. He says to the righteous that they took care of him when he was alone, or sick, or lonely, or in need, and they say they have no idea what he’s talking about, and he says that if they did it for any of the “little guys,” they did it for him. Likewise, he says that if the unrighteous didn’t do these things, they didn’t do it for him. I hate this parable because there’s not a whole lot of practical stuff I can do to help the “little guys.”

I sulked for a day, thinking I was going to Hell for sure, and then I don’t remember what brought me to this conclusion, but I read something, or saw a video, or something, that basically led me to realize that Jesus expects us to give him what we can, not what we can’t. To tie all of this back to Advent, we have to understand that Christ is the risen King. That should be freaking us out because it’s kind of awesome. Advent isn’t just about his first coming. It’s about preparing for his second coming, too, and about recognizing his Kingship in our lives now. Jesus is a fair and loving King. He also happens to be the God of the Universe, who came into our world as a baby. As a man, and through his witnesses, he says to every single person, “I want you to do and/or believe ‘X,’ but I love you too much to make you.” We should be seriously freaking out about this. All I have to give him is my writing talents, my prayers, and my time.

Yesterday, on my break between my CCD classes, I went into the church and just hung out for half an hour or so. Since no one else was in there, I sang a song for Jesus, and then felt sort of awkward about it. I’m not very good at being quiet. Maybe that’s something I need to work on to prepare for the King this Advent. Maybe I need to turn some of the music and movies, and everything else I love off just a bit, so I can hear his voice a bit more clearly. Maybe all he needs is a little more room.

Because in my world guinea pigs can fly!

What More Can I Do?

I tried to start a prayer chain on Facebook a few days ago. The idea was that if you prayed the Rosary, you would do it at least once for the people in Texas, and then tag five people so they could do it in turn. If you didn’t (or don’t) pray the Rosary and wanted to join me you would just pray five Our Father’s, and do the same thing. I don’t know if anyone’s done it, but I’ve been doing it for several days now. Only two out of the five people I tagged have “liked” my original post, but three people who I don’t even know have also “liked” it. If anyone wants to join me, you can either repost this, or just let your readers know what your’re doing.

Anyway, While I was doing this two days ago, I really focused on each individual part of the Lord’s Prayer, and it’s amazing just how poetic and relevant it is. I’ll write the original, and then put it into vernacular here.

Our Father
Who art in Heaven
Hallowed be thy name.
Thy Kingdom come,
Thy will be done
On earth as it is in Heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread,
And forgive us our tresspasses
As we forgive those who trespass against us;
And lead us not into temptation,
But deliver us from evil.

Our Father in Heaven,
Your name is holy.
Let your Kingdom come and your will be done
On Earth just as it is in Heaven.
Today give us what we need,
And forgive us our sins,
As we forgive those who sin against us.
Keep us away from temptations,
And deliver us from evil.

When I started this prayer chain idea, I started with the Glorious Mysteries of the Rosary, which focus on everything that happened after Jesus rose from the dead. It may seem like a weird place to start, but I started here because to me, these are the Mysteries of hope, and I’m sure the people in Texas could use a little more of that.

Because of the hope that Jesus gave us, we get to call the God of the universe our Father, despite his holiness, and despite our humanness. We know that his Kingdom is coming, but the fact of the matter is, it’s already here, too. We ask that his will is done because his will is always good. We can always ask for help to keep us from sinning, and he always answers that prayer, and he always frees us from evil. It just sometimes takes a while.

two days ago I was doing the Luminous Mysteries of the Rosary, which focus on five of Jesus’ most significant miracles. In particular, I was thinking about when he turned water into wine. I found myself thinking, “Turn water into… something else. They’ve had enough.” I’m doing the Mysteries in order, so today I’ll be doing the Sorrowful Mysteries, which focus on his Passion. It starts with the Agony in the Garden, where Jesus prays to his Father, and says “I don’t want to do this, but your will be done.”

I didn’t have a chance to do this yesterday because we had family over, but two days ago I found myself thinking about those words in particular. I found myself thinking, “I don’t really know what to pray. I just don’t get this, but your will be done.” Over the past few days, I’ve found myself praying that a lot: “I don’t know what to do or pray, but your will be done.”

two days ago I watched a video about a guy who got burned by accident when he was nine. He had burns over one hundred percent of his body. No one expected him to live. Then a guy who was a baseball announcer on the radio came and visited him in the hospital. The kid couldn’t open his eyes because they were swollen shut, but the guy told him he was going to live. He came back a bunch of times, and kept telling him that.

Eventually the kid left the hospital and went home, but some of his fingers had been amputated, and he didn’t want to learn to write again because that would mean going back to school. The Baseball guy sent him a baseball that said if he wanted a second baseball, all he had to do was write a “thank you” letter. He kept doing this to help the kid recover and learn and essentially get back to normal. When the kid graduated high school or college (I don’t remember which), the baseball guy showed up to his graduation. He said he kept asking himself, “What more can I do?”

I found myself asking that same question this morning. I’ve been praying. I hadn’t donated any money because I’m on social security disability, and I feel like it’s not really “my” money. Then I thought about it differently. Donating two hundred bucks is basically just moving that two hundred from Massachusetts to Texas. Since it was never mine to begin with, I might as well make some use of it. I do have menial savings, so I donated that two hundred. Still, the question lingers. What more can I do? I won’t forget about this, and I won’t ignore it because I refuse to.

Because in my world guinea pigs can fly!