Communion and Community

Last night I got out of the house for the first time in 8 days. It took me about that long before I was willing to get into a car again! But our once-a-month Saturday-night Mass gig was this weekend at the Big Church, which is only one mile away, so I figured I could do it.

Except for the homily, I stood for the entire Mass. Sitting is difficult. I can't sit gracefully or comfortably. I sit like a cellist who has just had her instrument stolen. And then, of course, there is the Wearing of the Yoga Pants-- just about any other pants are out of the question right now.

But in that church, the musicians are located in a spot where no one sees how you're dressed or that you're pacing around back there during the Creed. So it worked.

I paid for that one-mile car ride, but it was worth it--SO worth it. I paid for the singing, which works the abs more than you might realize. But what I received? Hugs, good wishes, smiles and inquiries about my health from friends, neighbors, fellow musicians, deacon and pastor. The grace of just being there at Mass. The gift of singing at Mass (I was not foolish enough to try to bring my guitar). And the Eucharist, the whole reason I needed to be there.

A friend and fellow Franciscan stopped by last week to bring me Communion. I treasure that. And I treasure yesterday's venture to church as well. These past couple of weeks, I have really been reminded of what it's all about: Communion and community. I am grateful--very grateful--for both.

What do the cool kids think?

Apparently I am once again the butt of teenage jokes.  Just like when I was a teenager. I wasn't a cool kid then, and I'm far from being a cool mom now.

All this came up because I got an iPhone for Christmas. Little Brother immediately begged for my iPod touch, and I am sharing that with him (though the iTunes account is mine alone, so I am in control of any downloads.) The kids are passing the iPod around to play doodle jump. 

Big Brother said, "Mom, you have 2 full folders of Catholic apps on here!"

Middle Sister chimed in that when she told her friend that I had an iPhone, that friend said something about how I had probably filled it with Catholic apps.

At least I'm predictable...

You'd think that at my age I wouldn't let this bother me. But you'd be wrong.

This is why I am so reluctant to share my technology with my kids. I don't like to be teased. And apparently, in their world, having Catholic apps is tease-worthy.

Sure, in the scheme of things this is not very major. It makes me wonder, though, if who I am, if how I live, does justice to what I believe. Do I draw strength from my faith to live my day-to-day life in a different way, a better way, than I would without that faith?

Because if all those kids see are the apps, and not what's really behind them, then I have a lot of work to do.

Catching On

I'm a sucker for those "spend a year doing a certain thing" kind of books.  In recent years, I've read Julie & Julia, one where a woman decides to take every shred of advice dished out by Oprah Winfrey for an entire year, and two cookbooks written by someone who used her slow cooker every day for a year--among others.

Kind of makes me wish that I had something I was willing to do for a whole year that was interesting enough to get a book deal out of it.

Heather King's book Shirt of Flame describes a year spent reading and discovering the life of St. Therese of Lisieux.

I'm only halfway through this book, and I am SO hooked.  And this is a saint to whom I don't take easily.  A priest once described her in a homily as "immature, fussy, and a bit of a drama queen" and I'm inclined to agree.  I read her autobiography as a teenager, and I think it appealed to me more then than it does now that I'm fortymumble years old and most of my idealism has melted away amid the cares and worries and chores of taking care of my husband and family.

I don't ordinarily recommend a book I haven't even finished, but King's chronicle of her own spiritual journey as well as Therese's is an absolutely compelling read.  Each chapter ends with a prayer, and so far I've wanted to bookmark almost all of them.

Unfortunately, I can't remember where I first heard about this book, so I can't properly thank the person who told me about it.  I figured, instead, that I'd pay it forward by recommending it here.  Don't miss this book.  It's not big, it's not complicated, and it really is worth it.

From the Gospel Today: do we really want to change?

Today at Mass we heard this Gospel passage:

Gospel: Jn 5:1-16

There was a feast of the Jews, and Jesus went up to Jerusalem.
Now there is in Jerusalem at the Sheep Gate
a pool called in Hebrew Bethesda, with five porticoes.
In these lay a large number of ill, blind, lame, and crippled.
One man was there who had been ill for thirty-eight years.
When Jesus saw him lying there
and knew that he had been ill for a long time, he said to him,
"Do you want to be well?"
The sick man answered him,
"Sir, I have no one to put me into the pool
when the water is stirred up;
while I am on my way, someone else gets down there before me."
Jesus said to him, "Rise, take up your mat, and walk."
Immediately the man became well, took up his mat, and walked.

Now that day was a sabbath.
So the Jews said to the man who was cured,
"It is the sabbath, and it is not lawful for you to carry your mat."
He answered them, "The man who made me well told me,
'Take up your mat and walk.'"
They asked him,
"Who is the man who told you, 'Take it up and walk'?"
The man who was healed did not know who it was,
for Jesus had slipped away, since there was a crowd there.
After this Jesus found him in the temple area and said to him,
"Look, you are well; do not sin any more,
so that nothing worse may happen to you."
The man went and told the Jews
that Jesus was the one who had made him well.
Therefore, the Jews began to persecute Jesus
because he did this on a sabbath.

Father's homily today centered not on the fact that Jesus healed someone on the Sabbath, but on the fact that He healed someone who didn't necessarily consider himself ready to be healed.
Do we want to be changed? Certainly it is easier to keep things the same--even if things aren't great, at least they are familiar. That man in the Gospel who was ill for 38 years and then healed would now have to find a way to earn a living and find himself food and shelter. In some ways, it might have been easier for him to stay the way he was.
Lent is a time of healing. In my college chapel each Lent, banners were hung with the words: "Be reconciled to God through prayer, fasting and almsgiving." (I'm not much of a "banner" person but that reminder has stuck with me even after 22 years.)
Our Lenten actions of sacrifice and prayer are meant to heal us, to bring us closer to God, to change us.
So is giving up Milky Ways and designer coffee really going to help me to change? Will it bring me closer to God? Only if I let it. Only if I let those very small sacrifices remind me that it's not all about me. It's about letting go of something in favor of a greater good. It's about turning that sacrifice into an opportunity for almsgiving (that's what those little cardboard "rice bowls" are all about). It's about remembering that giving up a candy bar is really small in comparison to what Christ was willing to give up, and allowing that realization to lead me to a greater generosity of spirit.