Part 4 - Passion of the Catholic Church - Suspicions

Part of an on-going series taken from YouTube and created by tutustuusmaterdei.

Irony or Hypocrisy, or Both?

The same folks who don't want the government interfering with their "right" to an abortion apparently have no problem asking that same government to let them pick our pockets to pay for it. In Pennsylvania, a group called Raising Women's Voices, a coalition of 27 pro-abortion organizations, held a rally to "highlight the importance of abortion coverage in the new health insurance exchanges required by the 2010 law."
This is an area where more must be done to combat the perception of some that abortion should be considered part of women's health care, right up there with pap smears and mammograms. Last week in Philadelphia, the news media and District Attorney's office continued to refer to the remains of the full-term dead babies in Kermitt Gosnell's horror chamber as "fetuses". Lots of complaints and corrections later, we are now hearing them correctly call them what they are - babies. Let's see if we can't get them to correct themselves on this issue.

And get ready for the arguments from the other side. You know, the one that says some abortions are necessary to save a woman's life. If you look at the statistics of those having late-term abortions for supposedly life-threatening conditions, you'd have to ask yourself what the CDC is doing about the epidemic of desperately ill women in this country. The numbers simply do not add up. If the number of women that sick they need an abortion to save their lives is accurate, it seems to me some of these women's groups are protesting for the wrong thing. They should be demanding to get to the bottom of what would have be a crisis of unimaginable proportions given the numbers. You know why you don't. Because they're full of it, and they know it.

Now, I'm not one of those folks who thinks the status-quo with the status of health care is just AOK. I do not think it is consistent with a pro-life philosophy to tell sick and injured people to suck it up if they can't afford coverage. I don't think it's consistent with pro-life beliefs to make children who, through no fault of their own, are born with chronic conditions, to be faced with no health insurance or exorbitant fees that make access impossible once they reach adulthood. That does not mean I support the current plan - in fact, I do not. But once it's defeated, I will be listening closely to see what the loudest opponents of the bill come up with so when we say we are pro-life, we mean it.

Deformation Part III

For those just tuning in, this is the third in a series my pastor discovered on YouTube. The creator is totustuusmaterdei. I had nothing to do with this production but am simply presenting it here for you to watch and think about it.

A Messenger for Christ

The shortage of priests as well as societal changes have rendered nearly extinct a favorite Catholic tradition from my childhood. Known as the "block collection", the parish priests would schedule a few weeks in the fall when they would branch out and visit every home in the parish. The priest who visited our home would ask some questions, update our family information, and bless us and our home. The block collection was a big deal for my parents. The house had to be gleaming, everyone had to be on their utmost best behavior, and we would sit like statues on the couch with our hands folded on our laps, listening for the knock at the door that would tell us Father was near.

When Father reached the nearest neighbor's house, a runner would knock on our door to let us know we were next. This was like the two-minute warning so that we could do any last-minute straightening, end any inappropriate discussions, and shut the television, if it happened to be on.

Lately, I've been slightly at odds with some fellow Catholics who I think are interested in the same thing I am - the salvation of souls. Perhaps it's because I'm a revert and a somewhat (thought not entirely) converted liberal that I see things differently. I didn't vote for the current occupant of the White House, and I of course do not support his actions or policies that expand access to abortion in any way. But I don't have a visceral reaction to him the way some do, and I think this sometimes rankles folks. I guess because of my own past, I tend to look at him and his cohort of pro-abortion CINO Democrats as a challenge that I don't intend to let slip away.

Yes, everyone is capable of redemption, although some are more ripe for it than others. I think of St. Therese as a spiritually precocious 14-year-old, fasting for an entire day to that Henri Pranzini might undergo a death-row conversion and repent of his sins in the moments before his execution. This does not mean I would roll over and just allow an advancement of abortion rights without a fight. But I simply can't bring myself to use Hitler and Nazi analogies because quite honestly, I think most politicians are snake oil salesmen. However, the possible flaw in my approach is this: although Christ did willingly allow encounters with prostitutes and other sinners, those who were in darkness sought Him out. At least they were in His general vicinity, such as Levi when Christ called him down from the tree. The politicians and pro-abortionists are not, and they demonstrate no interest in drawing near to Him.

Christ does not chase us, but He does pursue us. No matter how many times we refuse to answer, He continues to knock. He doesn't pound the door down, but gives a polite rap, no matter how long it takes us to answer. When it comes to those who suffer from the same blindness that I once did, I liken myself to that messenger who went ahead to alert people that the priest was on his way. Sometimes, our neighbors would be hesitant to accept a visit because they didn't have the envelope ready or were ashamed that they hadn't been to church lately. This is where the messenger came in handy, talking them down, so to speak, to reassure them that Father only wanted to bless them and their home. Some still refused a visit, and others humbly opened the door, full of apologies.

I'm going to continue to play the role of that messenger. I'm not going to insult, condemn or even ignore anyone. I am just going to keep talking to them and hope that eventually, they'll get tired of me and at least look through the peephole. Obviously, I have no rapport with the president or politicians, but I do know plenty of people who support him as well as other CINO politicians. Maybe the laws will change, but until that happens, I prefer to continue to work on changing hearts and minds (oooh I know, that phrase might hurt some eardrums out there). You never know how just one word to someone at the right time can plant a seed. And while I'm at it, I need to pray and fast more, and talk about doing it less.

Deformation Part II

Coming to Terms With an Awful Truth

Everyone deals with their baggage differently, and let me tell you that I am no exception. Grief, anger, guilt, regret, shame and all the other miseries we carry around with us are sometimes visible to the world, or they are hidden, like a scar where a once-festering wound lay. Many years ago, just a week after I graduated from college, I did the unspeakable. I knew what I was doing was wrong, but I did it anyway; the worst way to commit a mortal sin, with full and complicit knowledge of the gravity of my actions. I was one of those people who believed that if you engaged in the act of procreation, you should accept the natural consequences of that action. I preached it to others, argued with those who disagreed with me, and self-righteously condemned those who thought otherwise. Then, I found myself in a situation I thought only happened to other people. How quickly I changed my tune.

I was the good girl who never got into trouble, studied, got good grades, and followed all the rules. At least that's the way it appeared on the surface. The little girl that the nuns tried to recruit early on for the consecrated life grew up and killed her own child. I hid that awful truth from a lot of people, but I never hid it from God. I lived in dire fear that I would be struck dead before I could get to confession. A person I was very close to at the time had a friend who was a priest that he knew I would be comfortable confessing, to, and I did. But a few things were wrong. The priest never made me say what I did, and although I said I knew what I did was wrong and that I was sorry, I really had no regret in the way that I should have. Frankly, I was glad to have the whole thing behind me. Even though I confessed, I was still in the darkness. "It was a terrible thing to do, but it was the right thing for me to do" was how I looked at it.

Many years later, a priest I came to be friends with held a novena leading up the Feast of Divine Mercy, and he talked about a man who went through life with a terrible secret that he could not bring himself to confess. Father talked about how this secret became like an abscess, and the longer the man hid it, the worse it became. "Don't be like him" was how he ended the sermon. I thought he was talking directly to me. So the next day, I went to confession, and in a trembling voice, confessed my sin once again, only this time I knew the gravity of what I had done. I had done what was convenient for me, never giving a thought to what God wanted. I acted against the wishes of the father of the child, who was vehemently pro-life, and I never told him what I had done. I convinced him that I wasn't pregnant after all. I might have fooled him, but God was another story.

Perhaps worst of all, I caused other people to enter into my sin. The person who took me for the abortion, and the doctor who performed it. When I heard that he passed, I had a terrible vision of him being held accountable by God for what he and I did together. I pray to this day that he sought forgiveness and that he was shown God's mercy.

I have talked about what I did at length with my oldest and assured her that I would do everything under the sun to help her if she ever found herself pregnant before marriage. "I don't think I could kill my own child, but thanks, Mom", was her reply I don't know if I will talk to the youngest or not about it, because she's on a very different path than most girls her age, so I will wait.

God has forgiven me not only for my actions but for my blindness in thinking that what I did "was the right thing for me". I believe that He wishes to use me, as He has others, to bring light out of the darkness and to prevent others from falling into the long dark pit into which I had fallen.

Some months ago, I got into a debate with columnist on a very liberal blog about abortion. She aborted a baby that she was told was deformed and might not survive long after birth, and she was happy she had done this so that if the child had lived, it wouldn't eat up resources, etc. That kind of thinking is typical of a certain mindset of people. Anyway, I wasn't accusatory or anything, just trying to get her to see the same things I was too blind to see - that all children are a gift from God, that His Will takes precedence over ours, and that the child she destroyed was a sibling of the little girl she has now. The pro abortion folks came out of the woodwork to attack the minority of us who voiced our opinions on that blog, and more than one of them said "You're probably another one of those hypocrites who thinks that by saying you're against abortion, you can hide the fact that you had one."

That remark stung momentarily, but then I came back to say that if you are trying to dissuade a child from taking up a life of crime, who would be a more credible influence on him? A goody-goody type who never did anything wrong, or an ex-con who saw the hardships of prison first-hand?

Every so often, the devil's voice will try to get to me with attacks similar to the one used by the woman who called me a hypocrite. "You know you only regret what you did because you're not all holy and pure like those other Catholics you aspire to be like." By trying to plant those seeds in my mind, he would try to effectively shut me up and keep silent on the subject. I put the lid on it quickly and I see that God can use me to prevent other women from making similar mistakes. I believe only God has the right to take a life, except in valid cases of self-defense, and I believe no one is beyond His redemption. To think otherwise would violate trust in His infinite mercy.

We all choose to do things in the manner most comfortable to us. I prefer to reach out to those who suffer from the same blindness I once did. Planting seeds comes more easily to me than wielding a hammer, so I leave that approach to others. A few years ago, a pro-life friend asked me when I was going to the go the March for Life in Washington. "When you go to an anti-war demonstration with me" I told her. She didn't say anything, but I did go on my first March with her two Januarys ago. I am still opposed to the death penalty, the Iraq war, euthanasia, and the destruction of embryos for stem-cell research, but I don't feel the need anymore to march for any of those causes. If we add up all the deaths from wars, violence and the death penalty together, it's doesn't even begin to approach the number of children who never had a birthday, a first Christmas or a trip to the zoo.

Humans are the only species to willfully destroy their own offspring in-utero. What should be the safest place on earth for an innocent life can now be a place of unspeakable violence. I still think we have a long way to go to support women who choose life over abortion, and I think we have not done enough as a society to protect the children we do have from violence, particularly the kind that comes from the hands of their own parents. How much longer will God tolerate this? I don't know the answer, but I know that I will do whatever I can to help others see the truth, because one way or another, it always outs.

Remember the words God spoke to Cain. "Your brother's blood cries out to me from the ground". We are our brothers' keepers, even the ones we can't see.

Telling It Like It Is

Over at the Anchoress, I was reading some of the comments in reference to the horror chamber conducted by a man who delivered full-term babies and murdered them by driving scissors into the base of their skulls. The following is an excerpt that really struck me for its frank and accurate assessment of what goes on in any abortion clinic.

"Here is the deal. When a woman first decides to kill her kid it does not matter whether or not the place is full of cats, donkeys or speedfreaks.

A murder is a murder. And whether you paint the place pink and gold with emeralds covering the floor, it does not matter. Kids are being killed there.

The rest is just scenery.

Apparently, the place looked just like it should according to its purpose.

All abortion clinics are slaughterhouses. This one was just honest enough to look like one."

Lord have mercy.

The Deformation of the Catholic Church

Some time ago, my pastor discoverd this series of videos on YouTube, and my daughter subsequently put them on one CD for him. I thik I will post one video from the series each day and spare you all my drivel for awhile, though there may be a post tomorrow related to the date.

The Bishop, Obama and Tuscon

I read what Bishop Thomas J Tobin had to say about the president's speech last week in Tuscon. I must admit some of the same thoughts ran through my mind, given Mr. Obama's abysmal record on abortion. I thought of all the little Christina's that never got an opportunity to discover life's joys, like ballet, Little League, etc. I thought about the irony that we are so devastated when tragedies of this magnitude occur, yet many more lives have been lost to abortion, which is an act of violence against innocent life, repeated over and over again, every day. We get worked up about that which we can see, and we forget about that which is hidden from us but is a reality all the same. These ironies are not lost on me.

Still....I must confess to some disappointment. Had not it been so easy for a psychologically impaired person to purchase a gun and ammunition of mass destruction, there would have been no opportunity for the president to give that speech. Am I wrong to wish that just one word could have been mentioned about the insanity of making weapons which serve no legitimate purpose so accessible? I don't think it detracts from the unborn to call attention to other travesties which continue to snuff out innocent life, so long as abortion remains the primary focus. Do you?

Let's see if we can't have a respectful discussion about this.

Oh, the Humanity, Crying out to Heaven!

Lucky for me, there is at least one church in my neighborhood with an evening Mass once a week. By evening, I mean 7pm or later, in this case, confession at 7pm and Mass at 7:30. Following the Mass is a novena to St. Rita, saint of impossible cases. The Adoration chapel is open until Mass begins on Wednesday evenings, even though the Blessed Sacrament is no longer exposed. (He is still there, just the same, but repositioned at 5pm when the friars begin Vespers). Going to this Mass gives you a good idea of the suffering and desperation of so many people and while it's difficult to see people in so much pain, it is edifying to know that in that desperation, they have turned to God and one of His most powerful saints.

Sometimes, it's pretty obvious that those pleading for God's mercy are not all that familiar with the Catholic Mass. They don't know when to stand, or what to say, so it's an opportunity not only to join my petitions to theirs, but to ask God to grant them the grace to return faithfully to the fold.

It also occurred to me that when a person is so closely entwined in a difficult situation, it's not always possible for them to pray. Many years ago, before my youngest was finally diagnosed with Marfan's(and not something with a much worse prognosis as was feared, Thank God), I could not pray. I asked other people to pray for us, and then I simply told God that I was too involved and couldn't separate myself from the anxiety long enough to do or say anything but "Lord, I trust You, please handle this for me." And He did. So when I'm at this Mass or others like it, when the cries of desperation surround me, I feel it is my turn to reciprocate, to pray for those who may not be able to pray for themselves or perhaps have too much pride to ask for God's help.

Tonight was also an opportunity to ask St. Rita's intercession for those I only know through blogging but who tug at my heart just the same. God loves them, and so do I. And I hope they know that now St. Rita, the saint of the impossible who bore the marks of Christ's passion and love on her forehead and in her heart, is praying for them as well.
Peace all

PS- blogger spellcheck isn't working, so cut me some slack :-D

Off to an Auspicious Start

Even though my new job is not in a Catholic hospital, it was still an encouraging first day. My Brown Scapular was visible as I was being introduced to one of the surgeons, and he was nearly ecstatic. "You're obviously a religious person," he said, "and that's something that means a lot to me. I'm Jewish, but I'm married to a devout Catholic. I love people who aren't afraid to display symbols of their faith."

At first, I thought he was pulling my leg, but as he went on, I could see he was not. I told him that I rely heavily on my "friends in high places". And then suddenly, the charge nurse, was who was showing me around and making introductions, produced a St. Therese holy card that she keeps in her scrub pocket at all times.

Another thing I learned is that my predecessor normally came in to work around 9am. I don't intend to do that, as that would surely be taking advantage, but at least I know it will be fine if I'm not there at the crack of dawn. I may even be able to continue to attend Mass at my usual weekday parish, provided I can get to work by 7:30am. It will still be some time before I can do this as there are processes I need to observe that happen very early. But hopefully, in about a month, I can fall back into my familiar routine.

Thank you Lord!

Sunday Serendipity!

In college, our president loved to use the word "serendipity". She was a religious sister who belonged to the Missionaries of St. Francis Cabrini and she bravely had her office in the same mansion that housed our dorm. Anyway, whenever I hear that word, I think of her.

Today my son was scheduled to fly solo for the first time as an altar server. For the past few months that he's been in training, he made it clear he didn't want me to be there. He's the kind of kid that doesn't like to sing in front of us or be applauded and we respect the delicate boundary that protects him. Still, he wasn't putting on a performance. This was Holy Mass. I thought about sneaking in after Mass started to get a glimpse and then he threw me for a loop. I wanted him to get to the sacristy a half hour early so he could ask any last-minute questions and be well prepared. As he was walking out the door, he tossed one of his famous comments designed to inflict maximum guilt at me. "It would be nice if my own mother was coming." And out the door he went.

I was planning to go to the Latin Mass as I normally do at Noon, so to say I was caught off guard is an understatement. As soon as the door closed behind him, I charged upstairs to get ready and enlisted Rebecca to do the same. I can't tell you the look on his face as he was carrying the crucifix to the rear of the church and saw us all there.

He did very well, even for his first time, and did his best to keep his shoulders straight and his hands clasped upright. I am hoping that, like his sister, being in such proximity to the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass will impart a greater love for God and reverence for the Real Presence.

Afterward, I thanked the priest who celebrated Mass for his patience. When Matt reached us after changing out of his alb, he had the biggest grin on his face. "You didn't think I'd be here, did ya?"

"Nope, but I'm glad you were."

So am I!

Around the Archdiocese of Philadelphia

Stand for Life
Reminder that January 22nd is the 38th Anniversary of Roe v Wade. Since the Supreme Court legalized abortion, 55 million children of God have been destroyed in what should be the safest place in the world - their own mother's womb. Join the Pro-Life Union and Generation Life at a prayer vigil at the Philadelphia Women's Center at 8th and Cherry at 7:30am, followed by a procession and Mass at St. John the Evangelist at 9:30am.

Spiritual Pilgrimage to Italy Fall 2011
So, what are you doing between September 24 and October 4th? Why not consider coming with us on this spiritual journey to some of Italy's most sacred shrines? Rome, St. Rita and St. Pio, among others! People from all over the country will be joining us as we depart from Newark's Liberty Airport en route to Rome. The total cost of the trip is $3277 per double occupancy and includes everything including meals, transfers and tipping, plus trip insurance. Call 215-546-833 for more information. 22 seats have already been sold.

Mass for People with Disabilities
On March 20, 2011 The Archdiocese will holds its annual Eucharistic Liturgy for persons with disabilities and their families and caregivers. The Mass is scheduled for 2:30pm with Cardinal Justin Rigali the celebrant. A light reception will follow. Please call 215-587-3530 for more information.

unPlanned

Last night the house was finally quiet enough for a few hours that I could read this book, and I did. I don't want to give anything away for the sake of those who haven't read it yet, but I think if we could put this book into the hands of folks on the other side of the fence, it might do some good. I have to say that I saw a lot of myself in Abby Johnson as she wrestled with what she did for a living and how she justified Planned Parenthood's existence.

I worked for a hospital that had many excellent surgeons on staff but which also allowed late-term abortions to take place. When I first started working there, the D & E's, as they're called, took place in a free-standing center that was part of the hospital but had its own staff and director. Occasionally, staff from our OR were asked to cover these cases, but if a person objected, they could not be forced to participate. Every year, the number of people willing to be assigned to these rooms dwindled to the point where any new hires for the free-standing facility were told that working in the D & E rooms was mandatory. Since I worked in another specialty, I didn't think too much about what was happening in the place that issued my paycheck. I had been asked once to work in this room when I first arrived at the hospital. At the time, I considered myself in that nebulous area known as "I'm personally opposed but feel other women should make their own decisions." Still, I refused. I saw clearly that my participation would not mean assisting in surgery but in the wholesale slaughter of an infant and I wanted no part of it.

After I underwent my conversion, I felt especially grateful that I had never been duped into aiding and abetting infanticide, and I had a new-found appreciation for the staff who secretly slipped adoption information and other anti-abortion literature to patients as well as the offending surgeon. No one was ever "caught", but I admired their bravery in taking a chance.

Then, the decision was made to move the doctor who performed these procedures to our side of the street. I objected as strenuously as I could, but I was overruled. In our "leadership" meetings, I had a woman stand up and point her finger in my face and tell me that at least hospital abortions were safer than having them in a back alley. "Who are they safer for?" I asked her. "The baby still winds up dead, regardless." I was proud of myself for leaving her speechless, but I did not succeed in stopping this. And when I thought about it, maybe it was good that I didn't. The only thing that was different is that this travesty would be taking place in the same facility as the surgeries I supervised, so I couldn't claim ignorance anymore.

I happened to be in the recovery room one day when a young woman was brought in from one of the OR's. She was sobbing uncontrollably. I could never just walk away from a crying person without asking if they needed help, but she had several nurses and anesthesia personnel around her who were trying to console her. I heard her telling them she was very sorry about what had just taken place, but she had two kids at home and no support and felt she did the best thing. But I could tell she knew what she had just done was very wrong. I didn't think it was the right time to affirm this with her, but I have prayed for her ever since that she would seek God's forgiveness and be enlightened.

I tried to talk to a priest about what was taking place and how I could remain there, even though I did not take part in the infanticide. I could tell this was as much a quandary for him as it was for me. He was one of the priests who brought Holy Communion to the sick at our hospital. Countless priests and nuns had been among our patient clientele. Did they know what was going on? One would expect to hear that abortions were taking place at Planned Parenthood. But did they know that a hospital renowned for bringing babies into the world was also notorious for bringing innocent life to a deliberate and brutal end? And what right did I have to point fingers when I'd been taking a paycheck from this institution for years?

I have since left that hospital but I can't not think about the nurses and techs who assisted that doctor as casually as they would an ear nose and throat doc who performed tonsillectomies. Maybe if I had the courage that the members of Coalition for Life did, my colleagues might have undergone the same enlightenment that Abby Johnson did.

And Now a Word From....

Not to worry, I don't have any sponsors, but I would like to plug a very valuable resource for Catholics and their families - Tan Books and St. Benedict Press, which have teamed up to bring us a wealth of Catholic treasures. I order my St. Therese Novena and St. Michael chaplet booklets from Tan, which I then place in strategic places in the hope that someone will find them and make use of them. This time around, I've extended my order to include a booklet on St. Raphael. This little gem is packed with valuable information and advice for newly married couples as well as anyone who'd like to learn more about this Angel of the Lord,and like most Tan booklets, it's a quick read.

The next time you're in the market for Catholic books, please consider ordering them from Tan/St. Benedict Press. The return on your investment is infinite, believe me!

https://www.tanbooks.com/beta/index.php

Who to Thank?

In the past I had an unhealthy and dangerous interest in the spirit world. I was both intrigued and terrified by the movie "The Exorcist" and it doesn't seem that long ago when just the sight of that horrid face would have me looking over my shoulder. I know better now. However, a book was recommended to me and I promised that it was the last thing that I would read about the subject. "Hostage to the Devil" was written by the late Malachi Martin, a laicized Jesuit priest who chronicled five contemporary exorcisms that had been audio recorded.

In one of the cases, the priest was demanding information from a demon and he was told that the man being exorcised had a late grandfather who had essentially run interference for his grandson for years to protect him. When asked who had appointed the deceased with this task, the demon told the priest in so many words that it was Jesus Christ Himself.

I have likened my own conversion to the experience of being the lone survivor of a plane crash where all of the other passengers were killed except me. When I look at other heretics who I shared a laugh or some derision at the expense of the Catholic church, I wonder why I am so fortunate and to date, they're not. After reading the account of the exorcism of the young man, I began to think that maybe my maternal grandmother had something to do with it. I know that my parents prayed for my conversion, but when I asked both of them, both said it was never an urgent prayer. Both of them have told me that they knew I would come back and trusted God would see to it. However, I am convinced that my conversion came about through the fervent prayers of someone. And God-willing, someday I will know who I need to thank.

My grandmother did ordinary things in an extraordinary way. She suffered for most of her life, yet never uttered a complaint. She prayed the Rosary faithfully and went to Mass so long as she was able to get herself there. When the youngest of her five children was still an infant, her husband dropped dead of a massive heart attack. There was no Social Security back then so she had to go to work. Each of her children were sent to live with relatives until she could get herself back on her feet. My grandmother went to work for more than 40 years sewing drapes in a factory. Although she never had a spare dime to her name, her generosity to others was remarkable. There was always some relative sleeping on the couch for a time and holiday dinners saw an assortment of society's rejects around her table.

She had Paget's disease and toward the end of her life, developed both renal failure and lung cancer. The last six months of her life were not easy and were filled with pain and suffering, yet like her beloved St. Therese, she never uttered a single word of complaint. I was in nursing school at the time she was so sick, and after class, I would stop by the house to give my aunts a hand. I even spent the night at the hospital with my grandmother when I thought the end was near, and I can't help but think that she was determined to repay me in the best way she could, with treasures stored in Heaven through a life of joyful suffering.

God and Suffering

A few years back, I was still in my heretical stage, traveling from one church to another, in search of something I would never be able find in the places I was seeking to find it. I remember at one particularly liberal church, I know I would not be staying long, even though I still felt some unexplained animosity to the Catholic church. "You know," the rector began, "if anything annoys me to no end, it's someone who tells me a tragedy happened because if was God's will. Why would a benevolent God allow evil?"

Even in the haze of the sin in which I was living, I could recognize the times good emerged from something seemingly evil. I think back to the horror of September 11 and the sight of the Congress singing "God Bless America" and hugging one another when, the day before, some members were ready to lynch others over something trivial.

We may never know why God permits terrible things to happen, at least not while we're serving our exile, but faith requires that we accept what He sends and that would join it to the suffering of His Son on the cross.

St. Therese took an almost childlike view of what it cost God to send us suffering, saying that He would hide His face because He could not bear to watch. I thought of something a minister said after his only son drove his car off a bridge in an apparent suicide. "When my son went off that bridge, God's was the first Heart to break."

Something to think about.

Finding Joy in Suffering

Some of the blogs I follow have mentioned the terrible flooding in Sri Lanka, Brazil and Australia with the appeal for prayers. Rightfully so. One commenter asked the question that permeated many of the psalms and that people of all beliefs continue to ask: why are good people made to suffer?

It's easy for me to respond, sitting in my heated house with running water and electricity. I don't understand why good people seem to suffer while others don't. But I am reminded of a sermon that was given by an Episcopal priest in the days after Katrina, which was right before I returned to the Catholic church. The homilist urged us to consider that every indignity suffered by the flood victims was by no means foreign to Christ in His Passion at Calvary. Our Lord suffered in a way that few of us would have survived for an hour, let alone three. So why does suffering continue to confound us?

We can look at the words of St. Therese for guidance. In the face of the heartbreaking physical and mental demise of her own dear father, she remarked that the Hand that wrought such suffering was that of Jesus, and she said that eternity would not be long enough to thank Him for it. She said she recognized His touch and wondered why her family should be singled out for such merit. Why? Because she, perhaps better than anyone, living or dead, understood the benefit of suffering. Suffering was not something to be dreaded but embraced. To think that Christ would consider any of us enough to share in His Passion can be overwhelming. Remember her words: "Suffering itself becomes a joy when we seek it as a precious treasure."

May she intercede for those who suffer that God may grant them the strength to endure.

They Say That All Good Things Must End, Somehow..

I heard that song on Sirius this morning on my way to my appointment. It holds true for my 10-day hiatus that the end is near. On Monday, I start a new job at a new hospital, one that does not perform abortions. It's been wonderful to be at home, spending time in Adoration nearly every day, cooking comfort food for the family and watching the birds. No, there won't be any appeals for donations to feed them, although I can't promise there won't be photos, especially if I can steal one of Mr and Mrs Cardinal as they are making their daily visit at dusk, when all the other birds have returned to their nests.

I would dearly love to be able to work part-time, but that's not in the cards right now. With all of the physical problems that my youngest has, I can't afford not to have an excellent insurance plan, so that reason alone will probably keep me working until she's able to obtain her own policy some day. My husband is self-employed so I carry the benefits.

Without so much time on my hands, I won't be blogging as often as I have been. This new job is going to be a bit of a spiritual challenge for me. For the past six years, I've had a job that no one else has wanted to do, so I was pretty much allowed to set my own hours. I went to Mass nearly every morning for the past three years before work, managing to pray my chaplets and my Rosary before clocking in at 7:30 am. Now I have a commute and must be in by 7am so even though I have found a church near the hospital with a 6:30am Mass, it's still going to take some time to settle in before I can get there and figure things out.

Truth be told, there are times when I thought I should have just stayed put for the sake of making my devotions, but I truly do not believe that God expected this of me. The environment I just left was toxic in so many ways that I don't know how I could have stayed or what good I could have done by remaining on there.

I am praying that I won't be compromising my faith in any way (hard to see how any situation could be worse than the one I just left but...) that I will do my job in a manner worthy of Christ's name and that I might actually enjoy my new job and draw more souls closer to Him.

Offer it up to God

If, like me, you went to Catholic school in the 60's and 70's, you were probably advised at least once to offer some insult or injury up to God. So I'm going to offer nearly my entire day. The alarm went off sooner than I was ready for it, but hey, at least I was still alive to hear it, right? My appointment, part of a pre-employment physical for new my job, took 2 hours longer than it should have and the icing on the cake was that the doctor dilated my pupils. Even with sunglasses, this made driving in snow a joy. And the cherry on that icing? My husband lost track of time and sat waiting in the car with Sirius radio blaring and his headlights on and killed the battery, which meant having to wait for Triple A. At the risk of offending my gentle readers, it's times like this that make me want to refer to my marriage as a martyrdom. The man is on his own planet sometimes, and I'll leave it at that.

I didn't make it to Noon Mass as a result. I hadn't eaten this morning and I guess I could have really enhanced the sacrifice by waiting until I got back. Well, the spirit was willing but the flesh was weak, so I didn't get there. I did, however, get to Adoration. I was so grateful to be there that I promised I wasn't going to let the usual things disturb me. Like the woman who could have sat anywhere but chose to sit directly behind me and breathe heavily down my neck as she was praying her Rosary out loud. Or the two women who came in and rattled their paper bags from the gift shop and then engaged in a therapy session with each other. Or the autistic man who started to set the chapel up for Vespers, banging doors, kneelers and anything else he touched, even though Vespers wasn't set to start for another 90 minutes.

At some point, I heard another two women come in and sit down and shortly thereafter, I heard one of them break down in heart-wrenching sobs. I have no idea why but I would imagine she had just suffered some loss in her life. She cried out loud that Christmas had been so difficult and she thought when it was over, she'd be better, but she's not. Her friend soothingly told her it was ok to cry, and then she said the Divine Mercy Chaplet for the both of them. As disruptive as it might have been, it wasn't. It was almost as though the Lord was letting me share what He hears all day long in that chapel. And, as I have mentioned before, it was also an opportunity to add someone to my prayer intentions. I don't need to know everything about everyone to know that everyone needs our prayers.

If I were to be totally honest, I would have to tell you that there was a time in my life when I secretly entertained the idea of joining a contemplative order. Obviously, that is not how my life panned out and I think that I am probably exactly where the Lord wants me to be. I might would have enjoyed life as a Poor Clare a little too much for it to have had much merit. As I was watching a show on a Benedictine Abbey on EWTN last week, I heard one of the monks talk about the gifts each person enters with. If a person enjoys cooking and wants to be the cook, that is the last job they'll be assigned, because the most important thing is that the person desire to be with and serve God, not that they want to be a cook in a monastery.

St. Therese made much spiritual use of everything available to her, emptying herself in the process so that she could be filled with Christ. How much use am I making of that which the Lord sends me? And do I accept it joyfully, or with a groan of "why, Lord?" Today, I confess it was more of the latter but I'll try to do better tomorrow. No time like the present though.