Sunday 30 December 2012

Hope


With Advent and Christmas behind us, it seems very natural to look towards the New Year with a sense of “starting anew”.  It’s so easy to get into the “New Year’s Resolutions” mode – and I’m not entirely against it.  Sometimes we need an excuse to kickstart a more healthy diet or better exercise habits, and if the start of the New Year is that excuse, so be it!  But I guess we shouldn’t have such huge expectations of ourselves that we’re shattered when things don’t go quite the way we’d planned. I think one of our New Year’s Resolutions should be to not be so hard on ourselves, and to laugh more at our slip-ups and moments of weakness. 

What we also need, as we start the New Year, is hope.  If I want to be a hopeful person, then I must first be more forgiving – of others and also of myself.  When I set the bar impossibly high and give no room for anything but perfection, I'm destined to lose hope pretty quickly. I think it's really important to be smart and realistic about our expectations and our limitations, seeing our humanness through the loving, merciful eyes of God.  A helpful analogy might be how a good parent has realistic expectations of their young child – not expecting perfection, but hoping for progress, all the while knowing that progress very often comes from making mistakes and learning from them.

Vaclav Havel, Czech playwright, poet and first president of the Czech Republic after the Velvet Revolution against communist rule, once said, “Hope is not the same as happiness that things are going well. Hope is an ability to work for something because it is good.”  That’s a nice blueprint for hope – working for something because it is good.  Notice there are no words like “success” or even “accomplishment” in this definition.  Hope is the direction you are pointed, the road you are walking, the experience you are pushing through…towards something good.  Hope seems to have three close companions: sacrifice, suffering and struggle. But hope is what makes life worth living.

I’m coming more and more to the conclusion that “something good” doesn’t have to be “something big”.  Yes, it’s thrilling to be part of a large endeavour that’s making a difference in the world.  But as Mother Teresa said, “Not all of us can do great things.  But we can do small things with great love.”  Making a point of welcoming a new neighbour on the block. Taking time to ask the widow sitting alone at church how things are going. Bringing some food to a sick friend. Asking that person whom you find slightly annoying to join you for a walk in the park, so you can get to know them better and maybe improve your relationship. It might seem like these small touches of goodness – of generosity of spirit and selflessness – go unnoticed and don’t count for much in the grand scheme of things. But in that paradoxical way of the Kingdom of God, it seems that they count for more than we can imagine.  They start ripples in the fabric of life that flow forwards and backwards, affecting the giver as well as the recipient.

We went to the movie The Hobbit over the Christmas holidays, and being big Tolkien fans, we loved it.  My favorite line in the movie was uttered by Gandalf: “Saruman believes that it is only great power that can hold evil in check, but that is not what I have found.  I have found it is the small everyday deeds of ordinary folks that keep the darkness at bay…small acts of kindness and love.”   

Yes, I might start exercising more, and stop ingesting so much junk food in 2013. I’m also going to try to make a point of keeping my messy office a little tidier, because it’s driving me crazy. But maybe we should also purposefully keep our radar up for those opportunities to perform “small acts of kindness and love” ­– and then be brave enough to do them.  Maybe we should add these words of St. Francis to our list of New Year’s resolutions: “We have been called to heal wounds, to unite what has fallen apart, and to bring home those who have lost their way.”

Therein lies hope.

Thursday 8 November 2012

Year of Faith


October 11, 2012 marked the beginning of the “Year of Faith” in the Catholic Church, which Pope Benedict XVI hopes will inspire all believers to profess their faith in fullness, with renewed conviction, confidence and hope.  In his Apostolic Letter Porta Fidei, the Pope invites and challenges us to rediscover “the joy of believing”, and to share this with others “in the midst of a profound crisis of faith that has affected many people.”

It struck me that my husband Bill and I have been given a natural opportunity to share our faith journey with others, simply through the fact that many people are curious about the decision we made five years ago to become Catholics.  We have been asked many, many times – by Protestants, non-Christians and even other Catholics – “Why in the world did you join the Catholic Church?”   

It’s pretty hard to relate all the reasons for our decision in a few words, so that question has often become a great excuse to get together with folks over coffee and tell our story.  It’s a story of how we were drawn to the Catholic faith through the suffering of our youngest son, who has Tourette Syndrome. Basically, in the search for answers from God about why He was allowing our son’s neurological and mental health challenges to continue (despite our fervent prayers!) we came to see how we had reduced our relationship with God to a formula – we perform A, B and C, and God responds appropriately.  It became increasingly apparent that the formula wasn’t working.

Developing a new understanding of God’s love for us took time, but part of the puzzle was realizing that His love doesn’t shield us from suffering. He knows the value of allowing His children to experience both darkness and light during our sojourn on earth. And suffering becomes more meaningful and fruitful as we gaze on Christ’s suffering on the cross. We received these insights from Catholic teaching, and from connecting with God in new ways through the Sacraments. It changed the way we looked at God, in much the same way Job was changed through his experience with suffering: “Before, I knew you only by hearsay, but now, having seen you with my own eyes, I retract what I have said, and repent in dust and ashes.” (Job 42: 5,6) These insights also revealed to us Christ’s desire, above all else, to be with us, and in us, and working through us, as we walk the road of joy/love/pain. Jesus walked that road Himself, and has continued to walk it with His followers for over 2000 years. That’s pretty much the story of the Catholic Church in a nutshell – countless saints and sinners, moving forward together in time towards our heavenly home, in close companionship with a merciful Saviour who knows us intimately, and calls us friends.

St. Francis saw suffering as an avenue to actively demonstrate his love for Christ. He realized other gifts and blessings were freely given to him by the Holy Spirit, but suffering was one gift he could give back – a way of showing his devotion to the Lord. St. Francis’ explanation of perfect joy was this: “Above all the graces and all the gifts of the Holy Spirit which Christ grants to His friends is the grace of overcoming oneself and accepting willingly, out of love for Christ, all suffering…” Such a foreign concept in our western society today, where avoiding suffering or even discomfort seems to be our primary goal!

And so my husband and I have come to appreciate the opportunities that come our way to join in Pope Benedict’s challenge to participate in the New Evangelization ­– to be bearers of good news.  It’s not about being heavy-handed or self-righteous, but simply sharing our stories in a spirit of humility and friendship, and pondering together some of the insights we’ve gained along the way. It’s a wonderful way of celebrating “the joy of believing.”

Thursday 23 August 2012

Silence Is Golden

As summer draws to a close, I recently realized that I haven’t blogged for quite a while.  It’s been a busy two months, with our daughter and her new husband returning to live in Calgary from Nairobi, Kenya….my sister’s beautiful wedding….and personally, embarking on a new project as editor of a Faith and Arts Journal called Kolbe Times. Another big highlight of the summer was that our youngest son got his first real job. He is 20 years old, and you might wonder what took him so long. Peter is a special guy in many ways. He has a number of neurological disorders, including Tourette Syndrome and Asperger’s Syndrome.  He’s bright, and funny, and kind – but he also has challenges with social situations, with anxiety and with “tics”, the hallmark of Tourette’s.  So when he finally felt confidant enough to apply for a job in a little video game store near our home – and when he got the job! – we were all ecstatic.  It’s going really well.

But because he has to “hold in” his tics while he’s at work, he often comes home exhausted and needing a break.  Talking is difficult at these times, because the minute he opens his mouth he gets flooded with “vocal tics” – in his case a barking sound that he can’t stop – which makes communication impossible.  So he and I have started “talking” in other ways – hand signals, big hugs, smiles, texting each other on our phones (even when we’re in the same room), and little post-it notes.  It’s bizarre, but living life with a special-needs offspring is often bizarre, as many parents will tell you.

The whole experience has challenged me to express myself in smaller and smaller sound bites.  When you are used to expressing yourself freely and copiously, it’s difficult to put a lid on it when you have something interesting to say.  Or even when you have something not-so-interesting to say.  But it’s been a very good exercise in “small is beautiful” – and learning to become friends with silence.

I think the biggest thing I’ve learned from this is that we all talk too much.  We too often feel the need to give unwanted advice, suggestions and opinions.  We too often feel the need to have the last word, or to share unnecessary information (also known as gossip), or to brag about something, or to justify our behaviour, or to show our cleverness with a sarcastic remark. Too often, words take the place of actions that would do a better job of encouraging and supporting our loved ones. Too often words are all about us getting our own way, instead of just quietly letting things unfold as they should. Too often our words drown out the words of others, and drown out the flow of God’s love and guidance.

Richard Rohr shares some good insights about silence in his book Contemplation in Action:

“One good thing that silence and waiting has taught me is that our lives are always usable by God. We need not always be effective, but only transparent and vulnerable. Then we are instruments, no matter what we do. Silence is the ability to trust that God is acting, teaching and using me – even before I perform, or after my seeming failures. Silence is the necessary space around things that allows them to develop and flourish without my pushing.” 

As my son would say, “Shhhh…”

Wednesday 11 July 2012

The Invisible Ones





The Mass readings lately have been focused on Jesus’ time travelling from village to village, teaching and healing the sick.  It struck me, as I reflected on the readings, that though Jesus responded to the pleas of the synagogue official and the Roman centurion, he deliberately spent the majority of his time with the poor.  He seemed to be always drawn to those in obvious need, the stigmatized, the forgotten, the outcasts, the invisible ones.  Matthew 9 says that Jesus “saw the crowds and had compassion for them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd.” 

Why is it that we so often feel drawn to people on the other end of the spectrum?  We give our attention to the powerful, the good-looking, the rich, the talented, the confident ones who are very successful at looking after themselves.  I guess we naturally lean towards people whom we secretly strive to be – and who strives to be an outcast?  But Jesus invites us to follow in his footsteps, to walk with him down the dusty back roads, seeking the people that normally garner no one’s attention.

I was thinking about all this when I was at a mall near our house yesterday. I found myself with some time to kill as I waited for my son to finish an errand.  I plunked myself down on a bench, happy to get off my feet for a few minutes and, as is my habit, got my iPhone out of my backpack to check my email, have a peek at Facebook and maybe text a friend. But then I reflected again about the choices Jesus made as he wandered around the countryside with his disciples – about how he chose to counsel the lost, heal the sick, rescue the demon-possessed, give sight to the blind, give a voice to the voiceless.  I put away my iPhone and looked around me.  And there, sitting on the other end of the bench, was an elderly man whom I hadn’t even noticed. 

He had long greasy white hair, a stringy beard, baggy flannel pants and an old gray jacket. His glasses were dirty and askew on his wrinkled face.  He smiled at me, and I noticed he had a front tooth missing. I smiled back and thought about God’s sense of humour in this chance encounter.  I made a remark to the old man about how nice it was to sit down and take a break. We chatted about the weather, and I noticed he had a slight English accent. I took a deep breath as our conversation about the weather came to an end, and asked him if he was from England.  Well, it was like a dam suddenly burst.

The old man started telling me about his boyhood days in a little village in Kent, how he came to Canada with his wife shortly after they were married, how they never were able to have children but they had a very happy life together, how his wife died a few years ago, how a very kind neighbour was keeping an eye on him and sometimes brought him soup.  I found out that he lives close to the mall, and that it’s an almost daily destination for him and his trusty walker.  He was funny, and engaging, and sweet, and smart – and it hurt me to think that most days he has nobody to talk to.  Pretty soon I didn’t even notice his missing tooth and his funny pants.

I was almost sad when my son arrived, errand complete.  I told the old man how much I’d enjoyed our chat, and was surprised to realize that it was true.  I also told him I’d look for him next time I’m at the mall.  I want to hear more about his boyhood days in England, and I’d love to find out what brought him to Canada.  I want to know more about his wife, whom he spoke about so fondly.  I’d like to invite him to join my son and I at the mall’s Food Fair for a bite to eat.

The Responsorial Psalm in today’s Liturgy of the Word is from Psalm 102: “Seek always the face of the Lord.”  That’s what the Holy Spirit was leading me to do at the mall yesterday, I think...with St. Francis cheering me on.  And I am richer for it. 


"Any society, any nation, is judged on the basis of how it treats its weakest members -- the last, the least, the littlest."                                     ~Cardinal Roger Mahony

Sunday 1 July 2012

Jacob's Ladder


I recently was very touched by a Letter to the Editor in our newspaper.  The writer was responding to the “right to die” debate that has been re-ignited in Canada in the past few weeks. A recent ruling in one of our provincial courts struck down parts of Canada’s law banning “doctor-assisted deaths”.

The letter-writer was dismayed about the ruling, and described her husband’s death as a time of sorrow, but also a time of tenderness and great love.  Here’s an excerpt from the letter:

“The last year of my husband's life was the most meaningful year of our entire marriage and I considered it a great privilege to be able to care for him. When you know someone is going to pass from this life to the next, love is intensified and each word, look and touch becomes a treasure that will stay with the one, and travel to eternity with the other. I would not have changed one minute of his lingering from the prognosis of three months to his death one full year later. And neither would he. Even as he lost consciousness, he fought to remain with me; in death, as in life, he gave me everything he could. What we fail to understand is that pain and suffering born for love become joy and peace beyond all measure.”

Her words reminded me of my own mother’s last few years.  Mom died on November 27, 2010, and her last years with us were tainted by the challenges and suffering of Alzheimer’s disease.  It was not an easy time, for her or for us.  But as I reflect back on those years, my Mom became the epicentre of our affection, and that experience spilled over and filled our lives with affection for others.  The nursing home staff became our new family members.  Neighbours became treasured sources of support.  Good friends became our lifeline, giving us courage to go on. Relationships with extended family deepened profoundly.

My Dad and my siblings and I were so focused on loving Mom and caring for her that we couldn’t help but be affected emotionally and spiritually.  We all grew in important ways – learning to express our feelings more openly, to hug each other more frequently, to thank God for each new day more wholeheartedly, to forgive trivial hurts more quickly. And when Mom’s life was drawing to a close, each moment burned brightly, because each moment became very precious. 




I have some incredible memories from the week before Mom’s death, when none of us could bear to leave her side: memories like standing with my family around her bedside, holding hands and saying the Lord’s Prayer together through our tears.  Listening with fervent thankfulness and joy to a visiting chaplain as he serenaded my mom at her bedside with a lovely rendition of “Amazing Grace” in his lilting tenor voice.  Being soothed in ways beyond words by the music therapist who brought her harp into Mom’s room and played for us until her fingers hurt.  Eating cookies that the overworked nursing home staff would bake at home and bring to work for us.  Sitting around Mom’s bed for hours with my Dad and my siblings, taking turns stroking her hands while sharing funny stories from our childhood days and laughing until our faces hurt. 

The most sacred moments in life are sometimes the hardest. In grief, we can clearly see the things that make life most beautiful and most meaningful.  It’s very difficult to explain, but what I learned from my Mom’s last weeks was that the little moments of joy that we experience in seasons of sorrow can be the most intense of any we’ll ever experience. I read somewhere that Jewish scholars teach that the ladder Jacob saw in his dream represents the fortunes of life – good and bad, up and down. Some angels were ascending the ladder, while others were descending. Both the ascending angels and the descending angels are sacred. Our lives are made sacred by moments of intense joy, and also by moments of unbearable grief. 

Sometimes they are the same moments, on the same ladder.
 

Wednesday 20 June 2012

Door To Eternity


            Don’t you just love finding a new author whose work you love?  A few years ago a good friend introduced me to Irma Zaleski, and soon after that I was addicted.  Born in 1931, Zaleski was educated in England after her family fled Poland during the Second World War.  She now lives in Toronto, and unbeknownst to me before I started reading her books, is actually one of Canada’s most popular spiritual writers.  Some of her titles, which I now happily own, are The Way of Repentance, Living the Jesus Prayer, Who Is God, Finding Christ Within, Who am I, Conversion of the Heart, God Is Not Reasonable and Mother Macrina.
            Her books are short, with very brief chapters, which one might think would make for an easy, quick read.  But I find that her writing is often so profound and thought-provoking that I have to sit and ponder and re-read almost every chapter. My journals are littered with quotes from her books.  She never ceases to give me food for thought, and often opens the way to a deeper perspective of my beliefs, or sheds a new light on events in my life.  She takes me up on the balcony and helps me see the “bigger view”. 
            I have read some of her books more than once, and they always seem to provide me with fresh insights.  As you can tell by now, I’m a big fan.  Because her books are so small and compact, I often have one tucked away in my bag, in case I am ever stuck in a line-up or a waiting room. Right now I am reading her 2001 book Door to Eternity (Novalis Press).  Here’s a sample of her writing from Chapter Three:

“Belief in the possibility of coexistence of time and eternity lies at the root of all religion.  Religion can be even, perhaps, defined as a path, or a “ladder” to such a coexistence.  Christian teaching makes the truth of this belief absolutely clear.  The creed, the liturgy, the sacraments, the icons, proclaim it:  Christ, a man like us, born at a precise moment of history, living in a small corner of the Roman Empire, dying on the hill of Calvary, buried and risen on the third day, and Christ the Eternal Word, coexistent with the Father.  Christ with us now, on earth, and Christ, already ascended into heaven, sitting in glory at the right hand of the Father.  Christ the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End, in whom time and eternity meet.  And so it is with us.  We are here, at this specific moment of our lives, still bowed down under the burden of our mortality, but the hour of our passing is already known and present to God, who is beyond time.  We are already immersed in his glory and light.  We have been baptized into Christ’s death and are buried with him, but we have also already risen with him and are with him in eternity, at home.  This is the great mystery of faith, the reality of the eternal presence of God “in whom we live and move and have our being” (Acts 17: 28). Yet, because we cannot know it – because we cannot grasp it with our finite, human minds or see it with our earthly eyes – it appears to us as darkness and we are afraid.”

Monday 11 June 2012

A Special June Day

Yesterday was pretty special for a couple of reasons.  First, it was our wedding anniversary, and we started the day off right with coffee and fresh banana bread at the Grand Re-Opening of the Relax Cafe in our neighbourhood. The former owners closed down and moved away a few months ago, leaving a black hole in the community. It was with great joy a few weeks ago that we noticed a sign announcing that new owners were going to bring our favorite walking destination back to life.  What a great anniversary gift!

But we received an even greater gift in the afternoon.  Together with thirteen other “Inquirers”, we were admitted into the Secular Franciscan Order during a beautiful Mass at St. Luke’s Church.  After this past year of study, prayer, meeting new friends and learning more about the lives and spirituality of St. Francis and St. Clare, we now begin our time of formation as “Candidates”. 

The day was special for one more reason: it happened to be the Feast of the Body and Blood of Christ, when we focus on God’s new and definitive covenant with His people through Jesus, and His sacrifice on the Cross. How fitting that as we made our pledge at the front of the church, we were also celebrating God’s ongoing pledge of love and mercy to us through the gift of Holy Communion. 

It was a beautiful moment when the fifteen of us spoke, in unison, these words of promise and hope:

“We here ask to enter the fraternity of the Ordo Franciscanus Saecularis, so that we may live more faithfully and intensely the faith and dedication of our baptism by following Jesus Christ according to the teaching and example of St. Francis of Assisi.”

And so, the next chapter of our journey begins.  Alleluia!

Tuesday 5 June 2012

Lilac Time

I’m so glad I live in a country that has distinct seasons.  When spring finally comes to Canada, it’s a celebration – big time.  And we all have our own personal harbingers of spring…the first robin sighting…tulips popping up around the neighbourhood…the Stanley Cup playoffs…mowing the lawn for the first time…relegating the winter coats to the back of the closet…digging up dandelions…wearing sandals again.  For me, it’s when our lilacs bloom.  I don’t really feel safe to call it spring until I see – and smell – those beautiful purple blossoms. 

We’re lucky enough to have some lilac bushes in our back yard, thanks to the family who built our house in 1946 and made the excellent choice to plant them.  According to Alberta Plant Watch, the purple lilac is a native of the mountainous regions of southeastern Europe, and it was brought to Canada by homesick settlers who bravely travelled here over a hundred years ago to homestead and start a new life.  Lilacs grow robustly even in poor conditions, which is why you see them in abundance in old neighbourhoods like ours, and on many farms around here. I love bringing great armfuls of lilac boughs into the house and arranging them in a big old vase that was a wedding present from my Aunty Babs.  We were married in early June (many moons ago) at Bill’s parent’s home.  It was a small wedding, but we had extravagant bouquets of lilacs everywhere in the house. Maybe that’s another reason why I love lilacs – they remind me of my wedding day.

Because there is such a contrast between winter and spring in most parts of Canada, we see and experience a kind of re-birth every year around this time. Spring reminds us that it’s possible to put away the old and walk into the new.  It’s possible to forget past hurts and disappointments, and move forward.  It’s possible to forgive oneself and try again.  It’s possible to make a fresh start.

Jesus pushes us even further.  At the beginning of His ministry in Galilee, He traveled around, proclaiming, “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news!” (Mark 1: 14, 15).  He was telling people (including us) that God’s unconditional love is available to anyone, here, now, without restriction. But in the same sentence, He speaks about the need for repentance.  

I did some research on the word “repent”, and found out it comes from the Greek word “metanoeo”, which means to change your mind, or to change direction. Jesus was basically calling His followers to embrace a radical new way to think and act and be. What exactly is that supposed to look like? Fr. Robert Barron, one of my favorite authors and speakers, describes “metanoeo” this way:  “When the organizing and energizing principle of one’s life has shifted from the fearful ego to the love of Jesus.” Or as Paul put it in Galatians 20: “It is no longer I who live, but it is Christ who lives in me.” St. Francis is such a wonderful example of someone who took Jesus’ proclamation seriously.  After a dramatic U turn, his life became fully integrated and wholly focused on one thing – expressing the glory of God.  Kind of like my lilacs.

Monday 28 May 2012

A Rich Young Man


Today’s reading from Mark 10: 17 – 27 about the rich young man who asks Jesus what he can do to inherit eternal life is a challenging one.  Jesus first councils the young man to keep the commandments, but then further gives him a startling invitation that definitely takes him out of his comfort zone.  “Go, sell what you have, and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, follow me.”  Even the apostles were amazed at these words!  The young man went away sorrowful, and I fully understand his discouragement. But from verse 21, which reads “And Jesus looking upon him, loved him…”, I see that Jesus speaks these words out of a heart full of love, tenderness and forgiveness. He wants nothing but the best for each one of us, which means true, lasting fullness of joy, and He knows that earthly pleasures offer us but a shadow of that.

I have this print in my office, taken from a larger painting called Christ and the Rich Young Ruler, painted by Heinrich Hoffman in 1889.  I think the artist really captured Christ’s compassion. I love looking at it and being reminded of how much He loves me, and understands my struggles. 

The paradox is that so many things in life – good food, books, artwork, music, a cosy living room, a lovely garden – are wonderful blessings if seen as gifts from God to be thankful for, and enjoyed and shared.  But when we start to see them as our own hard-won treasure that must be guarded, then the blessings turn to shackles.  Francis was given this insight, and though it took him a few years to understand and absorb, he eventually took it fully to heart and experienced a radical conversion of attitude, lifestyle and faith. 

We aren’t told in the Scriptures, but maybe Jesus’ words to the rich young man also stirred his spirit, and led him to question where he was putting his trust and hope.  Who knows, maybe Jesus’ words led him to a place of more abundant joy, stronger faith and life-giving freedom.  As we study the life of Francis, maybe we too can travel further down that same path, developing an attitude of healthy detachment from our possessions and wealth, embodying a community spirit rather than a competitive spirit. It’s a measure of God’s love for us that He believes we are capable of growing in holiness, and He longs to accompany us, guide us and strengthen us on the journey.  But He won’t impose; we have to take the first step, and ask for His help.  It can happen if we believe it can happen. As Jesus reminded His apostles at the end of this reading, “All things are possible for God.”

Tuesday 22 May 2012

Ascending


This past weekend we celebrated the Ascension of our Lord.  On this solemnity, I always can’t help but think about the emotions that the apostles must have felt.  Talk about mixed feelings!  Not long before this they had been living in grief and fear because of the death of Jesus.  Then they experienced the elation of seeing Him alive again, risen from the tomb. Next came forty joyful but confusing days of trying to comprehend His resurrected presence among them.  Now He leaves them again to ascend to His Father in heaven, promising them that they will soon receive the power of the Holy Spirit. What a range of events and intense emotions in such a short time. 

I realized this weekend, as I heard the Scripture readings at Mass, that the Ascension is another example of detachment – the same kind of detachment that happens naturally in our lives as we say good-bye to loved ones, to seasons, to experiences, to places, to stages in our growth.  But it is also an example of another kind of detachment, that doesn’t feel so natural.  This is the detachment that God calls us to as He invites us to enter a new phase of spiritual maturity and trust.  Mary said “Yes” to that invitation when she received a visit from the Angel Gabriel. Paul said “Yes” after meeting Christ on the road to Damascus.  Francis said “Yes” after hearing the Lord’s voice in the little Chapel of San Damiano.  In all of these instances we see an opportunity seized that brings new life and transformation.

God invites each of us to this same transformation, but it always involves a risk, a letting go, a detachment from the familiar.  It also takes a lot of courage.  In a way, Christ’s Ascension is a continuation of His invitation to all of us to “Follow Me.”  To quote the Franciscan Richard Rohr, one of my favorite authors, “There is a movement from Jesus to the Christ that you and I have to imitate and walk, as well. A lot of us have so fallen in love with the historical Jesus that we worship Him as such and stop there.  We never really followed the same journey He made, which is the death and resurrection journey – Jesus died and Christ rose.” 

Will we accept His invitation?

Thursday 17 May 2012

The Paradox of Gospel Living


            There is such an abundance of material for reflection in the life of St. Francis.  One of the most intriguing things to absorb is Francis’ joyful discovery of how God kept giving him back everything that he had given up for Christ’s sake – but with a sacred twist. 
            How is it that Francis’ life of harsh deprivation contained such richness, joy, beauty, peace, and love?  He was re-gifted with the fullness of all these things through the very act of putting God ahead of them. As he embraced Jesus’ way of living, as presented in the Gospels, he also embraced poverty, weakness, austerity, insecurity and rejection.  But to his great delight, Francis found that God generously and lovingly graced him with richness in poverty; joy in weakness; beauty in austerity; peace in insecurity; and love in rejection. 
            
            How is this even possible? It seems that when we are able to move beyond searching for happiness in our circumstances, and instead derive our sense of wellbeing from the simple fact that we are God’s beloved children, we start to understand that we have found a well that will never run dry. 
           Incredibly, we undervalue His tenderness and mercy and care for us, thinking instead that we’ll find enduring fulfillment in…exciting travel experiences…a great family life…a beautiful house….the latest gadget…a fit and trim body…a busy social life…a rewarding career…a big bank account…a good reputation…a much-admired talent…and on and on. Thin ice to skate on, but it’s so easy to be fooled into believing that these things will bring us the contentment we yearn for. They are all as temporary as the grass, in God's eternal perspective - while His love for each of us is rock-solid and permanent. As Francis found out from his own experiences, the equation on which so many of us are basing our lives is a faulty one. Maybe it’s time to scrap it and head back to the drawing board. But how? What does that mean, especially for us who live in an affluent western society and are totally addicted to its pleasures?  What does it mean for me, as a baby Franciscan?
             It all seems to come down to one question – do we trust God?

Sunday 22 April 2012

New Beginnings


How does a sense of deep communal guilt lead to an exploration of the Franciscan charism?

Well, in my case, a troubling and increasingly obvious disconnect between my growing faith as a new Catholic and my “normal” North American way of life was the spark.  My husband and I were welcomed into the Church five years ago, but the hypocrisy between what I was spouting and how I was living started to become almost painful to me shortly after that.  A trip to Kenya in 2010, where we met a number of smart, funny, open-hearted, joyful, faithful, engaging Christians (who happened to live in one of Nairobi’s biggest slums) brought the whole thing to a head.  Was there any fathomable reason that I deserved to live in affluence, while they lived in poverty?  How could I ever come to terms with the huge gulf in our respective living standards? I came home from that trip enlightened, but facing reverse culture shock as I slid back into life in Canada.  I felt like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde – a happy consumer longing for minimalism….a privacy-lover who ached to be radically hospitable…..a “good person” who often felt ashamed and sick.  

The timing of an email from an old friend was a loving little nudge from our good God.  This friend, whom we later found out is a Secular Franciscan himself, suggested that my husband and I look into the local Secular Franciscan group. Like almost everyone on the planet, I knew a little about St. Francis. I had seen Zeffirelli’s movie, Brother Sun and Sister Moon, when I was a teenager, and I had even read a biography of St. Francis by G.K. Chesterton a number of years ago. But I had next to no knowledge of the Secular Franciscan Order.

After going to our first meeting at St. Luke’s Church, reading some of the formation resources, and talking to some of the intriguing people we met there, it seemed like St. Francis himself was standing at a crossroads, beckoning me to walk beside him for a little while.  And so the journey – and the healing – began….