Note from the Desert

What have I been up to? I’ve been fairly busy with family, work and school. The kids are getting more demanding, there are lots of big projects going on at work, and the math class I’m taking the semester meets every day and has lots of homework.

I’ve also been avoiding blogs and other things that “get my Irish up”, and it’s been hard. Between NPR’s story about Massachusetts Catholics voting democrat (including a priest deftly avoiding agreement with Church doctrine), other political developments in South America and Russia, and Ret. Bp. Gumbleton’s continued brayings, I have been chewing my figurative tongue.

Early in my Lenten meditations, while at Stations of the Cross, I was reminded of something I often lose sight of. From the Stations of the Cross, by St. Alphonsus Liguori, The Third Station, Jesus Falls the First Time:

My beloved Jesus, / it was not the weight of the cross / but the weight of my sins which made You suffer so much. / By the merits of this first fall, / save me from falling into mortal sin. / I love You, O my Jesus, with all my heart; / I am sorry that I have offended You. / May I never offend You again. / Grant that I may love You always; and then do with me as You will.

The weight of MY sins. Not the weight of Cdl. Bernard Law’s sins, nor the weight of Fr. Richard McBrien’s sins, nor the weight of the USCCB’s collective ineptitude, and neither the sins of the careless American Consumer. The weight of those sins is inconsequential. It is the weight of MY sins which made the Cross necessary. This is what I have been meditating on, and it is largely why I have been silent.

In two months, I am expecting our next child, a little girl, to arrive. Between family, work, and school, I’m not really sure what time I’ll have to continue blogging. Maybe that’s a good thing. Time will tell, and I will wait and listen for the Lord to see what’s next.

May God bless you all.

Returning to the Stations

['Tis a long post, so click on the 'read more' link at the bottom of the post for the epic version]

‘O Lord, as penitent as I wish the world to be, make me doubly so.’

The first round of this Lent’s Stations of the Cross was as powerful as I remember it last year. The opening prayer started things rolling:

“My Lord, Jesus Christ, You have made this journey to die for me with unspeakable love; and I have so many times ungratefully abandoned You. But now I love You with all my heart; and, because I love You, I am sincerely sorry for ever having offended You. Pardon me, my God, and permit me to accompany You on this journey. You go to die for love of me; I want, my beloved Redeemer, to die for love of You. My Jesus, I will live and die always united to You.”

My throat tightens as I pray these words, my vision blurs. My sins, though thoughtless on my part, are grievous insult to Him that goes to the Cross for me. My soul is shown in stark relief next to Him, and the difference is almost unbearable. The priest is now at the icon of the Condemnation:

“My adorable Jesus, it was not Pilate; no, it was my sins that condemned You to die. I beseech You, by the merits of this sorrowful journey, to assist my soul on its journey to eternity. I love You, beloved Jesus; I love You more than I love myself. With all my heart I repent of ever having offended You. Grant that I may love You always; and then do with me as You will.”

Do I love Jesus? More than Myself? My behaviors too often indicate the opposite. Were that I was always this conscious of my misplaced affections. The Priest winds from Condemnation to Christ receiving the Cross, and from the Cross to the First Fall:

“My beloved Jesus, it was not the weight of the cross but the weight of my sins which made You suffer so much. By the merits of this first fall, save me from falling into mortal sin. I love You, O my Jesus, with all my heart; I am sorry that I have offended You. May I never offend You again. Grant that I may love You always; and then do with me as You will.”

My voice breaks as I pray, the tears swell, as my sins are laid bare before me. Insouciance has a price, and that price was paid by Another. This knowledge is too convenient, and also, too antiseptic. Like a child who lives richly by the sweat of his parents, it is too easy to be comforted by platitudes about “being Saved.” Would the Bridegroom accept me, one who so often takes His saving gift for granted? The priest leads us to Mary, Simon the Cyrene, and to Veronica:

“My beloved Jesus, Your face was beautiful before You began this journey; but, now, it no longer appears beautiful and is disfigured with wounds and blood. Alas, my soul also was once beautiful when it received Your grace in Baptism; but I have since disfigured it with my sins. You alone, my Redeemer, can restore it to its former beauty. Do this by the merits of Your passion; and then do with me as You will.”

I have disfigured myself, by my choices, when I chose sin over the Cross. By no merit of mine does He come to rescue me from myself. The priest speaks, and Jesus has again fallen:

“My most gentle Jesus, how many times You have forgiven me; and how many times I have fallen again and begun again to offend You! By the merits of this second fall, give me the grace to persevere in Your love until death. Grant, that in all my temptations, I may always have recourse to You. I love You, Jesus, my Love with all my heart; I am sorry that I have offended You. Never let me offend You again. Grant that I may love You always; and then do with me as You will.”

Patterns repeat, a dog returns to its vomit, and I, too, sin again. How can He love me so much, to see me ever fail, and yet still beckon to me? The priest announces the Meeting of the Women:

“My Jesus, laden with sorrows, I weep for the sins which I have committed against You because of the punishment I deserve for them; and, still more, because of the displeasure they have caused You who have loved me with an infinite love. It is Your love, more than the fear of hell, which makes me weep for my sins. My Jesus, I love You more than myself; I am sorry that I have offended You. Never allow me to offend You again. Grant that I may love You always; and then do with me as You will.”

I’m sure that many will perish who will protest that they deserve better. I cannot protest, for I know what I, for my sins, deserve. Yet I am humbled by the promise of Life in trusting Christ. The priest brings us to the Third Fall, and then Jesus is Stripped of His Garments:

”My innocent Jesus, by the torment You suffered in being stripped of Your garments, help me to strip myself of all attachment for the things of earth that I may place all my love in You who are so worthy of my love. I love You, O Jesus, with all my heart; I am sorry for ever having offended You. Never let me offend You again. Grant that I may love You always; and then do with me as You will.”

Ever so attached to my comforts, I resist so many mortifications for Him. Even tonight, upon hearing rumor of some new imposition, I seethe at the agents of the impending crisis. It is a rare cross that is picked up with perfect joy, may I quit rebelling against mine. The priest is now at the icon of the Crucifixion:

“My despised Jesus, nail my heart to the cross that it may always remain there to love You and never leave You again. I love You more than myself; I am sorry for ever having offended You. Never permit me to offend You again. Grant that I may love You always; and then do with me as You will.”

My journey leads me to the foot of the Cross; I can embrace it, at great pain to myself now, or I can disregard it, to my eternal peril. Only the most stalwart could bear the proximity to our crucified Lord, where God’s Will loomed so large, and our conscience looms large as well. Who else could so closely witness the consequences of my sins, but our Blessed Mother, Mary. The priest moves on, Jesus dies on the Cross:

“My dying Jesus, I devoutly kiss the cross on which You would die for love of me. I deserve, because of my sins, to die a terrible death; but Your death is my hope. By the merits of Your death, give me the grace to die embracing Your feet and burning with love of You. I yield my soul into Your hands. I love You with my whole heart. I am sorry that I have offended You. Never let me offend You again. Grant that I may love You always; and then do with me as You will.”

The price has now been paid, the debt to the Father now forgiven, but now, I am to be judged by Christ. Can I be faithful? How do I return the love so dearly shown? By taking up my own loathsome cross, to follow Him. The priest intones that Jesus is taken down from the Cross, then buried in the Tomb:

“Oh my buried Jesus, I kiss the stone that closes You in. But You gloriously did rise again on the third day. I beg You by Your resurrection that I may be raised gloriously on the last day, to be united with You in heaven, to praise You and love You forever. I love You, Jesus, and I repent of ever having offended You. Grant that I may love You always; and then do with me as You will.”

Jesus was confident of the Father’s promise to raise Him up. So shall I be confident in Jesus’ promise to raise me up from my sins. May I always be steadfast in my love and obedience to Him.

We adore You, O Christ, and we praise You. Because, by your holy cross, You have redeemed the world.

Bacchanalia and Penance

Mardi Gras is upon us once again, and time to get hammered and entice women to be immodest, right? I don't understand how debauchery before a season of penance shows any sign of sincere penitence. For some, it was like filling up the car's tank before a snowstorm, or stocking up on water before a disaster. Either way, the behaviour betrays what's really dearest to the heart.

Another irony is that far more people will party for Mardi Gras than will show up for Ashes the next day. I wonder, thinking mathematically: Is the enthusiasm for Mardi Gras inversely proportional to the likelihood for a penitential Lent?