September 13, 2017

This Child is Destined

[This is a guest post from Norine.]
Jesus was approaching the Holy Temple in Jerusalem, snuggled in the arms of either His mother Mary or His step-father Joseph, and the Holy Spirit was waiting, filling Simeon who had also come to the Temple that day.
A not quite two-month old Jesus was presented as the law commanded (Leviticus 12:2-4), and the joy of the Father and the Spirit could hardly be contained. Simeon spilled out their love through a prophetic prayer:
Now, Master, you may let your servant go in peace, according to your word, for my eyes have seen your salvation, which you prepared in sight of all the peoples, a light for revelation to the Gentiles, and glory for your people Israel.
Luke 2:29-32
I was thinking about this as I prayed the rosary on Monday. The rosary is a prayer of limitless depth. I finished my consecration to Jesus through Mary by way of the Saint Louis de Montfort method and a consecration to Mary’s Brown Scapular in 2012, promising to give Holy Mother what she asked for at Fatima- at least one daily rosary for her intentions.
But giving her a prayer for her intentions has given me so much. At her hands, I have been given such rich instruction by way of the daily mysteries. Have you found this too? The mysteries never grow old. Sometimes I meditate on things I’ve considered before or sometimes the Lord leads me to something I’ve never thought of, but it’s always new. God is never boring.
In the fourth Joyful mystery, Mary or Joseph hands over the offering of two turtledoves, the prescribed substitution for those who were too poor to afford the regular offering of a lamb (Leviticus 12:8). And Simeon spoke over this otherwise unassuming poor child some of the most powerful words anyone could say about a person:
Behold, this child is destined for the fall and rise of many in Israel. Luke 2:34
Why was it necessary for God to speak through Simeon these words over Jesus? Jesus already knew His mission. Mary and Joseph knew some things from their interactions with the angels (Luke 1:26-35, Matthew 1:22-24). But God made the point of sharing this blessing over Jesus, affirming Mary and Joseph and then spreading the news through Simeon, the prophetess Anna and “all who were awaiting the redemption of Israel (Luke 2: 48).”
I considered this during a few of the Hail Marys in my decade and then came to another thought in the subsequent ones: What did the Lord say when I was presented?
My parents didn’t fly me to Jerusalem after I was born. And the Temple was destroyed anyway. But I know they took me to Mass. I was baptized at the age of two months. I was presented in the sacraments of Holy Communion and Confirmation. Later, my dad walked me down the aisle to my now husband for the sacrament of Holy Matrimony. What did the Holy Spirit say in those cases?
When I was baptized the water came over me and the Spirit said, “This is beloved child in whom I am well-pleased. This child is destined for…[Click over to ATX Catholic to read the rest of this story.]

August 16, 2017

Holy Things Are Veiled

[This is a guest post from Norine.]

Saint Paul speaks of shame when it comes to women covering their heads before the Lord (1 Corinthians 11:5-6), but I was brought to do so for a reason that came about earlier than the entrance of shame in the Garden.
A priest on Relevant Radio said God had a very specific order when He made the world, with simpler things on one end and more complex things on the other. The priest said the created world increased in holiness too. Being created last, the holiest thing God made was Woman. The priest capped it off by saying, “Holy things are veiled.”
At the time I heard this, I had already been considering a veil. I knew a handful of women who wore them, and some had posted articles about veiling on Facebook. I felt that those I knew who had sacrificed a lot for Jesus and those who had a particular love of Jesus in the Eucharist were the ones who were veiling. I admired them.
The veils were pretty. They made the wearer look feminine. They made the wearer look reverent. I could feel my heart being led.
And I wasn’t sure I wanted it to be led. I had many reasons not to veil. I was worried about what people would think. I was worried about how it would feel. I was very sure that if I was going to do it, I didn’t want to just try it out a few times. For some reason, I felt that wearing a veil or not wearing one had to be something I would commit to doing always. If I was going to wear it, I would have to do it forever.
I sat on the fence, comfortable enough to stay there and do nothing. But the thing that made me realize I couldn’t stay on the fence was hearing the words of that priest: “Women are the holiest things in the order of creation and holy things are veiled.”
I heard that and began to speak to the Lord: “I think this is a bad idea.”
(How many times have I started an argument with the Lord and lost? I’m glad He still lets me argue.)
“This is a bad idea, Lord! I sit in the front row on Sundays (because supposedly this helps small children behave); I’m a lector; I’m a Eucharistic minister. People are going to see me! It’s not like I can sit in the back and I can try this out privately! And I have little ones who’ll pull it off! I can hear you calling and this is a bad idea!
“But…if you really want me to wear the veil, I’ll do it.”
This is a dangerous place here. I am made in God’s image. It’s not the other way around. God is a separate entity from me and our opinions do not always agree. He has His own ways and His own thoughts. And disagreeing with Him is different from disagreeing with a friend. If my friend and I don’t agree, we can both stay where we are and still respect each other. If I disagree with the Lord and still want to be His friend, I am eventually obliged to conformity.
Two days later, I ran into a friend in a parking lot. She suddenly said she needed to give me something. It was a veil.
I ran to the chapel, looked at the tabernacle and laughed. “Okay, you win! I guess you really wanted me to wear it!” I put it on. It was easy to do, with Jesus and me alone in the chapel.
Sunday was harder. I was nervous and left it in the car...[To read the rest of this story, please visit ATX Catholic.]
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July 19, 2017

I Am, not I Do

[This is a guest post from Norine.]

My kids had been watching the Veggie Tales DVD “Mo and the Big Exit,” and my four-year old asked a question. I turned to the book of Exodus and began to read aloud: “Doesn’t that sound familiar?” I asked, linking the bible verses to the show. But very quickly, she lost interest and I found myself reading on.

Moses, hearing the voice of the LORD from the burning bush, said to him, “When I go to the children of Israel and say to them,
‘The God of your fathers has sent me to you,’
if they ask me, ‘What is his name?’ what am I to tell them?”
God replied, “I am who am.”
Then he added, “This is what you shall tell the children of Israel:
I AM sent me to you.” (Exodus 3:13-14).’

Moses and the Burning Bush

I pondered that for a bit.

“I am.”

Not “I was.” Not “I will be.” Not “I am doing.”

About 12 weeks ago, I suffered an infection that damaged my vestibular nerve. It caused vertigo, coordination problems and difficulty concentrating.  For a time, I could no longer walk. I could not drive. I could no longer do most of the things I was used to doing.

As a stay-at-home mom, I was still at home. But my husband now had the duties of caring for the kids and the household. I wasn’t cooking, cleaning or doing the shopping. I wasn’t dressing the girls or helping with homework. I wasn’t grocery shopping or shuttling the kids where they needed to go.

As person who helped in ministry, I was also suddenly unable. My slot as lector and adoration guardian were given to subs. I had to stop meeting with my prayer groups. I finally had to admit I wasn’t going to be able to help with Vacation Bible School (VBS). My heart still hurts over that one. I really love VBS.

And generally, as a person of prayer who wants to worship, I was quite unable. For a few Sundays, I received the Eucharist at home through a homebound ministry. Then my husband brought me in the wheelchair. It was some time before I could physically participate. It is very hard to remain seated when everyone else is standing.

But I was disheartened to find myself unable to participate mentally. I found it difficult to catch on to the readings, learn the tune of the Psalm or concentrate on the prayers. My head was very unclear for visiting the tabernacle, on the now rare opportunities I could get a ride there. Praying in structured ways, like the Rosary, was difficult because I kept forgetting where I was. And praying in unstructured ways was also difficult. I couldn’t think of anything to say.

It hurt very much that so many of the places I found solace and purpose were now stressful. All of the things I felt I needed to do, I couldn’t do anymore. And I felt like I was a very poor wife, mother and Christian... [To read the rest of this story, click over to ATX Catholic.]

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June 21, 2017

Who Would Choose This?

[This is a guest post from Norine.]

I lay in bed, but the room continued to spin. I shut my eyes and stayed as still as I could. I was a prisoner of my illness, unable to leave the bed, the room or the house unless someone else came to help me.

I thought of Jesus, laying in a ciborium, locked in a tabernacle, often by Himself, unable to move unless someone came to get Him. “Why would you choose this, Lord? Who would choose this?”

During the homily on Divine Mercy Sunday, I began to feel itchy in my throat. It was odd. It felt like an allergic reaction, even though I hadn’t eaten anything. By Wednesday, my throat was terribly sore. And after our Saturday Family Game Night, I was so unsteady I needed help from my husband and daughter to hobble to the bathroom. “Why can’t I walk?” I asked them in an increasing panic.

In the morning, my four-year old asked me for a cup of water and I pulled myself across the floor with my hands. I managed to quickly grab a cup from the drying rack and told her she had to fill it herself as I lay back on the cold floor and tried to quell the intense nausea. I wasn’t dying, but this situation was debilitating.

At the emergency room (with normal results for a CT scan, urine test, blood test, EKG and the MRI scan that took three doses of Valium and a nurse yelling at me before I would go into that horrible contraption of claustrophobia), I was told I probably had a viral inner ear infection that causes balance and vision problems. The ear, nose and throat doctor confirmed that the next day as I slumped over a pillow in a wheelchair my husband borrowed from our church.

For two weeks, I mostly lay in bed, unable to lift my spinning head. My husband took over my duties with the children and household. He also had to take over the duties of my own bathing and dressing. I thought of the words of Saint Paul: “If I must boast, I will boast of the things that show my weakness (2 Corinthians 11:30).” But in human terms, weakness is not enjoyable. Being weak is not usually something people want.

Who would choose this? On purpose? And my thoughts turned to the One who did.

I marveled in contemplation of Jesus, waiting for the priest to lift Him in the form of bread in the Eucharistic prayer. “Why would you choose this, Lord?”

He is perfectly capable of getting out of a locked door. I’ve read about it. He did it with the Apostles after His Resurrection (John 20:19). He is perfectly capable of flying away. I read about how He did that at the Ascension (Acts 1:9). But Jesus stays in the tabernacle, lying helpless in a ciborium behind the door. This limitless God waits for the humans His Father created to remove Him at the time those humans appoint. He waits for them to come visit, either to cry over their problems or just to keep Him company. He didn’t just choose weakness on the Cross. He chooses it every day.

I lay in bed, the time filled with sleep or prayer because watching DVDs and reading books was nauseating.  I considered how Jesus, a voluntary prisoner of the tabernacle, is filled with humility, patience and trust. He lets His Father care for Him, bringing people at the right time to talk to Him, to care for His needs, to bring Him out into the world.

How much more difficult it is for humans to be humble, to be patient and to trust. I lay in bed, trying to offer up the wait for food or other things as my overwhelmed husband worked to balance my needs with the children, the FMLA paperwork, a car disabled placard and his own needs. I have never appreciated the sacrament of matrimony more than in that experience. I was helpless and the world went on because God worked through my husband... [Click over to ATX Catholic to read the rest of this story.]
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April 26, 2017

Where is Jesus?

A mother and father bring their small child to a shopping mall on an extremely busy day. They take turns keeping their eyes on the little boy and holding his hand as they move from store to store and then to the food court with a few bathroom breaks in between. Mommy suddenly glances around and her stomach begins to churn. She doesn’t see her child. But that’s okay, she thinks, he must be with Daddy.  But the father does the same thing. In a sudden moment of panic, he doesn’t see his child. But he calms himself and assumes he’s with Mommy.  Then the parents find each other, and neither one has the boy. They frantically start looking everywhere for their son.
"[The mother] is crying. In vain [the parents] run from [store to store]. No one has seen him. [The father], after useless attempts to keep from crying, cries too. [They] cry [their] eyes out and wail to heaven and earth."
Sounds like an understandable reaction of parents who lose a child. I have two small children and don’t even want to think about how terrifying it would be if one of them disappeared. But do I wail and cry every time I lose Jesus? Do you?

The quote above, adapted from the words of Saint Josemaria Escriva, is part of a reflection on the Fifth Joyful Mystery of the Holy Rosary of the Blessed Virgin Mary – The Finding of Jesus in the Temple, as Mary and Joseph searched for young Jesus for three days.
The Finding of the Saviour in the Temple by William Holman Hunt
"Where is Jesus? —The Child, my Lady!... where is He?  Mary is crying. —In vain you and I have run from group to group, from caravan to caravan: no one has seen Him. —Joseph, after useless attempts to keep from crying, cries too... And You... And I. Being a common little servant, I cry my eyes out and wail to heaven and earth... to make up for those times when I lost Him through my own fault and did not cry.  Jesus: may I never lose Thee again... Then you and I are united in misfortune and grief, as we were united in sin."
I reflected on this mystery repeatedly throughout the Lenten season and during the Triduum. How often do we lose Jesus? We lose him every time we sin. Every month, every day, every hour. Tragically, sometimes every minute...[To read the rest of this story, click over to ATX Catholic]

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