A Retiring Temperament at Adoration

The monastery across the street from where I work has Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament daily.  I went over today for my lunch, and knelt in contemplation until the noon Angelus bells.  I had the public side of the chapel to myself, with the monstrance up in a special opening above the alter.

Whenever I spend time before the Blessed Sacrament, I struggle to have the appropriate thoughts or feelings or attitude.  I try to make myself feel prayerfully aware that God, in the Person of Jesus, is there before me.  It seldom works. For one thing, I have difficulty simply conceptualizing One God With Three Persons.  He became man and told us directly who He is; clearly He knows how difficult it is to understand all this! Then, in an incredible, fourth-dimension sort of way, He made bread and wine into Himself, and that's Him there before me. No, I can't know it, not the way He made us to know Him originally.

I have found a few works that help me get closer to knowing, though.  C.S. Lewis, for one.  But today St. Francis de Sales had the right words.  In "Introduction to the Devout Life" he advises one keep in mind that the Lord is present always, and provides the image of a great lord's huge hall, with the full court present.  The lord may not address himself to a particular person the whole of the day, but that person is none-the-less aware of the noble presence.

Were I in such a place, I mused today, I would not want to be sitting in front of the throne, or even within a direct line of sight.  I am more comfortable behind the great ones, better yet standing on the sidelines.

I then looked at the monstrance and thought of it as "facing" the other side of the chapel, where the sisters sit.  That helped.  He is always here, but at that moment I was sitting behind Him, a little to the right.

I remember when I was very young my parents would have grownup parties, with people talking and eating and drinking.  Nothing untoward, just grownups.  Perhaps with records playing.  I learned that if I sat in a corner, down low and out of the way, I could remain for well past my bedtime.  I had a perfect spot, just inside the door to the living room, where I could sit on a heater vent, partially hidden by a low chair. Sometimes a guest would notice me, but as long as I was quiet I could remain.  If I ever spoke, the spell was broken and my parents would realize I was there and send me to bed.

So today, I thought of our Lord present at the front of the chapel, facing away from me. If it were a party at my parents' house, I thought, He would of course be one of the guests, one would hope even the Guest of Honor.  He would move around, talking to people, sharing food, telling stories.  And occasionally He would glance down, and a little to the right, and make eye contact.  Maybe wink. But that would be it - He would understand me, recognize me, and even while aware of me protect my presence with His silence.


Thank you, Lord, for helping me understand a little better.

Vocations

Bishop stayed with us last week.  I had the opportunity to chat with him between sessions one morning.  I've been thinking about vocations versus careers lately, and asked him about discernment.

I've heard priests say they didn't set out to be priests, some even struggled against it, yet ultimately they gave in. In America today we tell our children to follow their hearts, pursue a career, do something they love.  We take aptitude tests to determine what career fields match our abilities, or what fields we would be happiest in.  My oldest daughter is preparing for college, deciding on a major and anticipating a career, so I am immersed in the world of modern discernment.


And "vocation" as we use it is never mentioned.

Catholics usually recognize the word as referring to the priesthood.  But every individual has a vocation: it means doing what God created you to do.  Priesthood or religious life is one vocation, but so is the married life, or the chaste single life.  A vocation can overlap with a specific career: my husband's vocation is to be a teacher as well as a father and husband.  He teaches chemistry now, but has always been teaching, even when he was trying very hard to be a doctor: God always placed him in situations with students needing instruction of one kind or another.

A vocation is difficult to discern because it is so contrary to our modern concept of self-actualization.  I've heard priests describe struggling with, even resisting, then finally surrendering to this thing.  A vocation seems often to be something un-desirable, perhaps even distasteful. And so I wondered how on earth does one recognize this thing, and come to accept it?

Fortunately God takes care of the first part.  He never stops, never gives up on us.  My husband did many things with moderate success, but once he decided to consider teaching doors were flung open before him.  So one part may be simply recognizing the unlikely opportunity and giving it consideration.

Very well, that helps identify the "career path" type of vocation: priesthood, teaching, nursing. Maybe even Captain of Industry.  But what then, if the vocation seems unpleasant or undesirable?  or simply too unfamiliar to make a rational or emotional evaluation?

I put that question to the Bishop, and he gave me a simple answer.  "I guess what it comes to is, what gives you a sense of peace." He remembered quite clearly when it came, after long effort and worry about his choice: he suddenly felt, simply, a profound sense of peace at the thought of being a priest.

Difficulties? Sorrows? Even simple aggravation? Yes, because those are part of every life.  But they are easier to accept when you know that you are doing what you are supposed to be doing.

I recognized an echo of what my mother-in-law had told me, a very wise saying, and I shared it with him.  She told me, "Marry the faults you can live with." And he laughed with me when I added, "of course she told me that after I was married!" 

Graduation time

The twins graduate from 8th grade at St. Joseph's tomorrow.  For the past 8 years I've had first three, then two girls to drive to and pickup from school. I've had Band and Christmas concerts and after school sports events to attend.  I've had school planners to sign every morning, and homework to hear about in the evenings.

All done after tomorrow.

It's a big change for them, going off to high school next fall.  The shock will be tempered by the presence of their older sister, who is a senior, and their father, who is a chemistry teacher.  They will suddenly need cloths, and shoes, and have the right to chose these themselves.  They will be in an incoming class of almost 1000 students, instead of a graduating class of 26.

Big changes changes for me too.  Everyone will be leaving the house together next year, earlier than this year.  The house will be empty. I'll leave by myself, and go straight to work. I can stay late at work instead of leaving at 4 to get the girls.

I sit here thinking about all this, sensing some pressure within but unable to take time to understand it. Tears? Terror? Music or poetry? I don't know and don't have time, even though I should have more time now than ever.

This is also the time of year for ordinations and professions, and vocation retreats.  We actually have a regional conference of Vocation Directors here at our retreat house this week.  They give me the idea that I, and moms in my position, need a Graduation Retreat.  Maybe just a day, but a weekend would be good too.  Maybe next year I can make one happen here.  When my own girls reach this milestone, I am absolutely giving them a retreat.

I just wish I had the time to do it myself.

Oh, the Irony!

I first realized I wanted children when we learned that our neighbors, who included a wonderful little boy and girl, were moving away. I felt an intense sense of loss and longing to have our own children, who would not be taken away.

It is now almost two decades later, and my oldest daughter is in high school, her siblings close on her heels. And guess what? even though they are still living at home, they have moved further and further away. They spend their time with friends, they don't seek me out to discuss anything, they definitely prefer to be left to their own devices. No matter what I say or how I say it, they think I am angry or upset and respond defensively. Dad is their preferred go-to parent and I am definitely an also-ran.

I don't know how to respond to this situation. I find myself doing and saying less all the time, and watching them adjust happily to my increasing reserve. I definitely feel invisible.

But the worst part is watching their heartaches. They are crashing into a world that doesn't know them and doesn't want to, and wouldn't care about them if it did. They are suffering, and it breaks my heart to sit helpless and watch.

I don't know how to make this transition smoothly, so I will just stumble on. Having no one to share all this with, I hold it out to God to see what happens. This morning I had a small epiphany:

God must feel the same way about us, His children. Here I sit suffering alone, with my back to Him, forgetting about him as I struggle through this wretched existence. And He's there next to me, invisible, aching to comfort me even if only by commiserating.

I'm sorry Lord for forgetting you, my Father. Please be with me now even if that's all that can be done right now.

Lenten Retreat - Mom-style

Retreats are a time away from your daily life, an opportunity to put down or away everything you normally do and spend that "free" time with the Lord.  That's more or less a Catholic view of the thing at least.  Lent is a popular time for retreats, as the Church walks with Jesus through the days leading up to His great sacrifice and our own redemption. He sets His face toward Jerusalem and makes his way up to Zion.  It sounds very spiritual, almost cozy.

At the moment, my opinion is warped by a bad head cold, which happened to strike me way back toward the beginning of Lent. Yes, I have suffered throbbing sinus, a wracking cough, muffled hearing and a general wish to sleep and never wake up, for the past 40 days.  Though I did start Ratzinger's "Jesus of Nazareth: Holy Week" with the intention of a contemplative Lent, I haven't had the energy to get past the first half (though trust me even that is an enriching spiritual activity).

I have suffered constant misery this Lent. And tried to unite my unglamorous suffering with Our Lord's. Not at all the way I would wish to assist Him in His great mission! I would prefer to suffer great hunger or spend hours on my knees in prayer, or go out and do good works for many, perhaps work in a soup kitchen or something.

Instead I have had endure petty misery and a lack of energy, and a constant grumpiness at my family who have the nerve to be slightly less sick than I am. Definitely not the type of suffering I think of as redemptive.  Lord, how on earth does this help You in any way with Your work?

But I have faith, even against my own opinion, that in some way even this miserable miserableness can help Him, if I close my eyes and say along with Him, "not my will but Yours be done."

Monastery Rythms in a Mom's Life

Monasteries have ancient rhythms.  Daily fixed-hour prayer has been one of the most prominent features of monastic life since its beginning.  The "hours" noted in the Gospels, the first, third, and sixth, refer to specific times of prayer in ancient Judaism.  Further, St. Luke in the Acts of the Disciples refers to the disciples going to the Temple to pray at set times, showing the integration of this tradition into the beginning rituals of Christianity.


Although the current Roman Breviary contains only Morning, Evening, and Night Prayer (Lauds, Vespers, and Compline), I have set my phone alarm with a Church Bell ringtone to toll at the "little hours" of the day: 9:00am, noon, 3:00pm and 6:00pm.  At noon and six I recite the Angelus, the prayers commemorating the Annunciation.  Three is the Hour of Mercy, when Jesus died, and nine is a reminder to me to offer my workday to God.

Communal fixed-hour prayer "is the sanctification of time." In different words: we are told that we are the Church, one body, with Jesus as our head.  That means all of us, those who are alive now, those who lived before us, those who will live after us. When any two or more of us are praying together, saying the same prayers, in a mysterious way we who are inside Time connect the body with Him our head who is in Eternity, and we bring our "time" into that "sacred Now."

When our children were little we always recited certain family prayers together:  grace before sitting down to dinner; the "Our Father" followed by "God bless. . ." with a fixed litany of people starting with immediate family members and extending out to godparents, ending with "and God bless EVERYbody." But as the kids enter high school our schedules, including bedtimes, diverge and I found we very seldom prayed together.  So now I try to bring my whole family together at night to recite Compline, "bedtime prayers," before the first person goes off to bed, nowadays usually me!

Cloistered Mom

 For those of you who wonder about now-archaic words, "Cloistered (or claustral) life is also another name for the life of a monk or nun in the enclosed religious orders." Enclosed religious (another term for cloistered nun/monk) spend their days in prayer, mostly, and do not leave the enclosed place where they leave.  There are actually physical barriers such as walls and gates between them and the world outside.

Other words that may confuse in this particular vocabulary are "Convent" vrs. "Monastery."  Both have religious women who live in them, in "community" as we say.  The difference is that a convent is home to sisters who minister "in the world," in schools or hospitals or anywhere their particular order is engaged.  A monastery houses a religious community of men or women whose ministry is that of contemplation and prayer.

Across the street from where I work is a monastery of cloistered Dominican nuns.  The buildings are over 100 years old, and typical of traditional monastic architecture.  The chapel is divided in half, with a wall behind the alter that has openings which can be closed off with large wooden doors. Once a Sister takes her final monastic vows, she enters the monastery never to leave again.  Even after she dies, her body is displayed on the enclosed side of the chapel grill, and she is laid to rest in a crypt under the Monastery itself.