Prayer, contemplation, and occasional rollerblading

Found a really nice article about the Sisters of Life in the Wall Street Journal:

'Safe, legal and rare" has long been the pro-choice mantra, but these days it applies less and less to the reality of abortion. In New York City, officials reported this year that 41% of pregnancies end in abortion—double the national rate. In the black community, the figure is 60%.

Numbers like these motivate the Sisters of Life, a small order of nuns celebrating its 20th anniversary this summer. The sisters take traditional vows of poverty, chastity and obedience, but they also take a fourth vow "to protect and enhance the sacredness of human life." According to Archbishop Timothy Dolan, once the sisters connect with unwed pregnant women in need, "the battle is half over."

The order was the vision of the late John Cardinal O'Connor, whose Nov. 2, 1989, weekly column in the newspaper Catholic New York was titled "Help Wanted: Sisters of Life."

One respondent was Agnes Mary Donovan, a professor of developmental psychology at Columbia University Teachers College. She became one of the order's founders in 1991 and Mother Superior two years later.

There are now 70 members, with an average age of 37. Like Mother Agnes, the women who have joined are educated and worldly. They include a Yale Russian major who aspired to join the CIA, a former nurse who worked in the Middle East, and a former computer-manufacturing executive.

Continue reading at WSJ.com

A Mother and Her Child

I want to try to pain a picture: a young woman is pregnant, and is overjoyed by the miracle of life within her.  She falls in love with her child before he is even born.  As he kicks, she lovingly caresses her belly.  She moves about her day, perhaps at times physically uncomfortable, even in pain, yet at the same time with an obvious glow about her, the glow of joy and of love.

This young mother gives birth to her child, holds the child in her arms for the first time, and maybe cries a little, tears that spring forth from the purest fountain of joy.  She kisses her child often, kisses his little hands, his little feet, his chubby little cheeks.  She nurses her child, feeding him with her own life, and laughs as her little child looks up at her, smiles at her, closes his tiny hands around her finger.

The child begins to grow, to crawl, to walk, to talk.  All this time mother and child are never apart, always growing more and more in love with one another.  The child falls, as children do, as his legs are still quite wobbly, and mother runs and kisses his scraped knee, picks him up and rocks him in comfort.

As the child's vocabulary grows, the mother and child have the most delightful conversations, as only a mother and child can have.  He fills her life with such cheer and hope and joy, as she does his.  The child grows older, and the mother continues to teach her child.  She teaches him to pray, teaches him her faith, teaches him lessons in life.  He adores her for all her selfless giving, for all the love she continually pours upon him from the depths of her heart; she adores him, most of all just because he is her son, but also because he is so kind and gentle to her, so caring of her, so loving towards her, and their bond grows stronger and stronger every day.

I hope that this picture calls to mind a beautiful relationship between a mother and a son.  But now I want to add one more detail to the picture.  Imagine that this son is no ordinary boy, but is the very Son of God.  And imagine that this mother is no ordinary mother, but the very woman who is full of grace, divinely favored, prepared before all time to bear the Son of God in her womb, to be the very mother described above to the child who is in fact God.

What I can't imagine is how some might suggest that Mary is just another ordinary woman, that other than the fact that she gave birth to Jesus, there was nothing particularly special about her.  We know that she was a woman of faith, a woman of prayer, as the Scriptures make this clear.  How would one imagine that a woman of faith and prayer, a woman clearly holy and devout, favored by God, how would she not be completely and totally transformed by communicating with the sort of intimacy that only a mother and son can enjoy, with God Himself?

The apostles all became close to Jesus, but they never enjoyed the intimacy of his own mother, and what's more, in all their communications with him, they were still very much in the dark about who he was - someone special, to be sure, but knowing nothing at that time of his virginal conception, of the fact that this mother of his was overhsadowed by the Holy Spirit and that the Spirit of God created life in her virginal womb just as he created the first life from the virginal earth.  They knew nothing of this, but she experienced it and knew it always, always treasuring it in her heart.  Every single moment she shared with her son was a moment colored by the reality and knowledge that she was sharing this moment with the very Son of God.

There are several things that should become obvious here.  One, Mary absolutely had to have been perfected by grace just in order to be able to survive the knowledge that she had.  No human being with even the slightest imperfection in grace would have been able knowingly to live always in the presence of the almighty God as Mary did, without just dying from awe and fear.  Her immaculate conception and her being always perfectly sustained by grace were simply necessary for her to be the mother that she was to Jesus, knowing as she did who Jesus was.

Second, keeping in mind again the picture I attempted to paint above, this intimacy with her Son that she alone could share naturally would have strengthened her, sanctified her, and nourished her in ways that can only be called inconceivable to the human mind.  Preserved by grace, strengthened by grace, a life that already began as extraordinary in virtue and faith would have only grown deeper and deeper in the knowledge of God, in intimacy with God, as this God allowed himself to be born and nurtured by her.  Of course she was perfect, because there is nothing else she could have been.  To deny her perfection in the order of grace is to diminish entirely the power of God and the reality of what God chose to do through her.  It should be plainly obvious that the necessary acknowledgement of her perfection in the order of grace is not a tribute to her merit but rather a tribute and acknowledgement of the power and greatness and glory of God.

There are some objections to Catholic Marian theology that I can at least understand, even if I obviously disagree.  But the suggestion that Mary is just an ordinary woman, that there is nothing particularly special about her, is beyond comprehension.  Given what God worked in her and through her, and given the life she lived with God always, to me the idea of her sinning is far more absurd than the idea of her being preserved sinless.

So I pray that this beautiful, spotless Virgin Mother of God will always intercede for me, for us, for the whole Church, and that the Queen of Heaven and Earth will hold me always in her Immaculate Heart, that place of perfect intimacy with her divine Son, Jesus Christ.  Sancta Mater Dei, ora pro nobis!

Another Video Tutorial: Plainsong Chant vs. Metric

I also found this great video, showing the difference between the plainsong chants and metric renderings of the same texts for the liturgy:

New Translation Catechesis

I just discovered this really fantastic video on the new translation of the Roman Missal, coming to a church near you November 27. It's designed as a catechesis for teens, but I found myself learning from it, too. I found the video from a great new blog that everyone should add to their reading list, Transformed in Christ. Here's the video

St. Ambrose on the Eucharist

The latest post is up over at the patristics blog: St. Ambrose on the Mystery of the Eucharist

St. Ambrose on the Mystery of Baptism

The latest Patristic blog entry is up, St. Ambrose on the Mystery of Baptism

(Sorry, link is now fixed)

Thanks for the reminder, Google

Happy 189th birthday, Gregor Mendel, OSA, and father of modern genetics!

An Introduction to Saint Ambrose

The latest post is up in the patristics blog, an introduction to Saint Ambrose.  I hope to do a series of posts examining his sacramental theology.

Archbishop Chaput Coming to Philadelphia

As most everyone knows by now, Archbishop Charles Chaput, a Capuchin Franciscan and current Archbishop of Denver, is coming to Philadelphia to replace Justin Cardinal Rigali.  My own opinion is that I am thrilled about this appointment, as I view Archbishop Chaput as a model bishop, and I believe exactly what the hurting city of Philadelphia needs right now.

Everyone knows that the city is reeling after a second major wave of sex abuse scandal has rocked our good city.  It takes a special person to step into a situation like this and be able to bring true healing to the city while also being able to strengthen the faith of the people.  I think there are some who view this scandal and would like to see bishops backing off from being strong teachers of the Catholic faith, who would rather see bishops shy away from the teaching office that is intrinsic to their consecration.  I think this would be a disastrous mistake.  We need men now who will lead this Church with compassion, with humility, with gentleness, and who at the same time will take seriously the need for the People of God to receive sound teaching.

One of the biggest tangential problems to the scandal is that precisely because people have lost faith in the authority of the bishops - and understandably so - and have indeed lost faith in the Church altogether, that they will now slide away from the teachings of the Church, will look elsewhere for truth, so that a further result of the scandal will be many more souls wandering away from the truth that every human soul longs for because the Church is no longer trusted to lead people towards it.  That's why it is important that we have leaders like Chaput, because in this age of questioning authority and questioning doctrines, he is able to articulate the faith in a way that is both humble and courageous.  He does not appeal to you so much by virtue of his authority as bishop, but rather appeals to your sense of reason in the firmness of faith.

He obviously is well aware of what he is stepping into, and I am convinced that not only is he the right man for the job, but that he will grow into this episcopal appointment by the grace of the Holy Spirit and will become an even brighter star than he has been already - and that's saying something.  The morale of the Catholics in Philadelphia could not be any lower, and I trust that he will work tirelessly and courageously to boost that morale, and to begin to lead our beautiful city to healing and wholeness.  Certainly my prayers are with him, and I hope you all will pray for Archbishop Chaput and for our city, as well.

A few links of interest:
Rocco Palma's (a Philadelphian) take on the appointment

Interview with +Chaput from Catholic News Agency

John Allen's Interview with +Chaput on his move to Philly

Sandro Magister's Commentary and Interview, from Chiesa

John Allen's Article at NPR the day before the official announcement

Evagrius and the Monastic Habit

The latest post is up at the patristics blog.  The first of a two part series examining the understanding of the religious habit in the early Church, this post looking at a letter from Evagrius Ponticus

Reflecting the Beauty of God

"We are God's work of art, created in Christ Jesus for the good works which God has already designated to make up our way of life" (Eph 2:10).

As I enter the final month of my preparations for taking the vows of chastity, poverty and obedience in the service of the Kingdom of God, I begin to see ever more clearly how important it is that we see ourselves as reflections of the beauty of God, as his magnificent works of art.  This beauty is reflected in the good that we do in the world, the works of mercy and love that he has prepared for us, the outpouring of our lives in charity in imitation of the mold from which we are created, Jesus Christ, so that in the beauty of our own lives, the eyes of a people surrounded by darkness may awaken to the splendor and the beauty of God.

One thing I have noticed is that I do not pay nearly enough attention to the way that I live my life, and the effect that this will have on others.  Do I consider my words, and whether what I say and how I say it will be edifying, fortifying the spirits of not only the one or ones I am addressing, but others who may also hear me speak?  Hardly.  What about the way that I joke with people - is it mean-spirited, destructive, malicious?  Sometimes.  Do I frequently pray for the gifts of the Spirit of God to enlighten me and to sanctify me so that my words and actions and my manner of living might give constant witness to the Gospel of salvation?  Barely.

Paul exhorts us to just this kind of vigilance.  "So be very careful about the sort of lives you lead, like intelligent and not like senseless people.  Make the best of the present time, for it is a wicked age.  This is why you must not be thoughtless but must recognize the will of the Lord" (Eph 5:15-17).  It is just this sort of thoughtlessness - the opposite of vigilance - that, for me at least, prevents me "leading a life worthy of the vocation to which you were called" (Eph 4:1).

More than anything, our lives as Christians should be lives of joy.  This is a great gift we have been given - the gift of redemption, the gift of freedom, the gift of being co-workers with Christ in the Kingdom of God.  Growing in a realization of the greatness of this gift leads to a deep sense of gratitude, a gratitude that imbues our every prayer, even in times of distress and turmoil.  This gratitude leads to an overflow and superabundance of joy.  Again Paul writes:

Always be joyful, then, in the Lord; I repeat, be joyful.  Let your good sense be obvious to everybody.  The Lord is near.  Never worry about anything; but tell God all your desires of every kind in prayer and petition shot through with gratitude, and the peace of God which is beyond all understanding will guard your hearts and your thoughts in Christ Jesus. (Phil 4:4-7)

This prayer in gratitude is the key, for by giving thanks to God in all things, sufferings as well triumphs, we attune our hearts to the richness of God's mercy and the beauty of his love.  With our hearts so attuned, we are able to "let your minds be filled with everything that is true, everything that is honorable, everything that is upright and pure, everything that we love and admire - with whatever is good and praiseworthy" (Phil 4:8).  This purity of heart opens us up to receive the superabundance of God's grace so that the perfect joy of God becomes our natural disposition - it simply emanates from the store of goodness within us.  Then we truly live up to our image as God's work of art.

Winding Down Novitiate

My year and a day known as novitiate is now winding down and sauntering through its final month. It seems almost inconceivable to me that I've been here almost a fully year, that I actually survived, and that in just over a month I will be making my first profession of vows with the Augustinians. I came here not knowing what to expect, and trying as best as I could to be open to whatever this experience would be. It turns out that often times it was openness itself was my biggest battle, but I'll return to that in a moment.

We arrived on August 13, 2010, as four novices. We each came from very different circumstances, very different walks of life, and very different personalities. We had two men in their forties, one who is already ordained a priest and had once been a Franciscan, who has a sensitive soul and a full and frequent laugh; the other a (mostly) quiet and simple spirited man from Puerto Rico, with the kindest heart I have ever known, who struggles with English but makes up for it with the most wonderfully expressive face. A third novice comes from Kansas and is a pure intellectual, who is young and perhaps a little green, but who is as sincere a soul as one could ever hope to imagine. Last of all, there's me, thirty-three and just graduated college, with several lifetimes worth of tumultuous living, and who is loud and boisterous, but hopefully full of joy, too.

For me, the year was so very full of ups and downs, and I was too often the creator of my own tumult. I have sometimes told the story of when I was in first grade, and my teacher, Miss Mulholland, called me a Mr.-Know-It-All. I very proudly went home and told my mother what she said, thinking that she was just referring to my intelligence. My mother, of course, set me straight. While it's a cute enough story, in reality it is the beginning of a pattern. Fast forward to my freshman year in high school, when I was cut from the basketball team. The next year I talked to the coach about it, and he told me that I was better than several people who made the team, but I kept trying to tell him what to do and how to coach the team. In other words, a Mr.-Know-It-All. A pattern confirmed. This lack of humility has plagued me my entire life, and in an environment like the novitiate, where I am living under obedience to a novice master, with whom already I don't see eye-to-eye on all kinds of things, it was an attitude that led to some fireworks.

This is what I meant in the beginning by my lack of openness. One thing this experience has taught me is that in order to become who God wants me to be, truly to embody the religious life that I am called to be and to witness to all that this life represents, I need to be open, to let go of the suffocating grip that my own ego has on my soul, and to be willing to invite others in and be receptive to their experience, their wisdom, their perspective, and to allow God to work through them and in me. This isn't to say, of course, that I simply accept everything others say. God gave us the gift of reason and we have to use it. But I need to stop constructing walls around myself and refusing to let others in, always keeping them at arm's length.

Novitiate is an experience unlike any other that I am likely to have, and the whole purpose of this year is to provide the space where self-examination can happen, where the stormy waves of discernment and prayer can freely carry me where they will, without danger of my drowning - even if at times I felt as if I would. But because of the silence and the rhythm of this year, because of the intensive focus on self-discovery and self-knowledge, it can often feel as if my soul was under a magnifying glass, and every emotion, every feeling, every discovery, every inclination, were all felt far more acutely than they would be in another environment. This serves its purpose, and certainly allows for a tremendous experience of growth, but at times it also made me feel really beat up, so that I just wanted to shut down. It was in those moments that I discovered how perseverance is not simply a human virtue, but ultimately is a submission to grace, much like that famous poem, where in looking back I see only one set of footprints in the sand, at those times when it was Christ who carried me.

To an egoist such as myself, this sort of surrender to grace seems to run counter-nature, because I want to do it, and I think if I don't do it myself, then it's a weakness in me. It is, in fact, a weakness, but it's the kind of weakness that allows the power of Christ to shine through, unlike the weakness to which I am so often victim, the weakness of pride and egoism, that denies God the opportunity to work in me. It seems to me that it comes down to a choice between two kinds of weakness, and only one is virtuous. I will continue to struggle each day to grow in this weakness, so that I may be truly strong.

There were many revelations of this kind throughout the year, but I'd like to touch upon only one more. Many, if not all, of you know something of my personal history - my struggles with alcohol and drugs, the various battles that I have had to fight in order to get to where I am now. Certainly, on the one hand these battles have made me stronger and given me opportunities of experience and understanding that many others in this life aren't going to have the benefit of. However, there is also a danger that I have been noticing, which is a tendency to define myself by these very struggles. Too strong of a focus on my battles, on the sins that I have fought to overcome, the demons with which I have continually had to grapple, creates a kind of distorted image of myself to myself. This has led often to a focus on where I have failed, rather than where God has succeeded. As a result, I often find myself being merciless to myself, being unable to be compassionate to myself, being hyper-critical of myself. What's worse, this attitude then extends to my relations with others - I can be merciless to others, lacking in compassion to others, hyper-critical of others. This is never more true when the other reminds me a little too much of myself.

One day I was talking to my spiritual director about this, and we were trying to get to the heart of why it is that I insist on identifying so strongly and holding on so tightly to my past. I told him that I think part of it is because I have identified in this way for so long that I'm afraid that if I let it go, I'll lose my identity and will no longer know who I am. It was the first time I had ever thought about it like that, and it made a lot of sense.

In the course of conversation he asked me if we as Augustinians profess with religious names. I told him that I had requested permission from my provincial, but that permission was denied. So he asked me what name I would have professed with, and I told him that it was my intention to take the name "Michael of the Divine Mercy." I had chosen this name because of how much God's mercy had meant in my life, and how badly I wanted the mercy of God to be a theme of my entire religious life. He said to me that just because I don't take a name at profession, that doesn't mean that I can't still choose that as a name for myself, to myself, simply as a reminder of who I want to be. He said that the fact that this is the name I had chosen, and so perfectly appropriate for what I've gone through and what I'm trying to let go of, that this then needs to be the identity that I strive to form, or rather, that I strive to allow God to form in me.

I didn't say this to him at the time, but it reminded me of Harry Potter's encounter with the Sorting Hat. The Sorting Hat told him that he could easily have been either a Slytherin or a Gryffindor, and at first this made Harry afraid, because he felt that there could be the evil of Slytherin in him. But Dumbledor assured him that the real value was that he knew he could have been either, and he chose to be a Gryffindor - he chose the path of virtue, because that was what was important to him. So for me, it's important that I make the conscious choice to know and identify with the mercy of God, because this is who I want to be, and in wanting to be it, it is who I am.

So this is where I am, eleven months into my novitiate year, inching closer to my profession of vows as an Augustinian Friar. I ask for your continued prayers as this journey is still just beginning, and I assure you of my prayers for all of you.