the Lent we never asked for

Much like an unwelcome diagnosis, or a sudden accident or unexpected death, who could have predicted how Lent of 2020 burst in and suddenly transformed our lives forever.

In truth, we have all experienced personal moments like this before. Events that stop us in our tracks and almost always force us to our knees. With one phone call, or medical diagnosis, or accident, or the birth of a baby— life as we know it is changed forever.

But seldom do we experience those moments together, as a community. Here in Oklahoma, the bombing of the Murrah building — 25 years ago this April 19 — was such an event. Everyone was affected, changed, transformed. It is not an exaggeration to say that the fabric of our identity as a city and a state was shaped and changed forever that morning. 

And now here we are, facing an unthinkable and unimaginable crisis as a global community. It is truly beyond my ability to ingest, let alone comprehend. 

And yes, it is Lent. 

Last year at this time, my Lent was a struggle to accept the newly revealed diagnosis of being a heart patient. I didn’t want it. I didn’t ask for it. And it was not the Lenten journey I would have chosen.

So forgive me for sounding — and being — selfish when I say, I am truly grateful to have company in this year’s challenging Lenten and Holy Week journey! 

Let me explain. I am not saying that I wish suffering or hardship or darkness upon anyone. But I am genuinely thankful to be reminded that we walk together on this earthly journey, with all the bumps and unforeseen things that we are and will encounter.

The devil wants to tell us that our suffering and our pain is unique, that no one else feels what we feel, and that no one can understand what we are going through, how difficult life can be.

Don’t believe him. 

We are all uncomfortable. We are all in unfamiliar and uncharted territory. We are all struggling, experiencing dis-ease, out of our comfort zone. We are all, in our very specific, personal situations, on a once-in-a-lifetime pilgrimage. 

It is a pilgrimage we didn’t choose. True! May it be a good reminder that God is here and in control.

From my porch in Oklahoma City, I will be praying for you and your Holy Week! ❤️

be sealed with the Gift of the Holy Spirit

"Las Tres Marías at the Empty Tomb"
(Mary Magdalene, Mary Caifas and Mary Salome)
by Angel Rodriguez-Diaz
painting at San Fernando Cathedral, San Antonio,
in commemoration of the cathedral's 275th anniversary in 2006

O God, who make this most sacred night radiant

with the glory of the Lord's Resurrection,

stir up in your Church a spirit of adoption,

so that, renewed in body and mind,

we may render your undivided service.

Through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son,

who lives and reigns with you in the unity

of the Holy Spirit,

one God, for ever and ever! AMEN

Happy joyous Easter to you and yours, 

my friends! May the graces of Easter 

overwhelm you with JOY ❤️

because even thirsty and hungry, I still resist

“Like the deer that yearns for running streams, so my soul is yearning for you, my God.

My soul is thirsting for God, the living God; when can I enter and appear before the face of God?”

~psalm 42

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“How quick we are to forget God’s faithfulness. we say we only have one loaf of bread, but remember that Jesus multiplied just a few loaves and fed thousands, with baskets of leftovers remaining.

God has been faithful in the past. God will be faithful again. Don’t let the leaven of forgetfulness grow in your heart. Just remember.”

~Fr. Michael Peterson, OSB

reflection for February 13, 2018, Give us This Day

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“Be mine, maría”

I am alone in the small second floor rectory chapel.

I sit with eyes fixed on the small crucifix hanging above the altar. Outside, the rumbles of city construction remind me, I’m not in Oklahoma any more.

I came before the Blessed Sacrament to offer not only my talk – an evening presentation I’m giving to college students on our beloved Blessed Stanley Rother – but also to offer myself.

Not my words, but yours.

Not my will, but yours.

Not myself, but you, Lord.

Señor mio y Dios mio.

“Be mine, maría”

Yes, Lord. I see you.

I want you.

Grant me the grace to choose you

above all else,

above everyone else.

“Be. Mine. María”

This time my reply is silence.

I bow my head in reverence, but also humility, realizing there are no less than six versions of the 1^st person pronoun in my brief prayer response to God.

I close my eyes and see my Lord’s open arms, stretched on the cross, and I drop to my knees. 

My be-ing loved beyond measure.

“ Be *MINE* ”

“Be mine, maría”

because there is always only more grace

We’ve had several days this week with back to back…to back to back, ice storms that made the outside world here in central Oklahoma actually stop moving. No school. No work (for many). Church events, and even sports events, canceled. Offices, including the Court House, closed because workers could not get there thanks to the layers and sheets of ice that came with each wave.

This kind of weather, paired with the icy cold temperatures, is never good for my body. In particular, it makes me very aware of every aching joint! And this pain tends to make me ornery, I confess. Yet in spite of the weather and what it does to my body, this week I have not felt confined, restricted, or claustrophobic – which is my usual M.O.

Instead, I found myself welcoming the time it gave me to just be still. In spite of feeling the aches of my body, I have enjoyed the quiet that this icy outside world brought to my inside world. I even stopped reading email and messages, much to others’ chagrin!

In truth, I started the week wondering how well I’m “doing” Lent so far. Then I read this great quote by St. Teresa of Avila, featured in my daughter’s regular column in our archdiocesan newspaper, the Sooner Catholic:

“We gain more in a single day by trials that come to us from God and our neighbor than we would in 10 years of penance and other exercises that we would take upon ourselves.” (you can read the whole column here).

As I pondered on St. Teresa’s words, I realized that I could give myself permission to stop analyzing, stop dissecting my own actions and intentions—something that always ends up in my loud inner critic taking over. I could stop making myself feel guilty for not keeping up with life, my inbox, or my Lenten resolutions.

That’s when it dawned on me. Even my guilt is still self-centered!

So what’s the alternative? Well, the other option is to simply notice and pay attention – without judging – to what’s going on inside me, physically, emotionally, spiritually. 

What am I feeling? How is God here, in this moment?

Am I really being lazy, or does my body just need rest?

How does this week – as it is – fit into my Lent journey?

What is God inviting me to,

 what do I hear Him saying?

I continue to hold all of you in my prayers, especially as we move forward (or simply continue) this holy season of Lent…

page from one of my old journals

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"There is always only more grace. 

And it’s always more than I expect… 

Praise him for the unexpected and the unlikely, for the daily and the difficult, and the graces in disguise. The more you count, the more gifts you will see. Do not disdain the small.”

~Ann Voskamp,

“One Thousand Gifts,”

stay sober and alert

“Stay sober and alert. Your opponent the devil is prowling like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour. Resist him, solid in your faith.”

~ 1 Peter 5: 8

I have been feeling rather melancholic lately. 

Not so much in the, “mournful, depressed, sadness, despondent,” definition of melancholy. But more like, feeling pensive, soberly thoughtful… maybe what some would describe as feeling “blue.”

It has not helped that I listened all day long to the chainsaws of two arborists as they expertly cut down one of our beautiful, majestic, 50-foot oak tree.   

When we first moved into this house 20 years ago with grade-school-age kids, its large trees mesmerized me. And this guy was impressive. His 45-50-year-old arms leaned over and shielded the backside of our house, much like a mama bird protecting and sheltering her beloved young.

I think my emotions, or at least the depth of these emotions, seems to be connected to my Lenten mantra:  stay sober and alert.

In order to stay sober I have to stop using [food, tv, alcohol, shopping, other people, etc etc etc] to distract me – to numb me!  But when I do… then I find myself in the precarious position of actually feeling things.  Feeling every thing.

And allowing myself to feel means that I am aware of things in myself that I don’t particularly like—let alone want to admit.

For example, realizing in the midst of a large family gathering that I am not enjoying myself – I am not living in joy – at least, not as I think I should be!

Or praying that I be open and real and welcoming of the present moment, as it is... yet noticing how easily I fold, get offended, gossip--and run back to eating and tv and pointing the finger at others in order to numb this, rather than hope in what could be.

Or watching – scattered all over my backyard – the pieces of what used to be one great, robust, mesmerizing oak… and acknowledging that I feel old. I feel broken, not strong as an oak, as I wish I would be.

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“Think of Me. Look at Me often, and unconsciously you will grow like Me.

You may never see it. The nearer you get to Me, the more will you see your unlikeness to Me. So be comforted My children.

Your very deep sense of failure is a sure sign that you are growing nearer to Me. And if you desire to help others to Me, then that prayer-desire is answered.

Remember, too, it is only struggle that hurts. In sloth, spiritual, or mental, or physical, there is no sense of failure or discomfort, but with action, with effort, you are conscious not of strength but of weakness – at least, at first.

That again is a sign of Life, of spiritual growth.

And remember, My Strength is made perfect in weakness.”

~God Calling, edited by A. J. Russell