Brutally Honest

Christ is risen, Chavez... not so much

Despite Google's in your face attempt to make this day about something else, the fact remains that this is the day commemorating the bodily resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Son of God and the promise of life that resurrection brings to those who believe.

It's not about Chavez, despite the best efforts of the idiots at Google.  It's not about coloring eggs and certainly not about the bunny.  It's about, as today's Collect relays, Him who conquers death and Who unlocks for us the path to eternity.

Alleluia!  He is risen, He is risen indeed.

Do you pray?

I hope you do and if you do, I personally would like for you to pray this Holy Week for three particular needs.

The first is for someone named Michael.  I don't have particulars but a friend asked me to pray and to lift this need up to others.  Who am I to ignore that request?

The second is for a little baby girl named Hadley diagnosed with cancer.  I have been moved by the Facebook page set up for her and the beautiful prayers found therein.  Check it out... and pray for her.

Lastly, I'm asking for prayers for my Dad.  He's facing some serious vascular surgery in a few days and is, understandably, shook up about it.  Pray for J.D., his doctors and my mother who is most anxious.

Thank you... and amen to each of your prayers.

"Pray!"

No, this isn't another post about the Pope, about wisdom from my priest, or a personal request for divine intervention.

It's actually about the response given when NASA Administrator Charles Bolden Jr. was asked yesterday at a House Committee hearing what America should do if a meteor similar to the one that wreaked havoc in Russia was on its way to America:

At the moment, we might be lucky to get even three weeks warning. The United States and the rest of the world simply do not have the ability to detect many "small" meteors like the one that exploded over Russia, which has been estimated at roughly 55 feet long. Donald Yeomans, Manager of NASA's Near-Earth Object Program Office and the author of "Near-Earth Objects: Finding Them Before They Find Us," told CBSNews.com that there are a lot of these small meteors in orbit, and little early warning system in place to detect them.

...

If such an object is discovered to be approaching Earth, the leading contender to address the problem would be to crash a spacecraft into it in order to slow it down and alter its course. "If you find it early enough, and you smack it early enough, you've got enough time," said Yeomans. The technology already exists to track and hit a space object: In 2005, NASA deliberately struck the Tempel 1 comet and photographed the impact. Still, for a large object, you'd need billions of dollars and, Yeomans estimates, at least a 10-year head start.

"The technology is there, the question is do we have enough time to plan, build, launch and intercept these objects prior to an impact," he said. The good news is that, in the case of a large object approaching Earth, we would be expected to have decades of advanced warning.

Bolden's response to pray was likely meant as a joke or perhaps, more cynically, as a means to seek more funding for the agency he leads, but I find it revealing nevertheless.

I've been in situations, particularly recently, where my suggestion to seek prayer, especially from a priest, was responded to by a word of caution that doing so might evoke fear because it could be seen to be a last resort before something terrible happens and no one wanted to communicate that the situation was that serious.

Think on that a minute.

We've reached a point culturally where a call to a priest for prayer is seen to be something that ought to be done only as a last resort and, in essence, avoided because no one wants to invoke fear.

It highlights for me how... well... weird I guess... I've become.

I go to a priest for prayer because I believe I need the help.  I go because I need to deal with the fear I already have.  I go because I've come to know and trust that it helps.

I go because I have a need and going meets that need.

We need to figure out, and I don't sadly have an answer, how to convey that going to priests for prayer isn't just for the dying.

It's particularly for the living.

I appreciate Mr. Bolden giving me the opportunity to air this out.

Carry on.

“A Circular Sandbox of Sin and Salvation” (UPDATED)

I first wrote about my priest Mike Joly back in November of 2009 after attending my first Mass at the Parish of St. Joan of Arc where I continue to worship.  

Here's an excerpt from that piece:

Fr. Mike Joly (Jo-lee), who happened to have been officially named pastor of the Church at a special service this morning, presided over the Saturday evening service and I tell ya, we may have found the Church we want to stick with.   And not just because of Joly, though his presence (and presentation) was pretty powerful.

Liturgy to some can become rote, especially when read in the most rote of ways… but think of a blind priest… he can’t read it… and yes, I’m aware that after awhile, it’s all memorized anyway but this guy… he lived the liturgy… by that I mean he brought it to life… it was quite an experience… blind since he was 5 (not sure yet how he became that way), he’s been ordained since his late 20’s (he was even featured in this New York Times piece some 15 years or so ago) and so there’s no doubt that he’d done this countless times, but it was as if he was doing it for the first time that evening and I was sincerely moved by the man, by his faith, by his passion, by his love for what he was doing.

Think about it for just a second, here’s a guy who’s a blindpriest… ponder the faith that this takes… I mean… the dude’s blind… but clearly, to me and I'm sure to others, he sees... and based on that particular service, he sees so much more than the rest of us.  He supplied some much needed nourishment to me yesterday, some solace and assurance that Someone is indeed in charge and in control. 

The Anchoress' post was a timely reminder that in truth "the Creator, while attending his creation, provides the perfect teacher at theperfect time" and this teacher, and his blindness, very much helped me to see and "find The Word in the words".

It was genuinely cool.

Today, and hopefully well into the future, I'm going to start publishing Father Mike's weekly reflections found in the parish bulletin.  Here's this week's.

Good stuff.  

You should hear his homilies.  If you're in the neighborhood, look him up and pay him a visit.  Let him know I sent ya.

UPDATE: I jumped out in front of Father Mike a bit and he was a bit uncomfortable with mixing his reflections with my politics here so... I've taken down his reflection while leaving the link up to where you can find it on your own. 

I'm beginning to hate February

A little more than a year ago, we first learned of my wife's breast cancer.  She's doing fine now, an amazing recovery helped along by this amazing woman's strength and resolve.  The prognosis is very good and for all of this, I am grateful, particularly for those of you who've prayed or are praying for her.  Thank you.

Last night, we learn that my Dad had suffered a stroke, likely 10 days or so ago (perhaps even a year to the day from my wife's diagnosis) but for reasons we won't go into detail about, but having much to do with hard-headedness, he didn't see a doctor about it until last night.

Today we await the results of numerous tests to pinpoint cause and take next steps.

Yea, February of late hasn't exactly been all about sweets, chocolates and teddy bears.

I'm grateful however that I'm hooked back into Church, grateful for a priest who's conducting a  retreat so can't come in person but who I can exchange texts with and who is able in the midst of all this stuff make me chuckle, I'm grateful for family who are nearby and supportive and I'm grateful, particularly, that I'm connected to people who pray.

And so connections, you know who you are, I'm asking for prayer once again.

Dad needs them, Mom needs them, we each need them and I covet them.

Thanks.

In the wake of the Connecticut shootings, a call for silence

From none other than BadCatholic who writes, in part:

I understand that there is a need to talk. The experience of evil leaves a sickening void, and man and nature abhor a vacuum, especially one so terrible. So we discuss. We analyze. We have a “national conversation”. We talk about why this is the result of God not being allowed in public schools (whatever the hell that means). We talk about about gun control. We talk about gun rights. Over at the Friendly Atheist — and I do appreciate the writing there, don’t get me wrong — we’ve had a steady stream of why religious explanations of the Newtown shooting fail, whyreckoning with tragedy does not require faith, pleas to stop using the word evil in our discussion, as the idea of evil is a product of religion, and on and on. We religious talk about the will of God for comfort, as if evil — the absence of good — possibly be the will of God who is Goodness. I fear that talk has become — in this great Media Age — our primary method of avoiding action.  I know it is mine. We spew our  ”thoughts” onto Facebook statuses as if we have drunk the cup of evil to its dregs and come up with an 140 character response. We have made the darkest absurdity to ever trample the human race a launching pad for political debate, our most pathetic absurdity. We are using death as an opportunity to bitch at others, not intentionally, but because the alternative — silence — is terrifying.

Silence is the only state of being in which man can contemplate mystery. Only in silence does man have the quality of simply being, neither projecting himself onto others, nor caring about his public image, nor trafficking in abstract expressions, nor removing himself to the political sphere, the God-debate sphere, or the attention-seeking sphere. Only in silence is man present to himself as a being-in-the-universe, for it is the state of receptivity. Only in silence does man refrain from shunting the reality of the Newtown shootings to some sphere in which he can deal with it. In silence, man cannot “deal” with the Newton shootings, and thus he must face the absurdity and make his choice: To kill himself, live against the absurdity, or to make the leap of faith.

Keep silence for the dead then. Pray for their souls, which requires not a word. Make a decision. The conversations should happen, but not at the expense of confrontation with reality.

I recommend reading the whole thing.

In silence.

What would you ask the Pope if you could?

A few days ago I covered the fact that the Holy Father had decided to enter the twitterverse.

Today on a whim and a prayer, I decided to send the following:

Would you pray with me and for my children, that they'll return to the Church to fuel and feed their faith? #AskPontifex

— Brutally Honest (@Ricksteroni) December 6, 2012

What would you ask the Pope if given the chance?

"There will be an end. I will die. You will die."

To some, the end is something to fear.  To some, and these are those I'd like to become one of, the end is something to embrace with joy.  And to most, the end is something to ignore, to push off, to simply not think about or, particularly of late, to make jokes about.

But the end is inevitable.

Fr. Powell speaks to this end in the light of this first day of Advent, this first day of the Church's New Year, with words I think we should read and inwardly digest:

Of course, the world has been ending since it started. The Last Day of creation set with the First Day's sunrise. Can you count the number of world-ending scenarios you have lived through? For me: Soviet communism, DDT poisoning, acid rain, nuclear winter, HIV/AIDS, the new ice age, global suffocation from deforestation, flu pandemics, “dirty bomb terrorism,” worldwide economic collapse, and global warming—all secular apocalyptic scripts that narrate the reduction of our civilizations to utter ruin. Instinctively, it seems, we understand that as individuals and as a collective whole we will die. There will be an end. I will die. You will die. We might even die together. On a global scale, apocalyptic scenarios represent our individual anxieties about dying. Projected on the world-screen, these End of Days dramas are just one of the ways we humans play out our fear of dying. The trumpets of natural disaster, or nuclear annihilation, or environmental pollution blare from the four corners of the Earth, and we run around screaming, searching for some way—any way—to forestall our end. If the Church can be justly accused of using the bloody prophecies of Armageddon to frighten the vulnerable into submission to her influence, then we can just as rightly accuse the secular powers of using scientific prophecy to scare us into a slavery to fear. Does it matter if the prophets of global destruction are dressed in vestments or lab coats? Whether they use cryptic scriptures or equally cryptic “science”? Neither of these schools of prophecy preach the hope that Christ came give to us. Neither encourages us to wait faithfully in the expectation of the day of promise. Neither points us to the need to live in love with thanksgiving. 

Does the inevitability of The End mean then that we can become complacent in our vigilance for the coming of the Lord? No, of course not. But if we are not to drown in worry and be surprised on the day of promise, we must understand that ours is a vigilance for the coming of Christ not a vigilance against our inevitable demise. As Christians, we have no fear of death. Death is dead. Yes, we will die. But we will not lie dead forever. Jesus is not warning the disciples against the coming end so much as he is telling them to live now as if he had come again already. When secular apocalyptic scenarios splash across the media, we are told that there are solutions, ways of avoiding the coming disasters. We are harangued and shamed into accepting power-grabbing schemes to save the planet. Jesus says no such thing to the disciples. There are no solutions. He says simply, “I will return. And here is how you will know I am coming. . .” The advent of his coming is always upon us. He has come; his is coming; and he will come again. These are not reasons to fear an end, but reasons to hope for Christ's inevitable rule. 

When he states that as Christians, we have no fear of death, do you cringe?  I cringe.  Fear of death isn't something I think much of, fear of dying however is something that has caused me pause but at least I'm thinking about death and what lies beyond and how my life lived will affect that life beyond.

Yes, I look forward to the Lord's coming.  Come Lord Jesus, come.  But for my sake, for the sake of those I love who've yet to ponder deeply what lies beyond death's door, I'm more prone to say... Wait Lord Jesus, wait just a bit longer, because though I believe I'm preparing, I don't believe I'm prepared.

And I know that loved ones aren't prepared either.

Loved ones, you know who you are, make this Advent your season of preparation.  Make this Advent your season of pondering the end, whether it be the end ushered in by Christ's return, or the end brought about by breathing your last breath.

Christ, for now, is waiting for you.

With arms open wide is what I hear.

It's the most wonderful time of the year

A guest post by Tim Chesterton (cross-posted at Faith, Folk, and Charity).

No - not what you're thinking. Not Christmas: Advent. It starts this coming Sunday, December 2nd, and lasts until Christmas Eve.

Ever since my children were little I've loved the season of Advent with a passion. Advent tells us that there’s a better future ahead; it reminds us of the Old Testament promises of the coming of the Messiah, and the New Testament hope that he will come again to judge the living and the dead, and his kingdom of justice and peace will never end. The Advent hymns and scriptures (mainly from the Old Testament prophets) reinforce these themes for us.

The oldest 'layer' of Advent, in my experience, is the traditional hymns. I was brought up in a churchgoing family and sang as a chorister when I was a boy, so these hymns are indelibly fixed in my memory. ‘O Come, O Come, Emmanuel’, ‘Come, Thou Long Expected Jesus’, ‘On Jordan’s Bank the Baptist’s Cry’, ‘Hark the Glad Sound – the Saviour Comes’ - these are just some of the best known examples of hymns that celebrate the Advent message. I love the music of Christmas, too, but I really don't like it when stores start playing it right after Remembrance Day (all in an effort to enhance Christmas sales, of course). I don't want to get to Christmas too soon; I want to wait, and savour the sense of anticipation that Advent gives. Singing the Advent hymns helps me to do that.

Speaking of waiting, when my kids were very little (back in our Arborfield days), Marci and I found a book about family Advent customs called 'Celebrate While We Wait', by the Schroeder family. It was this book that first introduced us to the Advent wreath; the wreath had never been a part of my childhood Advent experience, and until I read about it in the Schroeders' book, I had never heard of it either. But we quickly made it a part of our family Advent practice.

I made our first wreath from a piece of circular styrofoam, but later I made a more permanent base from the top of an old wooden stool into which I drilled five holes for the candles. The candles are traditionally purple (some people now use blue, but I myself prefer the traditional colours), perhaps with one pink one, and a white one in the centre for Christmas. Marci and I still light our wreath at suppertime every evening, and after supper we use a book of Advent devotions to help us meditate on the themes of the season and to lead us into prayer together. There is a wealth of resources available for this; simply googling ‘Advent devotions’ brings up 304,000 hits in a quarter of a second, and searching for ‘Advent devotional’ on amazon.ca produced 570 results! We sometimes add our own prayers, and conclude with the Lord’s Prayer together. I know we should be praying together every day, but often in the busyness of our lives, we forget. Through Advent, though, we rarely miss; somehow the little ceremony with the Advent wreath just makes it easier for us to remember to worship together each day.

Advent, of course, is about God’s kingdom of justice and peace breaking in to transform the world, and so Advent is a good time to think about what we’re doing to forward the work of God’s kingdom. What am I doing at this (often rather selfish) time of year to care for the poor and needy and to transform the structures of our society so that our world becomes a more just and peaceful place? A few weeks ago, in our church (St. Margaret's, Edmonton), we were visited by representatives of several Edmonton outreach agencies. Listening to them speak about the work their organisations do reminded me again that there are things that each of us can do to help translate the Advent hope into reality in the world for which Jesus gave his life. What might God be calling me to do this Advent, in a practical way, to live out the message of his Kingdom? (Here's a good perspective on this.)

Christmas celebrates the central mystery of the Christian faith – God coming to live among us as one of us in the person of Jesus. Advent helps me enter more meaningfully into that celebration. It reminds me that as the light of the candles shines in the darkness, so the words of the prophets shine in the darkness of despair and hopelessness and point us to a time when we will study war no more, when the lion will lie down with the lamb, and when the earth will be filled with the knowledge of the glory of God as the waters cover the sea.

Let me close with my favourite Advent prayer, composed by Archbishop Thomas Cranmer for the original 1549 Book of Common Prayer and used in Anglican churches worldwide, with little variations, down to the present day:

'Almighty God, give us grace that we may cast away the works of darkness, and put upon us the armour of light, now in the time of this mortal life, in which thy son Jesus Christ came to visit us in great humility, that in the last day, when he shall come again in his glorious majesty, to judge both the quick and the dead, we may rise to the life immortal; through him who liveth and reigneth with thee and the Holy Ghost, now and for ever, Amen'.

"In desperation I started to pray"

Michelle, with the help of her apparently colicky baby Jake, has learned a valuable lesson:

This weekend was a particularly bad weekend for Jake.  Thankfully the weather was nice out and we were able to take him outside to try to work through is crankiness.  That only worked for a while and we were left with a screaming baby.  By night time I was beside myself.  Why in the world was this baby crying so much?  Why wasn’t he responding to the methods I was using to calm him?   I felt my blood pressure rising and I could tell that I was almost to the point of not being able to be consoled either.  I decided that something had to give.  That something turned out to be me.

Frustrated, I picked up Jake and went into my bedroom.  I told the other kids to please not bother us.  I closed the door and laid down on the bed with him.  I had a bottle in hand and hoped to snuggle with him, let him eat, and hopefully fall asleep.  We settled down, his tiny head resting in the crook of my arm, and I offered the bottle to him.  He refused and pushed it away.  I could feel every muscle in my body tense up.  Jake felt it too.  I saw his lower lip pucker out, his eyes squinched tight and he started to cry.  I shushed him and whispered his name.  I pleaded with him to please, pleasesettle down.  I began to cry too.

In desperation I started to pray.

I decided that there was nothing else I could do but pray.  I decided on the rosary. I made the sign of the cross and I began reciting the Apostle’s Creed. I prayed it aloud.  I looked down at Jake and he stopped crying.  I don’t know if it was the calmness in my voice, the words itself, or the fact that I wasn’t tense, but he stopped crying.  As I continued to pray he started to smile at me. His eyes still glistening with tears were dancing with delight at the words I was reciting.  I had no idea what was going on but I knew it was what we needed.  I continued on with the Our Father.  He settled down even more.  I put the bottle to his mouth and he began to eat.  With his tiny hand he stroked my own that was holding his bottle.  The more I prayed the calmer he became and the more peace I felt.  We came to the first mystery.  I decided that I was going to pray for those men and women who wanted desperately to have a child, even one as chronically fussy as my own, and yet have not been blessed with a child.  I wanted to pray for those who have lost children and miss them terribly.  I wanted to pray for those who are pregnant and hoping their baby would be born healthy.  I wanted to pray for other women like myself who were dealing with difficult babies.  So, Jake and I prayed.

Jake eyes became heavy and he was asleep by the third Hail Mary in the first decade of the rosary.  I knew I could have stopped praying but I continued on anyway.  I couldn’t hold a rosary while I was holding him so to keep my place I used his little fingers to count.  I stroked his hand the way he had stroked mine and I continued to watch him as I prayed.  He was breathing so deeply and his eyelashes would flutter every now and again.  He was finally peaceful.  I wondered why it took me so long to decide to rely on God when I was so distraught.  Why did it take both Jake and me getting to the point where we couldn’t think, we couldn’t breathe, we couldn’t focus on anything but our misery before I thought to pray?

If you are anything like me you pray at all points in your day to help get you through.  I often say little prayers at various times of the day for many different reasons.  But I don’t often just make time for quiet prayer- prayer where I go to my room, close the door and focus solely on God.  Our lives are so busy.  Between working on various projects, children, outside responsibilities, housework, homeschooling, and others demanding my time and attention I often am hurried in the prayers that I say.  I know God would rather have those hurried prayers than no prayer, but I also know that He would much rather have my undivided time and attention.

She's got more and it's well worth your time.

Read it and learn.

I did.