Thirty pieces

Holy Week, the most anticipated week of the Church year, never disappoints.

I was cast out of my typical mediocre attitude by an understanding of our calling to the cross.  Jesus is asking us to join Him, to lift just a splinter of the wood that He carries for us.  In accepting this suffering, we are truly children of the Father, for God allowed His very Son to bear the suffering of us all.  I cannot conform myself to this age but rather must be transformed by the renewal of my mind.  As Fr. Andrew reminded us in his Holy Thursday homily, our society is about nonconformity, yet we are called to conform ourselves to Christ.  It is then that we become most truly ourselves.  And as St. Irenaeus declared, "The glory of God is man fully alive."

One small blessing from this week: As of Thursday, I had yet to make my Lenten almsgiving.  I knew I could write out a check for any sum of money and give it to a charity or to the parish, but somehow it wasn't meaningful to me. I realized that a greater personal sacrifice would be to give all the loose change I had been collecting over the past year, of which I was very proud.  I dumped it all out and counted it...thirty dollars and some cents.  Judas' thirty pieces of silver!  I am he.  I have betrayed and denied Jesus.  I have failed to trust in His infinite mercy and love.  O Lord, forgive me, your servant.  Bring me back to you!

Settling in

It's taken me seven months to reach the point where it would seem strange to leave.  Prior to this I dreamt of going home, jumping ship, returning to my life of ease and familiarity.  But this weekend I finally felt that, when I am called away from here (as will probably happen in a year's time), it will be difficult to say goodbye.  I understand that this is premature, but I think it is important to note that I am at last putting down roots (or, as any respectable South Dakotan would say, ruts) in a land that I once found foreign and distasteful.

Oh, prairie people.  I love you even if you are three years behind the times.  I love your vast knowledge of farming equipment, livestock handling, and crop maintenance.  I love that you are patient with my ignorance in these areas.  I love your innocence and the fact that you have no real concept of rush hour traffic, pickpockets, airport security, or the ocean.  I love that you are comfortable in your own skin and that you don't think twice when jamming out to country twang or riding your four-wheeler down the street.  Mostly, though, I love that you are fiercely loyal to your family and that, once you have found the pearl of great price, you desire more than anything to share it with those you love the most.

With the end nearly in sight

It’s been a heck of a year.

I’ve learned a heck of a lot.

Life experiences aren’t easily explained through written words.  There’s just no substitute for actually being present in moments of grace, of awareness, of growth.

I never knew how little I trust God, how often I fail to recognize His love, how weak and yet how prideful I am.

I didn’t realize how much I depend on certain comforts – food, home, attention from others – to carry me through difficult times.

I had no idea how attached I was to my ideals and desires for romantic love and partnership, or how much it would hurt to have those attachments stripped away.

I knew that I despised failure, but I didn’t expect to encounter it so frequently or to learn so much from facing it head-on.

In my mind, it doesn’t really matter what else was accomplished this year – I’ll leave that up to God.  But I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that this short time has changed me.  I have grown so much closer to becoming the person I want to be.  And that alone makes it all worthwhile.

Dating Fast

They never said it would be easy.  But then, not much is easy in the life of a Christian.

3. more. months.

A little lonely

It occurs to me that it would be nice for a change to be living back at home, in a community with the young adults with whom I spent my childhood, high school, and college years.  One of the nearly-graduated seniors informed me that an old friend of hers is in town for the day, that he is perhaps her closest "guy-friend," and for some reason this made me wistful for those friendships that I left behind when I moved cross-country.  I know they say that, in our technological age, miles don't matter, but the truth is that life often gets in the way of friendships, and keeping regular contact is nearly impossible when you have a separate life and apostolate that is unknown to those who used to know you best.

I am a missionary, this I accept.  I have given my life to God in a more radical way for these two years, to allow Him to use me in His vineyard.  The comforts of the familiar are not for me.

Still, it saddens me to think that my long-lasting relationships are few and far-between.  Of all those whom I have met, most I talk to only rarely if at all.  Some of my dearest friends from college are all but memories now, though merely six months have passed since we graduated together.  I am building many meaningful friendships here in the midwest, but I am hesitant to put down roots because I know that in 16 months I will likely be moving away from this place.

A little nomadic.  A little lonely.

What I have learned (unpublished 11/11)

In 24 hours I will be on my way home.  Thanksgiving break came so quickly, and while I know I should be bursting with excitement to return to Maryland, there's something elusive that's holding me here.  I have settled into my new life: as a missionary, in South Dakota, among these crazy wonderful people who know more of sheep shearing than city living.

I have learned that love is not a "one size fits all."  That just as our Lord loves us particularly, we are also called to love others in a particular manner.

Proverbs 3:5-6 could not be more true.  Jesus will always take care of His littlest ones.

Rich man's guilt (unpublished 8/15/11)

I am unworthy.  That's an established fact.

I do not deserve my current job, my income, or my leisure time.
I do not deserve perfect health, the talents I've been given, or the family into which I was born.
I especially do not deserve the unconditional love and mercy that I receive every day from Our Lord.

But I have been granted them all.

I'm struggling to understand why I was chosen to receive these graces.  I'm wondering about the poor man on the street who begs for each meal, the refugee who has known a lifetime of slavery, the father who works two jobs just to support his family and can never seem to get ahead.

Why was all of this given to me freely?  How is it possible that I am now the steward of a monthly salary and my sole duty is to lead college students to Christ?  In this very moment, I wish I could live by a vow of poverty.