by Liz | Jan 30, 2010 | main
The other night my husband was watching one of the science channels. The show was about physics. Is light a particle? Or is light a wave? And the answer is “Yes.” I don’t understand the math or the physics beyond the simple idea that relativity and quantum physics are mathematically incompatible. I understand that understanding light fully will require a “third way” – and the candidate is string theory. Something that will make two incompatible explanations work…
Incompatible ideas, dreams and hopes seem to be a part of everyday human existence. Yesterday I saw it in myself again. I sat face to face with a dream or hope that seems so incompatible with my reality and other dreams and hopes I have. To follow one fully seems to require leaving the other behind. And yet, I find I must hold both within in me. Both are precious. I seek a “third way.”
I struggle to understand and to accept that things that I feel are in such conflict. I struggle to find a way through the narrow, twisty maze of passages that is my journey. I find a part of my answer in the second reading for mass this weekend. It’s that passage from i Corinthians 13 on Love that is used so often at weddings. We all know it: love is patient, love is kind… It’s then end of that passage that speaks to me:
Love never fails.
If there are prophecies, they will be brought to nothing;
if tongues, they will cease;
if knowledge, it will be brought to nothing.
For we know partially and we prophesy partially,
but when the perfect comes, the partial will pass away.
When I was a child, I used to talk as a child,
think as a child, reason as a child;
when I became a man, I put aside childish things.
At present we see indistinctly, as in a mirror,
but then face to face.
At present I know partially;
then I shall know fully, as I am fully known.
So faith, hope, love remain, these three;
but the greatest of these is love.
It seems that Love is the glue that binds. Love is the “string theory” of life. Love is the way through the twisty little passages. Love will allow me a way to hold my conflicts within me and know that there is a way to be true to myself and my creator.
Now the mystery becomes Love. How do I begin to grasp that one?
by Liz | Oct 17, 2009 | main
I’ve been sitting with Susan’s post over on Creo en Dios — and considering how her words adapt to my reality. We come to this place from different roads. She was a cradle Catholic who left God and the Catholic Church, and returned. I started life in a Calvinist protestant environment (Presbyterian/Southern Baptist), made a choice in my teens to actually be a Christian, and by some twist of faith found my home the the Catholic Church.
I’m not so good at words as Susan but I get some feeling that we are trying to somehow explain similar feelings about this whole Catholic issue. The Church is Home. It is at some level Family. I disagree with many statements that come from Rome and USCCB. I cringe at many behaviors exhibited by those entrusted with the care and feeding of the members (I mean “care and feeding” in both physical and spiritual terms); I get ready to pack my bags and make my exit.
And then I stop.
“Where are you going?”
“Away!”
“Away to what?”
“Just away! Where I don’t have to put up with this hypocritical stupidity and corruption!”
“And where is that?”
At this point, I pause again. I cannot go. I came to this church primarily because of a certainty that the Mass, the Eurcharist, holds a lot more in it than my upbringing allows it to hold. That idea was both attractive and frightening.And it called me to “come” – not “go.” I have experienced the touch of God in Reconciliation.
And so, I stay. This is my home and family, warts and all. Not perfect. Sometimes grand, sometimes downright pathetic. There are many times I have to look beyond the visible manifestations of this Church and find the heart of it. I, like Susan, cannot for sure always say that I “need” to be Catholic, and for many of the same reasons. But, I am.
by Liz | Sep 21, 2009 | main
Tonight is one of those where my mind doesn’t seem to want to shut down… I’m pondering many things, for no know reason.
It’s one of those nights when I consider my faith – what it is and what it is not. I wonder at why I believe at all. I wonder what I believe. It’s such a mystery.
Do I believe that Jesus died for me? Well… yes, I think so. But, it’s not a powerful, overwhelming thing. I know that my life is richer, fuller and just generally more livable because I accept to some degree that God love me for who and what I am — warts and all.
Do I believe that Mary had only one child? Maybe, maybe not. The devout and conservative members of my Church probably would not be pleased to hear that. But, really – it just doesn’t matter to me. That she said “yes” to becoming the mother of Jesus – that she said “yes” to those things that God asked of her – that matters. Whether or not she had other children ad even whether or not the Holy Spirit was assisted by Joseph matters not to me.
Tonight is a night where I wonder why I claim to be Catholic – or even Christian at all. And does it matter? This is not a great distressed cry. It’s more of an introspective look at myself and the world/universe around me. I come up with some interesting answers. Yes, I am a Christian — not because of the words of the Bible so much as the Word of God — shared with me by my brothers and sisters who also walk this way of life. The Scriptures are the witness of those who came before us. But what touches me more deeply are the words of John, Susan, Jack, Manda, Sandra, Rosie, Frances, Marty… the list goes on. The works of those around me touch me. And I know that there is more here than meets the physical eye.
I could go on and on and on — I believe that I must practice forgiveness. It’s hard to do, but it certainly makes life a lot easier in the long run. I believe that my vocation is to love, not be judge and jury. That leaves me free to really enjoy folks for who they are. That gives me the space to take the not-so-great parts along with the wonderful parts. That let’s me laugh at myself and with my friends.
And, on this restless night, I find I must remember that God has tried to answer two of my long standing prayers: I have long prayed for gentleness of spirit and to be able to “be” instead simply doing. Occasionally, I actually experience these states of being. And they are good.
And so, I shall get myself a drink of water. I shall sit quietly and make my peace with the day that has gone by. And, I will praise the Lord that I was created with the freedom to question all things.
‘night.
by Liz | Jul 21, 2009 | main
You just never know what mouthpiece or tool God will use to get your attention. You’re just minding your own business and BANG! There you are looking at something you didn’t even realize you needed to hear.
I am a frequent listener to The Radio Reader on NPR. Currently, Dick Estelle is reading “A Son of the Game” (James Dodson)which is a personal memoir all tied up with middle age and golf. It’s interesting, but not a title I would expect to go to for spiritual direction. At least not until James begins to fill us in on his friend Tom. Tom is quite and interesting person – I’d like to meet him. It appears that one of the pivotal events in Tom’s life was working with Mother Teresa in Calcutta for a couple of months. The man was playing golf in Asia and decided it would be interesting to see if he could be of assistance to Mother Teresa for a couple of days. Two months later he returns to the US a changed man.
But, the Mother Teresa connection, interesting though it is, is not the thing that grabbed me. Later in the book, Tom reflects on remaking himself. He describes his perfect life as a golf pro, wonderful wife, young son, plenty of money. Perfect. Except that he realized that “As the Budhists would say, his Joy Bell was broken.” What a description of that place in life where things seem so perfect but there is something missing. Something must change. The Joy Bell is broken.
I think my joy bell is in sad shape right now. I’m a point of making some decisions that will affect the next few years of my life directly. There is the logical way to go. This is the way that makes the most sense financially. This way I can afford to do what I think I want to do. But, at what cost?
Sometimes, I don’t realize that something is missing until I find myself in a place where I feel whole – I feel “right” – as in, this is where I am supposed to be. It may not be where I think I want to be, but it is where I am supposed to be. Or it is a situation where I realize that I do have that sense of being whole, or in proper alignment.
That joy bell needs to have its crack repaired. I just hope to be able to listen and discover the best way to fix it.
by Liz | Jun 17, 2009 | main
Myth, science fiction and fantasy – tales of wizards and magical beings are reflections of real truths. For example – a wizards is very careful about someone actually knowing his true name. To be named is to be controllable. Even the Old Testament God had an unpronounceable name — isn’t that what Yahweh approximates? Trying to pronounce something that is fundamentally unpronounceable?
And so, I’m back at this point in my spiral of journey. Naming things. Identifying things. Grabbing a hold of something so I can let it go. Maybe forever this time. Can’t let go of something when I don’t know what it is. Peel another layer off the onion so I can see more clearly what has a grip on me and wriggle free… or may see more clearly what I am clinging too, and then be able to let go of it.
What do I name? I name those hurts that I carry along. I look deeper to see what the real hurt is. So often, the hurt that makes me start looking is a decoy – a mask – protection from seeing the real truth. Why does it upset me that my spouse can upset me? Why does my voice get shaky at work when I least want to be unsettled? Why does my child’s pain hurt more than my own?
When I am able to name the cause, I have the possiblity of laying it down. It’s the possibility of understanding fully that you can only truly forgive that which you remember. If you can’t really remember, you can’t name it, and then you can’t really completely let go… because you have to know what you are letting go of.
And so, finding myself facing the same things that I thought I had let go of brings me to the realization that I let go of only the part I could see at the time. This time I see a bit deeper, so I can let go of a bit more.
And the spiral continues… Amen.
