I sure wish this was being said at the pulpit and not from a pundit.
Friday, September 30, 2011
Tending to the Poor in the U.S.
I sure wish this was being said at the pulpit and not from a pundit.
Monday, September 26, 2011
New Life, Hope, and My Pal Jesus (Originally posted 04/11/2004)
SUNDAY, APRIL 11, 2004
The last time I received Holy Communion was 10 years ago on Easter Sunday.
That morning was daylight savings time; the clocks were springing ahead.
I had failed to change the time and arrived one hour late to that special Easter morning Mass.
I ran up to our pastor and cried as I asked him to please let me receive Communion. I knew it would be the last time for a long time to come.
Why?
Because I am a disenfranchised Catholic.
Because of very conscious choices I made directly after that day I am now excommunicated.
I was divorced from a first marriage, was living with my (now) husband and we married in a Methodist Church.
That is called not playing by the rules.
The reasons for doing such are many and private.
Every Easter is a reminder of that painful dismissal that I received from my Church family. And every Easter hope springs anew for healing within the Catholic Church.
So, Easter this morning was a quiet service in our home, just the three of us.
My son has been tending to some potted bulbs that I am hoping will grow. I talked with him about how the bulbs are hidden right now, but that life is growing under that soil and will spring forth new and beautiful.
We read the Easter story from his children's Bible and said some special prayers. I explained to my son how Jesus was able to open the gates of Heaven so that all of us could spend eternity with God.
Today I remember those who have passed on before me, who are enjoying paradise, who will be there to greet me when I come home.
Grandma M., Monsignor R., Father H., My Dad, Tom, Chris, Steve, Walter, Bob, Johnny, Albert, Gene, Peter, and so many more.
And, of course, my pal Jesus.
I was excommunicated by a religious institution, but Jesus still walks with me.
When I lost my respect for so many clergy, Jesus walked with me.
When I cried because people judged me harshly, Jesus walked with me.
When I had to sit on the periphery of the Feast only an observer to the Holy Communion but not welcome to come to the altar, Jesus sat there with me.
Jesus had no patience with the leaders of His Church bogged down by rules and devoid of Spirit.
I am the woman at the well.
I am the woman who the stones were meant to be cast upon…
and Jesus never abandoned me.
Thank you, God, for Jesus.
Thank you for the love.
Thank you for the Holy Spirit.
Thank you for the courage to live a life that simply wants to walk alongside Jesus.
AMEN, ALLELUIA.
That morning was daylight savings time; the clocks were springing ahead.
I had failed to change the time and arrived one hour late to that special Easter morning Mass.
I ran up to our pastor and cried as I asked him to please let me receive Communion. I knew it would be the last time for a long time to come.
Why?
Because I am a disenfranchised Catholic.
Because of very conscious choices I made directly after that day I am now excommunicated.
I was divorced from a first marriage, was living with my (now) husband and we married in a Methodist Church.
That is called not playing by the rules.
The reasons for doing such are many and private.
Every Easter is a reminder of that painful dismissal that I received from my Church family. And every Easter hope springs anew for healing within the Catholic Church.
So, Easter this morning was a quiet service in our home, just the three of us.
My son has been tending to some potted bulbs that I am hoping will grow. I talked with him about how the bulbs are hidden right now, but that life is growing under that soil and will spring forth new and beautiful.
We read the Easter story from his children's Bible and said some special prayers. I explained to my son how Jesus was able to open the gates of Heaven so that all of us could spend eternity with God.
Today I remember those who have passed on before me, who are enjoying paradise, who will be there to greet me when I come home.
Grandma M., Monsignor R., Father H., My Dad, Tom, Chris, Steve, Walter, Bob, Johnny, Albert, Gene, Peter, and so many more.
And, of course, my pal Jesus.
I was excommunicated by a religious institution, but Jesus still walks with me.
When I lost my respect for so many clergy, Jesus walked with me.
When I cried because people judged me harshly, Jesus walked with me.
When I had to sit on the periphery of the Feast only an observer to the Holy Communion but not welcome to come to the altar, Jesus sat there with me.
Jesus had no patience with the leaders of His Church bogged down by rules and devoid of Spirit.
I am the woman at the well.
I am the woman who the stones were meant to be cast upon…
and Jesus never abandoned me.
Thank you, God, for Jesus.
Thank you for the love.
Thank you for the Holy Spirit.
Thank you for the courage to live a life that simply wants to walk alongside Jesus.
AMEN, ALLELUIA.
Saturday, May 21, 2011
The Rapture: May 21, 2011
A bunch of people were expecting the Rapture today. They predicted massive earthquakes starting in New Zealand and spreading throughout the world followed by chaos and seven years of tribulations until the end of the World. Some predicted the World will end on October 21, 2011.
I was thinking of the Rapture believers this morning. Imagining their fear, their anticipation, their hope, and now the shock and disappointment that there is no Rapture today.
Where do you go from there?
You believe the world as you know it is going to stop. You hope in the deepest roots of your soul that you have been a good follower of Jesus, and you worked hard to be worthy to ascend to Heaven...
and...
nothing happens.
What to do?
Come down off of the mountain? Go back to work? Open up a checking account? Get on with your life?
Maybe these are the questions that besieged Jesus' first followers; His apostles and all those who worked with Him. The disciples believed that Jesus was coming back in their life time. He did in Spirit, but not from the sky arriving in glorious proclamation for the day of judgement.
So, Jesus did not come back then. His apostles desperately taught everyone to be prepared.
Were they mistaken?
No, I think not.
Jesus wanted us to live each day as if it were our last.
Thank about that.
If you knew you were going to die tonight would you be wasting your time right now? Would you withhold your forgiveness to those who have hurt you? Would you delay in making right the wrongs you have done? Would you skip over telling someone "I love you"? Would you avoid a hug? Miss the sweet song of a bird? Worry about your car, your house? Your possessions?
No.
You would be acutely aware of every moment, every breath, every sight, scent, taste, sound and every one who loves you and whom you love.
That is what Jesus asked us to do.
My son recently asked me about the end of the world. He was worried about that.
I looked at him and told him the truth. Every day somewhere, someplace the world has ended for someone. This conversation took place during the catastrophic earthquakes and tsunami in Japan (March 2011). I told my son that for all of the victims of that disaster, the world as they have known it has ended.
Nothing will be the same for them again. The survivors will use that ending to choose to mourn for the rest of their lives or to grieve as they must, but then begin again. They can choose to live in fear or they can choose to be strong and embrace the lessons of compassion that are borne out of such profound suffering.
Then I told him that the world as our little family knows it will end. Some day God will call one of us home first. And we will grieve and heal and step forward,.. continuing to learn that we all must strive to live each day in awareness, in gratitude... in humility, because we never will truly know which day will be the last.
Monday, December 07, 2009
Am I Listening?
Did I hear you today?
Did I stop during the rush, rush, rush of preparing for Christmas...
Did you have something to say?
Did I drive you away with a careless push?
Because I was too busy?
Because I was self centered?
Because I was full of my desires,
and ignored you, my Holy mentor.
Please fill my mind with quiet.
Please fill my heart with humility,
Please empty this vessel
In order to fulfill the destiny
that God has in store for me.
Thank you.
AMEN
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Sister George
My second grade teacher, Sister George, was the only woman I knew who had taken the name of a man. I never learned why. She must have been enamored to Saint George the dragon slayer?
Sister George confused me. Where Sister Mary was gentle in speech and movement, Sister George’s movements were brisk and economical. I can’t remember Sister George’s voice, but I know I listened when she spoke. She had a great understanding of the needs of a seven year old child, well…
At least the needs of a child like me.
Although I was “one of six” at home; at school in a sea of thirty kids in my class… she had time for me.
Sister George could see my talents and she introduced me to using my strengths to help others. She set me to reviewing Math skills with classmates who needed a little extra practice. She introduced me to the world of books, encouraging a ravenous appetite for the written word. She saw a budding artist and would give me greeting card artwork.
“You draw well,” she would say, “please draw this for me.” And then she would carefully place my offerings on her desk.
I can remember my absolute terror one afternoon when my mother was late in picking me up from school. Once a week my mother would walk into town to pick me up from school in order to walk me to piano lessons. That particular afternoon, my mother was late. My fragile world of security burst as I sobbed hysterically believing that I had been forgotten.
I remember Sister George’s efforts to soothe me. She walked me out into the hallway. I must have frightened the other children… this was no ordinary little kid meltdown. I clung to her skirts as her voice broke through my panic. “There, there, don’t be afraid, your mother will come. Besides, I would never leave you alone. I’m here; it will be alright.”
I nuzzled her arm covered with a black crocheted sweater, and waited.
These words spoken by a small woman who had committed her life to the Catholic Church were like the words of God to me.
If Sister said there was nothing to fear, then it must be true.
If Sister said I would never be alone, feeling so abandoned, then this also must be true.
Sister George said these things so this must be what God meant me to hear.
And I loved Sister George so much for that.
My mother did arrive, completely unaware of the storm that I had just traveled through. The comfort given, the warmth of kind words, the skirts I clung to, even the sweater sleeve I snuffled into were given via the holy Catholic Church as represented in its humble servant dressed in black.
A small woman, with a man’s name who had brightened the lives of hundreds of children during her lifetime.
© 2007, Loretta Kelly
Sister George confused me. Where Sister Mary was gentle in speech and movement, Sister George’s movements were brisk and economical. I can’t remember Sister George’s voice, but I know I listened when she spoke. She had a great understanding of the needs of a seven year old child, well…
At least the needs of a child like me.
Although I was “one of six” at home; at school in a sea of thirty kids in my class… she had time for me.
Sister George could see my talents and she introduced me to using my strengths to help others. She set me to reviewing Math skills with classmates who needed a little extra practice. She introduced me to the world of books, encouraging a ravenous appetite for the written word. She saw a budding artist and would give me greeting card artwork.
“You draw well,” she would say, “please draw this for me.” And then she would carefully place my offerings on her desk.
I can remember my absolute terror one afternoon when my mother was late in picking me up from school. Once a week my mother would walk into town to pick me up from school in order to walk me to piano lessons. That particular afternoon, my mother was late. My fragile world of security burst as I sobbed hysterically believing that I had been forgotten.
I remember Sister George’s efforts to soothe me. She walked me out into the hallway. I must have frightened the other children… this was no ordinary little kid meltdown. I clung to her skirts as her voice broke through my panic. “There, there, don’t be afraid, your mother will come. Besides, I would never leave you alone. I’m here; it will be alright.”
I nuzzled her arm covered with a black crocheted sweater, and waited.
These words spoken by a small woman who had committed her life to the Catholic Church were like the words of God to me.
If Sister said there was nothing to fear, then it must be true.
If Sister said I would never be alone, feeling so abandoned, then this also must be true.
Sister George said these things so this must be what God meant me to hear.
And I loved Sister George so much for that.
My mother did arrive, completely unaware of the storm that I had just traveled through. The comfort given, the warmth of kind words, the skirts I clung to, even the sweater sleeve I snuffled into were given via the holy Catholic Church as represented in its humble servant dressed in black.
A small woman, with a man’s name who had brightened the lives of hundreds of children during her lifetime.
© 2007, Loretta Kelly
Saturday, August 11, 2007
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
Monday, May 01, 2006
Thursday, April 13, 2006
#12 - What Are You Willing to Sacrifice?
A little over five years ago, I was working as a church organist and choir director at a rural Catholic church.
We had just been assigned a new pastor who had been born and raised in Poland. He did not come to the US until he was an adult.
I found the cultural differences to be confounding many times during my stay at that church.
One of Father's sermons, in particular, struck my mind this morning.
With passion he had asked our Sunday morning obligation bored parish, "Are you willing to die for what you believe in? Are you willing to die for Christ? Because someday that may happen."
WHOA!
That made a few eyelids snap awake.
DIE?!!
Are you serious?
I thought he was being a bit fanatical, but upon closer examination of this sermon throught the past few years... I can see where the passion came from.
Our pastor grew up in communist Poland.
Yeah... you might have to think about losing everything you cherish, including your life to stand up and be Catholic and follow Jesus in such a regime.
And that stuff still goes on in the world... even now:
BBC NEWS World Asia-Pacific China's Catholics: Far from Rome
China recently permitted a huge religious gathering of Buddhist monks (sans the Dalai Lama)... in an effort to show the world that they are more open minded than other nations think they are...
but, the reality is that if you are Catholic and living in China...
your priest has to talk about contraceptives and Mao Zedong (Tse tung) flourishing forever in Heaven.
um.... that doesn't exactly "fit" with the foundations of Catholicism.
But, that is the only way that Catholic communities can publicly celebrate their faith in China.
Here's the clincher...
people in China organized an underground Catholic community that has secret connections to the Vatican.
The Chinese government is not too fond of the Vatican... they speak out about politics... a definite NO-NO in China.
Now here's the confusion for me.
I do not attend Mass regularly... like maybe twice this past year.
I surrendered all of that during the most recent hypocrisy over the pedophilia debacle bursting open like a malignant cancer throughout the heirarchy of the Catholic Church.
What exactly am I willing to sacrifice for my faith?
Would I be willing to give up my liberties to defend my Mother Church?
No.
Although, I strongly support those people in this world who are willing to do that.
If you had asked me a few years ago... I would have been one of them, but no longer.
More importantly, would I sacrifice in the name of Jesus?
Yes.
I can no longer allow an organization to define my relationship with God, but I am willing to defend my belief in Jesus.
But, not to the point where I would trample on the liberties (TRANSLATION: free will) of others.
I can not reconcile with the "My way or the highway" mode of Christianity.
And Catholics are big time proponents of this mode of thinking.
I can not deny being Catholic, either... I have just decided that.
And that is WHY I have had a real problem with the Catholic Church.
My whole "issue" started when my first marriage dissolved into a divorce.
I "had to" get an annulment.
Why?
I mean... how can you erase a sacrament?
The marriage was consecrated... I was there I KNOW it was.
How can a priest just take some money, fulfill a pretense of "counseling" prior to this bizarre ritual, and then same... TADA!... your marriage was null and void?
Yeah... as if?
My first marriage WAS annulled. My first husband wanted this. I did not block this procedure, but I certainly declined to participate.
And that freaky little whatever we can call it... ritual?
That is when my faith in the Catholic Church took a huge bonk on the noggin.
The cover-up of criminal priests doesn't help one bit either.
But, how would I behave if tomorrow our government said "You can not gather in public to celebrate the Mass." ?
You know...
I would probably be the first one through the door and walking up to the altar for Communion.
So... I am confused.
My relationship with the Catholic Church is the longest relationship I have had with the exception of my family of origin... well, goodness, the Church was there from day one of my life.
Here I am 43 years old and I am starting to feel like a rebellious teenager in regards to the Catholic Church.
Good Grief.
And where is Jesus in all of this?
Lots of praying and thinking to do on all of this...
We had just been assigned a new pastor who had been born and raised in Poland. He did not come to the US until he was an adult.
I found the cultural differences to be confounding many times during my stay at that church.
One of Father's sermons, in particular, struck my mind this morning.
With passion he had asked our Sunday morning obligation bored parish, "Are you willing to die for what you believe in? Are you willing to die for Christ? Because someday that may happen."
WHOA!
That made a few eyelids snap awake.
DIE?!!
Are you serious?
I thought he was being a bit fanatical, but upon closer examination of this sermon throught the past few years... I can see where the passion came from.
Our pastor grew up in communist Poland.
Yeah... you might have to think about losing everything you cherish, including your life to stand up and be Catholic and follow Jesus in such a regime.
And that stuff still goes on in the world... even now:
BBC NEWS World Asia-Pacific China's Catholics: Far from Rome
China recently permitted a huge religious gathering of Buddhist monks (sans the Dalai Lama)... in an effort to show the world that they are more open minded than other nations think they are...
but, the reality is that if you are Catholic and living in China...
your priest has to talk about contraceptives and Mao Zedong (Tse tung) flourishing forever in Heaven.
um.... that doesn't exactly "fit" with the foundations of Catholicism.
But, that is the only way that Catholic communities can publicly celebrate their faith in China.
Here's the clincher...
people in China organized an underground Catholic community that has secret connections to the Vatican.
The Chinese government is not too fond of the Vatican... they speak out about politics... a definite NO-NO in China.
Now here's the confusion for me.
I do not attend Mass regularly... like maybe twice this past year.
I surrendered all of that during the most recent hypocrisy over the pedophilia debacle bursting open like a malignant cancer throughout the heirarchy of the Catholic Church.
What exactly am I willing to sacrifice for my faith?
Would I be willing to give up my liberties to defend my Mother Church?
No.
Although, I strongly support those people in this world who are willing to do that.
If you had asked me a few years ago... I would have been one of them, but no longer.
More importantly, would I sacrifice in the name of Jesus?
Yes.
I can no longer allow an organization to define my relationship with God, but I am willing to defend my belief in Jesus.
But, not to the point where I would trample on the liberties (TRANSLATION: free will) of others.
I can not reconcile with the "My way or the highway" mode of Christianity.
And Catholics are big time proponents of this mode of thinking.
I can not deny being Catholic, either... I have just decided that.
And that is WHY I have had a real problem with the Catholic Church.
My whole "issue" started when my first marriage dissolved into a divorce.
I "had to" get an annulment.
Why?
I mean... how can you erase a sacrament?
The marriage was consecrated... I was there I KNOW it was.
How can a priest just take some money, fulfill a pretense of "counseling" prior to this bizarre ritual, and then same... TADA!... your marriage was null and void?
Yeah... as if?
My first marriage WAS annulled. My first husband wanted this. I did not block this procedure, but I certainly declined to participate.
And that freaky little whatever we can call it... ritual?
That is when my faith in the Catholic Church took a huge bonk on the noggin.
The cover-up of criminal priests doesn't help one bit either.
But, how would I behave if tomorrow our government said "You can not gather in public to celebrate the Mass." ?
You know...
I would probably be the first one through the door and walking up to the altar for Communion.
So... I am confused.
My relationship with the Catholic Church is the longest relationship I have had with the exception of my family of origin... well, goodness, the Church was there from day one of my life.
Here I am 43 years old and I am starting to feel like a rebellious teenager in regards to the Catholic Church.
Good Grief.
And where is Jesus in all of this?
Lots of praying and thinking to do on all of this...
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
Growing Up Catholic
NOTE: The story is true, the people are real, the names have been changed .
Growing up Catholic doesn't necessarily guarantee that you are learning about Jesus.
I can't recall Jesus being a topic of discussion in my formative years.
I remember learning the rules and catechism... although no one ever told me these lessons were called catechism.
Priests were an integral part of my family's spiritual life, but I never had close contact with the religious orders until I entered Catholc school.
The time was 1968 and I was five years old when I met my first grade teacher, Sister Mary Joseph.
I thought she was so old!
And she had a man's name!
Sister ran a tight ship.
I have no recollections of anyone causing one lick of trouble in her class. I know in hindsight that I was in a class of thirty really tough kids.
Our time was always occupied.
If my work was finished early, a plastic container was plunked down onto my desk.
MODELING CLAY!
My favorite.
I never looked into Sister's face. I saw mostly her belly region, black voluminous robes.
She floated.
Her hands were thick and firm... no wasted movement.
But, there was this good feeling always with her. I finished my work, she noticed and gave me a reward of clay time.
It felt so good to have an adult who cared about you so much that even in a sea of children, she knew your needs and attended to you.
Nothing ruffled her.
Fran Smolinski was terrified of thunder and lightening as we were to learn that spring.
Sobbing hysterically as the lightening flashed before our wall of windows, Sister Mary Joseph kept us all calm like a captain sailing a ship across stormy seas and Fran's woe.
I remember how Sister kept calm and serene during prayers as one of our classmates, Timothy O'Connor, threw up.
And... of course, Fran had a sympathetic cookie toss immediately afterwards.
Sister smoothly managed to tend to both ill children, clean them up in our classroom bathroom, and move forward with the day while reassuring us all.
The only time that Sister gave me a startle was when she had moved my desk beside that big wall of windows. We were all soon to discover that I was a big-time daydreamer.
She kept repeatedly asking me to read a sight word to her from the Dick and Jane reader list. The words were on the chalkboard and my eyes were out the window flying like a birdy in the clear sky. I never once looked at the board.
The word was "play" and I kept saying "toy". Over and over and over.
We both were persistent. Finally I realized my mistake. Sister never scolded. She just looked perplexed. I liked that about her.
My desk was moved to the other side of the classroom. There was no reprimand, no yelling, no adult authority games.
Sister was firm, consistent, and attentive.
When I was frightened about getting onto the big bus at the end of the day, there was Sister Mary Joseph, standing by side and reassuring me that my big sister would be there for me soon.
And when Sis arrived, "See! There she is!"
******************************************
I ran into Sister Mary Joseph in the early 1990's at the retirement home for the sisters of her religious order.
I knew her in an instant.
I never realized before that she had sweet eyes.
She smiled at me as I told her that she had been my first grade teacher.
She rememberd me in an instant.
"Oh, you are the youngest of the six sisters! I remember you! So beautiful. How could I forget those eyes of yours?"
And I thanked her as chills ran up my spine.
How many... so many... children had she taught, yet she could remember me?
I felt loved.
I felt cherished.
**********************************
No we didn't talk a lot about Jesus while growing up Catholic, but once in awhile I had the honor to travel along with someone who knew Jesus quite well.
Growing up Catholic doesn't necessarily guarantee that you are learning about Jesus.
I can't recall Jesus being a topic of discussion in my formative years.
I remember learning the rules and catechism... although no one ever told me these lessons were called catechism.
Priests were an integral part of my family's spiritual life, but I never had close contact with the religious orders until I entered Catholc school.
The time was 1968 and I was five years old when I met my first grade teacher, Sister Mary Joseph.
I thought she was so old!
And she had a man's name!
Sister ran a tight ship.
I have no recollections of anyone causing one lick of trouble in her class. I know in hindsight that I was in a class of thirty really tough kids.
Our time was always occupied.
If my work was finished early, a plastic container was plunked down onto my desk.
MODELING CLAY!
My favorite.
I never looked into Sister's face. I saw mostly her belly region, black voluminous robes.
She floated.
Her hands were thick and firm... no wasted movement.
But, there was this good feeling always with her. I finished my work, she noticed and gave me a reward of clay time.
It felt so good to have an adult who cared about you so much that even in a sea of children, she knew your needs and attended to you.
Nothing ruffled her.
Fran Smolinski was terrified of thunder and lightening as we were to learn that spring.
Sobbing hysterically as the lightening flashed before our wall of windows, Sister Mary Joseph kept us all calm like a captain sailing a ship across stormy seas and Fran's woe.
I remember how Sister kept calm and serene during prayers as one of our classmates, Timothy O'Connor, threw up.
And... of course, Fran had a sympathetic cookie toss immediately afterwards.
Sister smoothly managed to tend to both ill children, clean them up in our classroom bathroom, and move forward with the day while reassuring us all.
The only time that Sister gave me a startle was when she had moved my desk beside that big wall of windows. We were all soon to discover that I was a big-time daydreamer.
She kept repeatedly asking me to read a sight word to her from the Dick and Jane reader list. The words were on the chalkboard and my eyes were out the window flying like a birdy in the clear sky. I never once looked at the board.
The word was "play" and I kept saying "toy". Over and over and over.
We both were persistent. Finally I realized my mistake. Sister never scolded. She just looked perplexed. I liked that about her.
My desk was moved to the other side of the classroom. There was no reprimand, no yelling, no adult authority games.
Sister was firm, consistent, and attentive.
When I was frightened about getting onto the big bus at the end of the day, there was Sister Mary Joseph, standing by side and reassuring me that my big sister would be there for me soon.
And when Sis arrived, "See! There she is!"
******************************************
I ran into Sister Mary Joseph in the early 1990's at the retirement home for the sisters of her religious order.
I knew her in an instant.
I never realized before that she had sweet eyes.
She smiled at me as I told her that she had been my first grade teacher.
She rememberd me in an instant.
"Oh, you are the youngest of the six sisters! I remember you! So beautiful. How could I forget those eyes of yours?"
And I thanked her as chills ran up my spine.
How many... so many... children had she taught, yet she could remember me?
I felt loved.
I felt cherished.
**********************************
No we didn't talk a lot about Jesus while growing up Catholic, but once in awhile I had the honor to travel along with someone who knew Jesus quite well.
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
How Do Gay People Find Jesus?
I have known and loved a lot of gay people in my life.
I still do.
How do gay people ever get close to Jesus?
It seems to me that every imaginable barrier is thrust upon them each step of the way.
They are the lepers of modern times in Christianity.
People are born gay... go ahead and prove otherwise... because science will eventually prove that you can't.
I have only known one person who told me she "chose" to be gay. Of course, this person was a survivor of horrible sexual atrocities committed by the opposite sex.
That would make anyone think twice about wanting to interact with the gender of your predator.
But, I don't understand how ANYONE can come close to Jesus while persecuting God's children?
Would Jesus really want us to extend energy into ostracizing a whole portion of our society?
Aren't we supposed to spend our energies on love?
How is victimizing gay people an act of love?
It only drives a chasm between them and accessing Jesus through organized religion.
And banning gay people from adopting???
Hellooo....
As if all of the righteous ones who claim to be doing the work of Jesus are in line adopting the destitute children of the world?
I have a gay family member who is an adoptive parent.
The child (now my family too) is flourishing, happy and very well adjusted.
The child has received the best medical care that our nation can offer.
This child will always have food, clothing, shelter, a good education, a future full of hope... and L-O-V-E. A family full of love for that child.
And some of that family happens to be gay.
I have very little patience for those who claim to follow Jesus, yet expend energy in ostracizing homosexuals.
There are much, much better things to do with that energy.
As for me... I am such a sinner... I have plenty to work on in improving my own self, so there is a lifetime of work ahead in becoming a person of compassion.
And as for the gay community?
They have nothing to fear from me.
I love Jesus, and I love people who have crossed my path in life's journey... be they heterosexual or homosexual.
God made us all, and I know it is not in God's plan that I should be judge and jury.
I still do.
How do gay people ever get close to Jesus?
It seems to me that every imaginable barrier is thrust upon them each step of the way.
They are the lepers of modern times in Christianity.
People are born gay... go ahead and prove otherwise... because science will eventually prove that you can't.
I have only known one person who told me she "chose" to be gay. Of course, this person was a survivor of horrible sexual atrocities committed by the opposite sex.
That would make anyone think twice about wanting to interact with the gender of your predator.
But, I don't understand how ANYONE can come close to Jesus while persecuting God's children?
Would Jesus really want us to extend energy into ostracizing a whole portion of our society?
Aren't we supposed to spend our energies on love?
How is victimizing gay people an act of love?
It only drives a chasm between them and accessing Jesus through organized religion.
And banning gay people from adopting???
Hellooo....
As if all of the righteous ones who claim to be doing the work of Jesus are in line adopting the destitute children of the world?
I have a gay family member who is an adoptive parent.
The child (now my family too) is flourishing, happy and very well adjusted.
The child has received the best medical care that our nation can offer.
This child will always have food, clothing, shelter, a good education, a future full of hope... and L-O-V-E. A family full of love for that child.
And some of that family happens to be gay.
I have very little patience for those who claim to follow Jesus, yet expend energy in ostracizing homosexuals.
There are much, much better things to do with that energy.
As for me... I am such a sinner... I have plenty to work on in improving my own self, so there is a lifetime of work ahead in becoming a person of compassion.
And as for the gay community?
They have nothing to fear from me.
I love Jesus, and I love people who have crossed my path in life's journey... be they heterosexual or homosexual.
God made us all, and I know it is not in God's plan that I should be judge and jury.
Friday, February 10, 2006
Would the Real Jesus Please Stand Up?
Today I am going to talk about watching a friend die.
And, hopefully before I finish you will see how the stories about Jesus have become blurred over the millenia.
My best friend, Ellen, died this past year.
She was 42, too young to die.
She died a slow and painful death to ovarian cancer.
And her friends, a whole bunch of us, were their to witness her dying.
Here is what happens when someone you love dies slowly and unexpectantly while in their prime.
Especially, someone who was blessed with a multitude of friends. Many who, like me, felt that she was their best friend.
We came together and as we talked throughout the death watch... we confirmed the things that we knew about our precious Ellen that were consistent amongst all of us.
We could all agree that she was funny, mischievous, passionate, intelligent, and that she had captured a special place in each of our hearts.
But, then the stories diverge.
When you are losing someone who has filled such a huge space in your life... their is an "ownership" thing that starts to go on.
"My friend", "my Ellen".
Each of us had our own connection there... and probably for some of us, there was a need to acknowledge that our loss was significant because there was a part of this delightful person that only we knew on an intimate level.
I am not saying that is a good thing... it is just human nature.
"My Ellen" was not the same Ellen that I was hearing about amongst her other intimates.
Some of us needed to share our knowledge of Ellen and some of us just needed to keep that quiet and safe, shut away from the eyes and ears of others.
Now...
Don't you think the same thing happened when Jesus died?
Those who witnessed His death... they may have felt a kinship with one another in having experienced this horrible event together.
And the ones that ran away... how were they feeling about that? The humiliation of leaving behind a friend in His most dire moment? The shame... and possibly anger at self for not being there because of fear?
And wouldn't some of the very, very human friends of Jesus have "ownership" issues after His passing on?
"My Jesus"... this is the man I knew.
Well, Jesus being who He was (and is)... a multidimensional fully actualized human being and Divine to boot... wouldn't He be many things to many people?
And being all loving... wouldn't each person who experienced Jesus in person have felt that they had a special connection with Him?
So I have to wonder... how is it that only a few folks got "ownership" of the story of Jesus?
What would His mother, Mary, have said about Jesus?
Or Joseph?
Or His grandparents?
His childhood friends?
His teachers?
Or Mary Magdelene?
Or those who were healed?
Or the multitude of followers who may have written about Jesus, but their work has been lost in the sands of time... or deemed unowrthy to be carried on?
And what about the texts discovered in the Qumran in the 1940's... now known as the Dead Sea Scrolls?
Do we really have the full story of Jesus, or just a tailored view by the authors deemed worthy by the Council of Nicea?
Who is the real Jesus?
Can we find Him in the books, in what is said at the pulpit, or is Jesus an experience?
Can you only know Jesus through a supernatural relationship that defies the manmade constructs that have attempted to squeeze Him into a narrowed view that serves the purposes of those who feel they alone are the keepers of the truth?
Who is the real Jesus?
Who, indeed?
RESOURCES:
DEAD SEA SCROLLS:
http://www.ibiblio.org/expo/deadsea.scrolls.exhibit/Library/library.html
JAMES THE BROTHER OF JESUS:
http://www.amazon.com/gp/search/ref=pd_sl_aw_tops-1_stripbooks_7189314_2/103-8337517-7547001?search-alias=aps&keywords=james%20brother%20of%20jesus
COUNCIL OF NICEA:
http://www.infoplease.com/ce6/society/A0835563.html
http://www.highbeam.com/library/docfree.asp?DOCID=1E1:Nicaea-F&ctrlInfo=Round18%3AMode18c%3ADocG%3AResult&ao=
And, hopefully before I finish you will see how the stories about Jesus have become blurred over the millenia.
My best friend, Ellen, died this past year.
She was 42, too young to die.
She died a slow and painful death to ovarian cancer.
And her friends, a whole bunch of us, were their to witness her dying.
Here is what happens when someone you love dies slowly and unexpectantly while in their prime.
Especially, someone who was blessed with a multitude of friends. Many who, like me, felt that she was their best friend.
We came together and as we talked throughout the death watch... we confirmed the things that we knew about our precious Ellen that were consistent amongst all of us.
We could all agree that she was funny, mischievous, passionate, intelligent, and that she had captured a special place in each of our hearts.
But, then the stories diverge.
When you are losing someone who has filled such a huge space in your life... their is an "ownership" thing that starts to go on.
"My friend", "my Ellen".
Each of us had our own connection there... and probably for some of us, there was a need to acknowledge that our loss was significant because there was a part of this delightful person that only we knew on an intimate level.
I am not saying that is a good thing... it is just human nature.
"My Ellen" was not the same Ellen that I was hearing about amongst her other intimates.
Some of us needed to share our knowledge of Ellen and some of us just needed to keep that quiet and safe, shut away from the eyes and ears of others.
Now...
Don't you think the same thing happened when Jesus died?
Those who witnessed His death... they may have felt a kinship with one another in having experienced this horrible event together.
And the ones that ran away... how were they feeling about that? The humiliation of leaving behind a friend in His most dire moment? The shame... and possibly anger at self for not being there because of fear?
And wouldn't some of the very, very human friends of Jesus have "ownership" issues after His passing on?
"My Jesus"... this is the man I knew.
Well, Jesus being who He was (and is)... a multidimensional fully actualized human being and Divine to boot... wouldn't He be many things to many people?
And being all loving... wouldn't each person who experienced Jesus in person have felt that they had a special connection with Him?
So I have to wonder... how is it that only a few folks got "ownership" of the story of Jesus?
What would His mother, Mary, have said about Jesus?
Or Joseph?
Or His grandparents?
His childhood friends?
His teachers?
Or Mary Magdelene?
Or those who were healed?
Or the multitude of followers who may have written about Jesus, but their work has been lost in the sands of time... or deemed unowrthy to be carried on?
And what about the texts discovered in the Qumran in the 1940's... now known as the Dead Sea Scrolls?
Do we really have the full story of Jesus, or just a tailored view by the authors deemed worthy by the Council of Nicea?
Who is the real Jesus?
Can we find Him in the books, in what is said at the pulpit, or is Jesus an experience?
Can you only know Jesus through a supernatural relationship that defies the manmade constructs that have attempted to squeeze Him into a narrowed view that serves the purposes of those who feel they alone are the keepers of the truth?
Who is the real Jesus?
Who, indeed?
RESOURCES:
DEAD SEA SCROLLS:
http://www.ibiblio.org/expo/deadsea.scrolls.exhibit/Library/library.html
JAMES THE BROTHER OF JESUS:
http://www.amazon.com/gp/search/ref=pd_sl_aw_tops-1_stripbooks_7189314_2/103-8337517-7547001?search-alias=aps&keywords=james%20brother%20of%20jesus
COUNCIL OF NICEA:
http://www.infoplease.com/ce6/society/A0835563.html
http://www.highbeam.com/library/docfree.asp?DOCID=1E1:Nicaea-F&ctrlInfo=Round18%3AMode18c%3ADocG%3AResult&ao=
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
Beliefnet: Group Forum "In Search of Jesus"
Here is an interesting website to receive more insight into the face of Jesus.
http://www.beliefnet.com/features/searchforjesus/appearance/appearance1.asp
You also are invited to join in the discussion.
ENJOY.
http://www.beliefnet.com/features/searchforjesus/appearance/appearance1.asp
You also are invited to join in the discussion.
ENJOY.
Sunday, January 29, 2006
Another Face of Jesus - The Gentle Healer
Here are the lyrics to a favorite song by Michael Card:
The Gentle Healer Lyrics By Card Michael
Psalm 146:5 Michael Card
The Gentle Healer came into our town todayHe touched blind eyes
and the darkness left to stayMore than the blindness,
He took their sins awayThe Gentle Healer came into our town today
The Gentle Healer came into our town todayHe spoke one word
that was all He had to sayThe One who had died
just rose up straight awayThe Gentle Healer came into our town today
Oh, He seems like just in ordinary manWith dirty feet
and rough but gentle handsThe words
He says are hard to understandAnd, Yet,
He seems like just and ordinary man
The Gentle Healer,
He left our town todayI just looked around and found
He'd gone awaySome folks from town had followed Him,
They say That the Gentle Healer is
the Truth
the Life
the Way
The Gentle Healer Lyrics By Card Michael
Psalm 146:5 Michael Card
The Gentle Healer came into our town todayHe touched blind eyes
and the darkness left to stayMore than the blindness,
He took their sins awayThe Gentle Healer came into our town today
The Gentle Healer came into our town todayHe spoke one word
that was all He had to sayThe One who had died
just rose up straight awayThe Gentle Healer came into our town today
Oh, He seems like just in ordinary manWith dirty feet
and rough but gentle handsThe words
He says are hard to understandAnd, Yet,
He seems like just and ordinary man
The Gentle Healer,
He left our town todayI just looked around and found
He'd gone awaySome folks from town had followed Him,
They say That the Gentle Healer is
the Truth
the Life
the Way
Monday, December 26, 2005
The Face of Jesus
I know I am not alone on this one.
How many of you wonder what did Jesus REALLY look like?
How do I have an intense intimately spiritual relationship with Christ when I am totally clueless regarding how he appeared in His human form?
My earliest childhood memories are filled with the predominant image of Jesus in our home.
The Sacred Heart of Jesus:
My father had painted a portrait of the sacred heart of Jesus that was placed above our fireplace mantle. Everytime I played in front of the hearth, I just had to look up to see Christ with His exposed heart looking down on me.
My father's painting was much warmer in tones than the traditional rendition.
But, the face was neutral.
Was Jesus happy?
Was He sad?
As a child, I rather found the painting unsettling.
I mean... think about it. I gazed daily on the portrait of a healthy young man, with an expression on His face that was completely unrecognizable to me as a child. And most confusing of all was His heart just sitting there outside of His chest covered in thorns and glowing.
If my heart was hanging there outside my chest, I would be screaming.
I loved my Dad's paintings, but the whole effect was very intimidating to my young mind.
My other representation of Jesus appeared daily in the front of my classrooms. The crucifix. Christ on an instrument of torture. Defeated and dying... well, that's how it looked to me when I was a little girl.
There is a really old joke about Catholic school and the crucifix. It goes something like this:
A mother and father were completely dismayed because their son would not behave in public school. No matter what the teachers did and the threats laid out to him by his ever frustrated parents... the child would not behave.
So his parents decided to send him to the more disciplined neighborhood Catholic school.
And their son promptly obeyed his teachers.
Surprised by the overnight change in behavior, the parents asked their son why he decided now to behave.
And he explained: " They have this guy up on a cross in my classroom. They say His name is Jesus, He was a sinless man and that He is God's son. And I thought if God was willing to do that to His perfect son... what on earth will they do to me if I misbehave!!!???"
And I think... yeah... it was sort of like that when I was a kid too.
I was pretty much afraid of Jesus.
Images designed to inspire us, to help us connect with Jesus through knowing He had suffered ... well, that just frightened me as a kid.
And the whole thought of so much scariness put a big chasm between me and God.
God scared me.
Any compliance that God got from me was totally out of fear, not from a loving heart.
Many, many years later, while teaching third grade in a Catholic school, I happened upon an image of Christ that finally opened my mind to the reality that Jesus was loving.
There is this painting of Jesus coming upon the crest of a hill. The sun is shining on His back, he has a shepherd's staff in His one hand, and grasped closely to His chest in His other arm is a little lamb. Jesus has this look of joy on His face as he begins the journey down the hill to return the lost lamb to the flock.
That was a great year in my teaching career.
We had a little girl in the class who actually raised a lamb.
I posted the picture of Jesus in a little corner set aside for the children for quiet time and prayer. They could go there any time they felt the need to just be quiet, or to pray. I left that image for the children so that (unlike me) they could establish a relationship with Jesus that was not born of fear.
Getting back to the lamb.
We talked a lot about that picture and what the symbolism of a lost lamb meant for all of us.
I asked the little girl to tell us about lambs.
She said that her lamb followed her everywhere. And it would cry out whenever she was not near. It would not cross a path or go to the barn without her. It would immediately feel lost. It would wag its little tail whenever she returned.
She told this story much better than I can.
That is the eloquence of a child.
And to this day, I am grateful for a little 8 year old who introduced me to the face of Christ.
A lost lamb.
I can relate to that.
And having someone who loves you so much that they will look everywhere for you and hoist you into their strong arms to carry you back to safety... yes, that is what I have always wanted Jesus to be.
That is when I actually started to feel the connection.
I needed an image in my mind to build the bridge to Jesus.
But, there is more.
After more years passed, and I became more aware of the diversity of God's children... I realized that EVERY image that I have seen of Christ is caucasian.
I mean... what is up with that?
When the notion first hit me, I felt angry, cheated. How egocentric to paint Jesus as a white European guy.
But, then I finally realized that the artists (like myself) were trying to conjure up an image that they could connect to.
They were caucasian, so they made Jesus look caucasian.
That works for artists who were insulated from seeing peoples from all over the world, but what is the excuse for today's artists?
Here is an interesting composite from the BBC.
Computer Generated Jesus:
The artist utilized the skull of a man of the same region as Jesus from about 2,000 years ago.
This is what the guys from Jesus' hometown and era looked like.
You know what?
I can truly relate to this picture, more than any other to date.
I mean, I can imagine sitting down with him at a meal and listening. He looks approachable. He looks like everybody else. He doesn't glow in the dark, He has a face that looks capable of every human emotion. And the appearance is humble... it is 100% human.
Wasn't that God's intention?
That Jesus experience the complete human experience, so that God could connect with us and so that we could learn to connect with God?
I look at this computer generated picture and think... life may not have been easy for this fellow. He probably had all the triumphs and challenges that we all face in life.
And THAT more than anything else helps me to truly understand how magnificent the work of Jesus is.
Sure, if you know you are God's son and everybody is seeing you glow with haloes, and your clothes are always shiny white and pristine, and you look well fed, and your sandals fit, and you never look tired... well isn't that a bit too easy?
Knowing that Jesus was a guy, that he had to endure the human condition for real... NOW I feel a relationship with Jesus.
RELATIONSHIP.
PICTURE CREDITS:
The Sacred Heart of Jesus - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sacred_Heart
Computer Generated Jesus - http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/entertainment/tv_and_radio/1243954.stm
How many of you wonder what did Jesus REALLY look like?
How do I have an intense intimately spiritual relationship with Christ when I am totally clueless regarding how he appeared in His human form?
My earliest childhood memories are filled with the predominant image of Jesus in our home.
The Sacred Heart of Jesus:
My father had painted a portrait of the sacred heart of Jesus that was placed above our fireplace mantle. Everytime I played in front of the hearth, I just had to look up to see Christ with His exposed heart looking down on me.
My father's painting was much warmer in tones than the traditional rendition.
But, the face was neutral.
Was Jesus happy?
Was He sad?
As a child, I rather found the painting unsettling.
I mean... think about it. I gazed daily on the portrait of a healthy young man, with an expression on His face that was completely unrecognizable to me as a child. And most confusing of all was His heart just sitting there outside of His chest covered in thorns and glowing.
If my heart was hanging there outside my chest, I would be screaming.
I loved my Dad's paintings, but the whole effect was very intimidating to my young mind.
My other representation of Jesus appeared daily in the front of my classrooms. The crucifix. Christ on an instrument of torture. Defeated and dying... well, that's how it looked to me when I was a little girl.
There is a really old joke about Catholic school and the crucifix. It goes something like this:
A mother and father were completely dismayed because their son would not behave in public school. No matter what the teachers did and the threats laid out to him by his ever frustrated parents... the child would not behave.
So his parents decided to send him to the more disciplined neighborhood Catholic school.
And their son promptly obeyed his teachers.
Surprised by the overnight change in behavior, the parents asked their son why he decided now to behave.
And he explained: " They have this guy up on a cross in my classroom. They say His name is Jesus, He was a sinless man and that He is God's son. And I thought if God was willing to do that to His perfect son... what on earth will they do to me if I misbehave!!!???"
And I think... yeah... it was sort of like that when I was a kid too.
I was pretty much afraid of Jesus.
Images designed to inspire us, to help us connect with Jesus through knowing He had suffered ... well, that just frightened me as a kid.
And the whole thought of so much scariness put a big chasm between me and God.
God scared me.
Any compliance that God got from me was totally out of fear, not from a loving heart.
Many, many years later, while teaching third grade in a Catholic school, I happened upon an image of Christ that finally opened my mind to the reality that Jesus was loving.
There is this painting of Jesus coming upon the crest of a hill. The sun is shining on His back, he has a shepherd's staff in His one hand, and grasped closely to His chest in His other arm is a little lamb. Jesus has this look of joy on His face as he begins the journey down the hill to return the lost lamb to the flock.
That was a great year in my teaching career.
We had a little girl in the class who actually raised a lamb.
I posted the picture of Jesus in a little corner set aside for the children for quiet time and prayer. They could go there any time they felt the need to just be quiet, or to pray. I left that image for the children so that (unlike me) they could establish a relationship with Jesus that was not born of fear.
Getting back to the lamb.
We talked a lot about that picture and what the symbolism of a lost lamb meant for all of us.
I asked the little girl to tell us about lambs.
She said that her lamb followed her everywhere. And it would cry out whenever she was not near. It would not cross a path or go to the barn without her. It would immediately feel lost. It would wag its little tail whenever she returned.
She told this story much better than I can.
That is the eloquence of a child.
And to this day, I am grateful for a little 8 year old who introduced me to the face of Christ.
A lost lamb.
I can relate to that.
And having someone who loves you so much that they will look everywhere for you and hoist you into their strong arms to carry you back to safety... yes, that is what I have always wanted Jesus to be.
That is when I actually started to feel the connection.
I needed an image in my mind to build the bridge to Jesus.
But, there is more.
After more years passed, and I became more aware of the diversity of God's children... I realized that EVERY image that I have seen of Christ is caucasian.
I mean... what is up with that?
When the notion first hit me, I felt angry, cheated. How egocentric to paint Jesus as a white European guy.
But, then I finally realized that the artists (like myself) were trying to conjure up an image that they could connect to.
They were caucasian, so they made Jesus look caucasian.
That works for artists who were insulated from seeing peoples from all over the world, but what is the excuse for today's artists?
Here is an interesting composite from the BBC.
Computer Generated Jesus:
The artist utilized the skull of a man of the same region as Jesus from about 2,000 years ago.
This is what the guys from Jesus' hometown and era looked like.
You know what?
I can truly relate to this picture, more than any other to date.
I mean, I can imagine sitting down with him at a meal and listening. He looks approachable. He looks like everybody else. He doesn't glow in the dark, He has a face that looks capable of every human emotion. And the appearance is humble... it is 100% human.
Wasn't that God's intention?
That Jesus experience the complete human experience, so that God could connect with us and so that we could learn to connect with God?
I look at this computer generated picture and think... life may not have been easy for this fellow. He probably had all the triumphs and challenges that we all face in life.
And THAT more than anything else helps me to truly understand how magnificent the work of Jesus is.
Sure, if you know you are God's son and everybody is seeing you glow with haloes, and your clothes are always shiny white and pristine, and you look well fed, and your sandals fit, and you never look tired... well isn't that a bit too easy?
Knowing that Jesus was a guy, that he had to endure the human condition for real... NOW I feel a relationship with Jesus.
RELATIONSHIP.
PICTURE CREDITS:
The Sacred Heart of Jesus - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sacred_Heart
Computer Generated Jesus - http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/entertainment/tv_and_radio/1243954.stm
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
Meet the Author
I am going to have to ask all of you to be patient with me.
I am writing as one who is walking a spiritual journey.
I fall off the path everyday and struggle with the temptations that life tosses along the way. Once in a great while I have a small success, but more often than not, my life is quite imperfect.
I write as a traveler, not as an authority.
I write to make sense of this life.
I write because I can not ask these question from the leaders of my Catholic Church.
There is a Lauren Hill song that states: "You have to ask the questions to find the answers."
I don't know if any answers will be found in this endeavor, but I will ask many questions.
I am hoping for peace of mind.
I am hoping to meet the man named Jesus Christ of Nazareth. Son of Joseph and Mary, the son of God.
I know Jesus is not lost. I think He is often ignored, but definitely not lost.
I think WE get lost all the time because of all the noise in this world. And there are so many distractions in this life that we often ignore Jesus.
Quite simply, I want to know Jesus without having someone dictate to me how this most personal spiritual relationship should come about.
I have tried for over forty years to listen to the self-proclaimed experts, and they have succeeded in creating confusion for me... not clarity of mind.
I will offer a lot of opinons here.
They are my opinions unless otherwise stated.
That does not mean you have to agree with me.
Here is my opinion... each soul's spiritual journey is intensely intimate with the Divine.
First we are assigned teachers for the journey, and eventually there comes a time when we choose our teachers.
God provides our teachers through relationships, circumstance, and sometimes by coincidence.
So what's right for you, may not be right for me.
And, of course, what is right for me, may not work for you.
The intense relationship between each soul and the Divine is really not something to be defined in human terms.
In my opinion, we do a great deal of harm to others on their spiritual journey when we try to dictate to others without Divine inspiration.
My writing is not Divinely inspired... it is just the noise in my heart that is seeking a voice.
Please keep this in mind.
I am a human being... no more or no less.
I set a goal for my life when I was 19 years old.
I believe that my life's calling is to love and be loved.
In order to truly love, the way I want to love, I need to know Jesus.
Being a born and bred Catholic, I discovered very quickly after establishing this goal, that organized religion (in my case Catholicism) throws numerous barriers to learning and practicing unconditional love.
Really, even defining unconditional love for some of us Catholics is difficult because of all the head noise ingrained into us during our formative years of growing up Catholic.
Through many years of failure, stumblings, suffering, and once in a while an "AHA!" moment... I have been learning what unconditional love by learning what it is not.
And this is where my journey today will begin...
I know what is not of Jesus... I am pretty sure of that.
And so it begins...
I am writing as one who is walking a spiritual journey.
I fall off the path everyday and struggle with the temptations that life tosses along the way. Once in a great while I have a small success, but more often than not, my life is quite imperfect.
I write as a traveler, not as an authority.
I write to make sense of this life.
I write because I can not ask these question from the leaders of my Catholic Church.
There is a Lauren Hill song that states: "You have to ask the questions to find the answers."
I don't know if any answers will be found in this endeavor, but I will ask many questions.
I am hoping for peace of mind.
I am hoping to meet the man named Jesus Christ of Nazareth. Son of Joseph and Mary, the son of God.
I know Jesus is not lost. I think He is often ignored, but definitely not lost.
I think WE get lost all the time because of all the noise in this world. And there are so many distractions in this life that we often ignore Jesus.
Quite simply, I want to know Jesus without having someone dictate to me how this most personal spiritual relationship should come about.
I have tried for over forty years to listen to the self-proclaimed experts, and they have succeeded in creating confusion for me... not clarity of mind.
I will offer a lot of opinons here.
They are my opinions unless otherwise stated.
That does not mean you have to agree with me.
Here is my opinion... each soul's spiritual journey is intensely intimate with the Divine.
First we are assigned teachers for the journey, and eventually there comes a time when we choose our teachers.
God provides our teachers through relationships, circumstance, and sometimes by coincidence.
So what's right for you, may not be right for me.
And, of course, what is right for me, may not work for you.
The intense relationship between each soul and the Divine is really not something to be defined in human terms.
In my opinion, we do a great deal of harm to others on their spiritual journey when we try to dictate to others without Divine inspiration.
My writing is not Divinely inspired... it is just the noise in my heart that is seeking a voice.
Please keep this in mind.
I am a human being... no more or no less.
I set a goal for my life when I was 19 years old.
I believe that my life's calling is to love and be loved.
In order to truly love, the way I want to love, I need to know Jesus.
Being a born and bred Catholic, I discovered very quickly after establishing this goal, that organized religion (in my case Catholicism) throws numerous barriers to learning and practicing unconditional love.
Really, even defining unconditional love for some of us Catholics is difficult because of all the head noise ingrained into us during our formative years of growing up Catholic.
Through many years of failure, stumblings, suffering, and once in a while an "AHA!" moment... I have been learning what unconditional love by learning what it is not.
And this is where my journey today will begin...
I know what is not of Jesus... I am pretty sure of that.
And so it begins...
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
Your Eyes
Why sad, dearest friend?
Why do I feel sad
When you've blessed me with so much?
But there is one thing more...
I want to see you.
I want to see your face...
your smile.
I want so much to live in your eyes.
I would see autumn leaves and cool green grass...
waterfalls and rainbows...
and miracles.
Dear friend,
there is nothing that I can not do
When it is done for you.
I long to see you.
Please let me live in your eyes.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)