in response to the present crisis

Earlier this week, ironically on the feast of the Chair of St. Peter, I started leafing through a new thread of news about the scandals in the Church, and the anti-abuse summit. Reading through it all renewed the anger, sorrow, and desperation I feel for the Church right now. There are lots of ways to respond to all of this, and like everybody, I think I’ve gone through them all in my head.

I hear and see people leaving the Church. Some of them are victims, and Lord have mercy, I wouldn’t dare begrudge that; I can only plead with God for healing. But my assumption for the others is that they are fed up, feel they can’t trust the Church anymore, and are generally disgusted because it is full of sinners and hypocrites. I understand this, but…

Yes, the Church is made up of sinners. Here’s the deal: growing up Protestant in the United States, I knew there was corruption in the Catholic Church. But it made all the difference to realize that the Church herself was not corrupt, rather many of its members are corrupted by sin. If there are butchers, bakers, and candle-stick makers in hell, then there are priests, bishops and popes. We’re all sinners, dependent on the grace of Jesus Christ, working out our salvation with fear and trembling. We fail, we go to Confession, we resolve to do better with the help of God’s grace.

Yes, there are hypocrites in the Church. I heard someone tell my mother once that they didn’t go to church because of all the hypocrites there, and my mother, who has a clever retort for everything (which I LOVE about her), replied, “Then you better not go grocery shopping anymore. Because there’s hypocrites there too!” There are hypocrites everywhere. Should we hold our clergy to a higher standard? Possibly. Does it hurt more when we see them fallen? Of course it does, because we look to them to shepherd us. However, they are human and will fall, and we might even see them do it.

Every time I hear about another sexual abuse case, I want to go on a castration rampage (though to be fair, women are perpetrators as well). As recent reports suggest, pedophilia is not just a canker in the Church. I grew up in the relatively small Quaker church and even I knew kids who had been abused by their youth pastors. When I was a high school student, there was a teacher who had an illicit homosexual relationship with a student. She was moved districts. We found out later, she had been moved from another district previously for doing the same thing. Schools move pedophiles around, the Church moves pedophiles around: STOP DOING THAT. The protection of minors is a universal issue that needs to be addressed by the entire human race. Is it worse when a priest commits such a heinous act? Yes, absolutely. Because, again, we look to them as our shepherds. The Church should be the one to lead the way in protecting our most vulnerable.

I also hear and see Catholics (including myself at times) picking a scapegoat to blame (i.e. clericalism, Vatican II, homosexuality, celibacy, etc.). I understand that intense desire to put the scarlet letter on someone or something and get rid of it. But I don’t think it’s going to be that simple. What I see happening with the pick-a-scapegoat-faction of Catholics is an “us vs. them” mentality that worries me. This kind of thinking often leads to spiritual pride. I think this is a temptation to overlook the root causes. If you start the blame-game, before long you’re running in a circle.

Yes, clericalism is to blame: clergyman abused their office. There was clearly a lack of accountability, and a fear of reporting on the part of the victims because the perpetrator in many cases was not just a family confidant, but claimed to be a representative of Christ. But why is the abuse happening in the first place? Many Catholics claim homosexuality is to blame, but I think a more accurate target would be sexuality in general. We’re seeing the consequences of sexual gluttony, and that doesn’t just pop up overnight. Sick, sexual addiction builds over time. I believe some of these men became priests with good intentions, but their sinful inclinations were not only unchecked, but were encouraged and fostered. The biggest failure were the loopholes which allowed perpetrators to live like kings in their “empire of dirt”.

There is yet another choice, another way to respond to this exposé of sin and betrayal of trust, and that is to continue on as before, but with renewed vigor in Catholic life in hopes of revitalizing the Church from the inside out.

I truly believe there are things we ordinary people can do to help the Church—and that is to focus on our own spiritual growth and the spiritual nurturing of our families and parishes. One of the focuses of Vatican II was to instill in the laity the need to grow in holiness. We can faithfully practice the teachings of the Catholic Church, especially the teachings on sexuality. We can love our priests and pray for them. We can hold our priests and bishops accountable.

We can be faithful to the Church’s teachings on sexuality, within marriage or the single life. The Catholic Church’s teachings and standards of sexuality are challenging and difficult for all of us; they are also good and true. It is particularly difficult now in our society when the message of self-gratifying sex is absolutely everywhere, where pornography is rampant, where one is encouraged to “scratch your itch”, whatever that may be; that pursuing your sexual desires is discovering the “true you.” Clergy have been riddled with the same soul-penetrating bullets we all have. It’s no coincidence that at the same time sexual impurity among the clergy is coming to light, marriage as a vocation is also in a state of crisis within the Church. While we call out the clergy’s sexual sin, we also need to address our own, and make sure we remain faithful to the Church’s teachings. And the Church is not just a purity brigade—the “theology of the body” is multi-faceted and rich, beautiful and enlightening—it’s just good stuff. But the more entrenched our society becomes in sexual gluttony that’s mislabeled as sexual freedom, the more at risk all of us will be of heinous crimes.

I have been really blessed in my years as a Catholic to know awesome priests. But they are human and will fall, just like the rest of us. I recently heard a priest say, “A man goes into seminary, what do you think, the devil falls asleep?” We have to pray for our priests and seminarians. St. Therese of Liseiux had a vision once of how sinful a certain priest was; it was made known to her how in danger the soul of this particular priest was, which inspired her to re-double her prayers for clergy. We don’t need private visions today—it’s all over the news. We need to pray for them.  

The way of mercy includes calling out shit when it’s shit. It is a good thing all of this terrible, rotten awful-ness is coming to light. It’s been festering long enough, stinking to high-Heaven before we all knew about it. We can hold our bishops accountable and still respect their office as our shepherds. I don’t know exactly what this would look like, but I do know that admonishing the sinner is an act of mercy. We can’t be afraid to admonish a sinner even if that is a clergyman.

In the end, as much as I love the priests in my acquaintance, I know I didn’t become Catholic because of the holiness of the clergy. I became Catholic because it is Truth. I became Catholic because I wanted to be as close to Jesus Christ as I could here on earth, and I receive that gift in the Holy Eucharist. I need the Church—I need her Sacraments, her tradition, anchored with the promise from Christ himself that the gates of hell would not prevail against it. The Church will go the way of her Lord, and I will go with her; there is no resurrection without the crucifixion. The Church is not characterized by the evil men and women that are within it, nor is she characterized by her saints—she is who she is because of Christ himself. He established her, He sustains her, He will see her through.

{St. Therese’s Prayer for Priests}

O Jesus, I pray for your faithful and fervent priests;
for your unfaithful and tepid priests;
for your priests laboring at home or abroad in distant mission fields;
for your tempted priests;
for your lonely and desolate priests;
for your young priests;
for your dying priests;
for the souls of your priests in Purgatory.

But above all, I recommend to you the priests dearest to me:
the priest who baptized me;
the priests who’ve absolved me from my sins;
the priests at whose Masses I’ve assisted and who’ve given me Your Body and Blood in Holy Communion;
the priests who’ve taught and instructed me;
all the priests to whom I am indebted in any other way, especially ____

O Jesus, keep them all close to your heart,
and bless them abundantly in time and in eternity. Amen.

daffodils mid-winter

Here in the Pacific Northwest, we just got hit with a surprise February snowstorm. My first thought was for our flower garden. Because of some previous irregularly warmer winter days and sun (which I welcomed eagerly), the daffodils had emerged from the wintry mud at the close of the Christmas season. I knew there would be a chance of frost, but never did I imagine snow and ice in February. I figured the flowers were goners.

I have planted bulbs everywhere we’ve lived (and we’ve moved quite a bit). At first, I favored tulips, with their thick, sturdy stems and bold-hued petals against the gray of late winter. It was my husband who requested daffodils. I think they had made an impression on him during his time in England; we have a photograph of a certain field of bright yellow daffodils in the midst of the gray English sky and gray, stone ruins. When we finally bought a house and felt we had settled for a while, I planted several daffodils.

Daffodils seem delicate, compared to other spring bulbs: their stems and leaves are thinner and the petals are paper-thin. Yet the bloom has a curious shape, the kind that inspires one to ponder a Creator. A sculptor could perhaps make a single one, but for thousands to grow year after year and look just as intricate each time is a marvel. And while I love the bold-colored hues of tulips and the pastels of hyacinths, the daffodil is a beacon of light in a dreary part of winter, a snapshot of nature’s beauty and grandeur.

My favorite character of daffodils is their resilience. As this recent snowfall melted, those optimistic daffodils that had sprung too soon were still there, bent over a bit by the weight of the ice. Now the tulips are quickly following suit, and I expect will bloom in a few weeks, in spite of this cold front. When the sun does peak out during this rainy season, the daffodil will lift her head and follow that light. Even though she grows in a darker time, she loves the light. Her life is brief, but radiant.

I’ve definitely been in a funk, a minor depression, the blues, you know. There’s no rational cause or real worry, and it’s not unusual for me this time of year. There are always going to be things around me, whether it’s with family, friends, church, or politics that feel like a debilitating frost over my psyche, over my heart, over my ability to love, hope, and have faith. I absorb the gray around me. These resilient flowers of mid-winter by virtue of their existence glorify their Creator. For we humans, it is an act of the will to turn our face upwards, to orient our lives towards the source of light and warmth. The hope is that we Christians will, as St. Gianna Molla said, be “living examples of the beauty and grandeur of Christianity”: noticeable, resilient, even stubbornly growing, organisms of beauty, standing out against the gray, testifying to the light.

God knows I am not good at that; I like to sit in the mud and say, “Look at all this mud. It’s gross. That sucks.” It seems to be the small things, things that are easily overlooked or forgotten, easily trampled underfoot, that remind me to look upwards. The daffodil is certainly one, a herald of hope for the spring to come.

daffodils in Oxford

I-want-to-roo-you-playlist-for-Valentine’s-Day

A month ago, the glittering foil heart balloons popped up all over the grocery store to herald in the season of… love, is it? Or a 6-year-old girl’s fantasy world where everything’s pink and candy-flavored. Disclaimer: I don’t really like Valentine’s Day. I don’t see the point. You should tell the people you love them that you love them everyday. And I can’t help but to be a cynic about what a marketing empire it is.

I stopped enjoying Valentine’s Day right around the time it became awkward to exchange valentines. I was never much of a pink hearts and red roses kind of girl anyways. The only really great thing about Valentine’s Day is the chocolate. But that should be permissible and good anytime of the year. (The goodness of chocolate is just plain old science. Even during Lent, the very dark chocolate with no dairy is a worthwhile substitute—just ask the Sisters of the Holy Theophany in Olympia, Washington). It seemed like a cowardly cop-out that someone would declare one’s love on Valentine’s Day—I mean, come on, be original. And then when I learned about the actual St. Valentine, the gig was up.

I first set out to make an awkward-love-songs-playlist, which was highly entertaining, but started to get, frankly, creepy. There are a lot of pretty bad love songs, like songs that should be arrested and tried for real crimes. I have to include a few that are just amusing, then I’ll move on. Here is a mini-playlist (just enough for a good laugh) of the worst-but-not-too-creepy love songs:

  • “I Fooled Around and Fell in Love” – Elvin Bishop… The man we all want, who says he’s been with “a million” girls, but is ready to settle down. Ewwwwwww.
  • “I Would do Anything For Love (But I Won’t Do That)” – Meat Loaf… Has anyone ever found out what “that” is? Not sure I want to know…
  • “Just the Way You Are” – Billy Joel… Now, I love Billy Joel. But this song is not really a love song. He’s basically saying he doesn’t want her to surprise him or grow as a person, just wants her to be quiet and pretty, and to leave him alone.
  • “I’ll Make Love to You” – Boyz II Men… Ultimately, more poetic subtlety should be employed than “I’ll take my clothes off, too.” Mmm, yeeeahhh, or not.
  • “Lovefool” – the Cardigans… I used to love this song because it’s just fun to dance to; it’s on the Romeo & Juliet soundtrack which I had been in the habit of listening to since high school. But it was my daughter who pointed out, with appropriate disgust, “Uh, is she basically saying she wants him to pretend that he loves her?” Ooh, yes, [parent fail] and skip.

and now, to the good stuff:

But I am not a love cynic. I believe in love, baby. I believe in True Love, the Author of Love, the saving Love of Jesus Christ. But that’s another post. Related, however, is the love of Valentine’s Day, the kind of love where we taste Divine Love, the kind of love that keeps this beautiful world populated.

Without further ado, here is a solid hour of I-want-to-roo-you-love songs (please, consider these in your Valentine’s Day cards instead of the usual cheese!):

  • “500 Miles” – The Proclaimers… Such a clever way to say “I love you”! Though I’m not sure what heavering is… anybody?
  • “Sweetest Devotion” – Adele
  • “Crazy Love” – Van Morrison… It was a toss-up with Van Morrison’s “Tupelo Honey”. I could make a Van Morrison love song playlist. He writes the best love-lyrics. Ever. (see “Sweet Thing”, “You’re My Woman”, “Warm Love”)
  • “Every Little Thing She Does is Magic” – The Police
  • “Blood and Tears” – Joseph
  • “How Sweet it Is” – James Taylor
  • “The Way You Look Tonight” – Frank Sinatra… Classic. Period.
  • “When the Stars Go Blue” – Ryan Adams
  • “One Fine Thing – Harry Connick Jr.
  • “Settle Down” – Kimbra… It’s like the Catholic-dating love song.
  • “For Once in My Life” – Stevie Wonder
  • “Winter Birds” – Ray LaMontagne
  • “I Wanna Roo You” – Van Morrison
  • “Tip of My Tongue” – Civil Wars
  • “Lover, You Should Have Come Over” – Jeff Buckley
  • “Bring it on Home To Me” – Sam Cooke




the sending forth

One of my daughters, whom I call Little Bird here, is in the process of applying to a summer program. She is so excited about the possibility; it’s in an area she has a great deal of interest and will prepare her for what she would like to study. I am excited for her—even just for a chance to practice applications and interviews, which are a skill in and of themselves. Underneath the surface, I think we’re both excited about it as a step into young adulthood: she, ready for more freedom and individuality, and I, to watch her do what I’ve been preparing her for, with a healthy degree of anxiety. And like everything has been with this first child, it reminds me that we’re about to do this several more times with our subsequent children.

I sense we are at the beginning of the sending-forth. Little Bird will be in high school next fall; it feels like the tide is going out, and we’re about to watch her set out with it. I know we’ve got a few years, but I also know it’s going to go by quickly. It’s an exciting time as she begins to think about her high school years in context of what will happen afterwards—colleges, degrees, programs, travel, vocation, etc.

It’s like a curtain has been pulled back, only slightly, not enough to see details, but enough to see that there’s a lot behind that curtain, a lot of life where her dad and I won’t be with her. This is as it should be. But with that comes so many unknowns. When I was a teenager, I saw how my parents, who had grown up in the wild and free ‘60’s, looked at the world I was growing into with confusion. And now I am looking at the world my children are growing into with a similar feeling. I can’t possibly prepare them for everything that will come their way. My job has been—and is—to give them the resources so they know how and where to look for the answers, God help me.

This is where it gets real. She’s about to embark on the part of her life that she will actually remember. Her years with me under this roof will be a blur in a decade or so, though it will always be her foundation. I am suddenly standing still—looking ahead, and looking behind—reflective about the past and prayerful about the future; I am aware that there have been victories and failures as I have reared this child, this firstborn who taught me how to be a mother. I am aware of the grace that is paramount in parenting, and the knowledge that she has always been God’s girl first. I am keenly aware that she was born for such a time as this, and goes nowhere alone.