Jewish Catechism

Some of the greatest Catholic Dogmas and Truths have been taught to me by Jews.  Of course, Jesus was a Jewish carpenter, and He is the teacher par excellence.  All of the Old Testament teachings come from Holy Scripture that was passed on by Jews.  But contemporarily speaking, I have learned about the Immaculate Conception and also redemptive suffering from my husband's Jewish family.

I was the second 'shiksa' to come into the family, but the only true remaining one, the other shiksa sister-in-law converted to Judaism years ago for unity in faith for their growing family.  One of my  brothers-in-law, Bob, asked me in front of the entire family once during a family get-together if I knew what the Immaculate Conception was.  Of course, I should have sensed a trap here, it seemed too easy, but I was so sure of myself.  I answered like many other cradle-Catholics of my generation might have, (and you can cringe here), "that was when Jesus was conceived by the Holy Spirit in the Virgin Mary", and    that's when he very good-naturedly said, "wrong!"

That was a wake-up call for me personally and spiritually.  I love my brother-in-law, and he was very gracious in not rubbing my face in my error;  but I was an adult who professed the faith every Sunday, and I missed the answer to a question that I shouldn't have missed!  I realized that day that I was very poorly catechized, and I vowed to try and correct that slowly but assuredly.

The next one is not so obvious, but an important one, none-the-less.  As a Catholic, I knew that Jesus died for my sins, that he suffered, and somehow, that suffering was a gift to me.  Even though, I could repeat this in many different ways, and I thought I understood it, it still wasn't carved in the palm of my hand or written on my heart.  I had no desire to suffer, and didn't understand how anyone could willingly do so.  I didn't see or understand when my mom advised me to "offer it up" whenever I was going through a difficulty.

I remember speaking with my husband, and he was telling me the story of how his brother, the same Bob, ran the rifle run with him on the very day when my husband did his Marines rifle run for  basic training.   He was misty-eyed as he remembered reading the letter from his brother telling him what he had done.  Having had no previous experience with military basic training and practically no running experience as of yet, I had no idea what this meant.  I asked Jon what the big deal was.  He very patiently explained how he was moved that his brother suffered with him, albeit hundreds of miles away.  It would be years later when, remembering this story, I felt this was the beginning of when mortification and redemptive suffering would begin to become meaningful for me.  I was beginning to understand how purposeful and valuable and powerful this suffering for another could actually be.  And I pray that I can wholeheartedly accept the sufferings and setbacks that my Father chooses to send me, that I may be able to prove myself  a good and faithful servant when the day comes that I see the glory of the Trinity.

Running with Grasshoppers

I'm just as squeamish as the next girl when it comes to bugs and things that hop and fly.  Why, then, was I happily running while (easily) thirty or so grasshoppers were jumping all around me, in front of me, behind me, and sometimes bouncing off of me?  It's because at that time, the sun was high in the sky, it was extrememly hot, and I was hurrying to get home from a really long run of ten miles.  Maybe it's the same principle that my friend's old physics teacher exhibited when he lay down on a bed of nails and didn't get hurt, but would not dare step on a single nail.  Nonetheless, I was still pleased with myself and mildly entertained.  A little hopping grasshopper which has no history (that I know) of ever stinging or biting a human is a tiny issue compared with the intense heat, my extreme thirst, and the last three seemingly endless miles that lay yet ahead.  I pray that I can blow off the little things and focus on the big issues in my life today and always.

On Spiritual Coming of Age

People come of age at different times of their lives.  I know some thirty-somethings who are still teenagers, and some children who have been through so much, they are worldly and wise at fifteen.  As a parent, I speak for most when I say that we love our children unconditionally.  We are proud of them when they do good, and love them despite the disappointments.  We expectantly hope for the day (and we know that day will come) that they will grow up be awesome in their accomplishments.

The conversion of souls can be compared to the growing up and maturing of a child.  God is the parent par excellence!  He patiently waits for our souls to turn to Him and acknowledge Him as God and Father.  Sometimes it takes an entire lifetime, but He waits, and when we finally turn, he welcomes us with loving arms (because He's merciful and good like that).

When we're children, we accept and believe unwaveringly what our parents have taught us about God.  We love mom and dad, and respect, admire, and obey them, desiring only to please them.  Spiritually, our minds and hearts are open to that love that comes from God, and we are eager to accept it and learn to pass it on to our brothers.

Then, we become  teenagers, and something changes in our brains.  We become moody, broody, and no longer can tolerate our  parents.  They actually embarrass us, and we beg them not to touch us in public, to drop us off a block away from school,  we pull away from hugs.  In our spiritual adolescence, and we begin to question the authority of God.  How can this be true, we ask ourselves.  I doesn't make sense, and we begin to open  the door to doubt.  It sets in permanently during our 'cool teenage' years of the spirit.  We don't want to be seen being earnest about anything, cynicism is the thing now.  At first, we doubt the doubting, but now, it becomes second-nature; and we are unable to accept the truth because we've confused ourselves with the poison that we've allowed to slither into our soul.

All along, God patiently awaits.  He can't force us, because it has to be our decision.  This is our chance to give our own fiat, to say to him, 'I will serve'.  Until then, He waits, sending us gentle reminders throughout our lives.  And we are proud.  We are afraid to commit.  We think that the road to goodness and Truth is a hard one, and we naively prefer the material world.  We fail to see that the riches and gifts available to those who are His because those gifts are of the spirit, and not of the world.

One day, that teenager becomes a young adult, after many times experiencing the hardships and tragedies that are realized in this world.  As he is stuck in the mire of the swamp of his life, he remembers his childhood home, the unconditional love from his parents, and he becomes homesick for the warmth and comfort he once felt.  This is the day that he slowly begins to give his parents the respect, admiration, and appreciation that they deserve for all that they've done for him.

This is the same spiritual conversion of heart that we will all someday realize.  And when we do, no matter what we've done, we will find the gentle, merciful, open arms of the Father waiting for us.

A Beginning

How daunting is this task?  I feel pressure that this, my first post, needs to be epic.  Instead, it's a humble little history of how and why I am beginning to write this way (in a blog).  

I began running a few years ago.  Because my ear canals are weirdly shaped, I cannot wear ear buds and run to music like many other runners so often do.  At first, I was bummed about this, and even missed the music.  As my distance increased, and many times, I'd run in the same neighborhood places, it got to be monotonous.  

I'm also a Catholic, and I got this inspiration to pray while I run, since I'm not doing anything else.  I began praying a Rosary, and I've found that I can complete one in a little over 2 miles.  This began as kind of a little mortification, since at first, I would rather be listening to NPR or some music.    I asked God to help me love the prayer, the repetition, the meditation.  The prayer began to blossom.

I keep a bunch of Rosarys in my entryway, so that it's always easy to find one.  I even have a few favorites, which I save for special runs.  (I probably shouldn't do this, because Rosarys are sacramentals, not charms, but more about this later).  

Lately, though, I've gotten ideas about topics I'd like to explore, gained better understanding of Catholic teachings that had been difficult for me, my beliefs are actually evolving, (like Obama's).  I need a place to record and document these thoughts; because it's happened that later, I try and remember what I was thinking, and I cannot.  Hence, the conception of this blog...because life begins at conception, right?  (One of my recent evolutions). 

I promise you that this will not be easy to follow, because I am usually all over the place with my thoughts.  Folks have said, and I believe it, that I probably have ADD, but have adjusted and worked-around it all my life.  Okay, here goes.

Peace to you.