Spiritual

Passover

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Friday is Good Friday. It is also the first night of Passover.

When I decided to go ahead and follow my conscience to be baptized and to become Christian and join the Catholic Church, I made the commitment to continuing to observe many of the Jewish customs that I had grown up with. Not to make too fine a point of it, but my kids are still Jewish, and for me my Catholicism is a very organic and logical extension of my own Jewishness.

This was my third observed Lent, my first after my baptism. I’ve had no problem abstaining from meat on Fridays and giving up something. For two years, it was Diet Coke and this year it was the McDonald’s Breakfast Burrito. The burrito holds a place in both my stomach and my heart as an amazing breakfast food as well as a fond memory of my first teaching job.

As a kid, Passover wasn’t terribly easy, but it also wasn’t terribly hard. We gave up bread, pasta, rice, certain vegetables and that meant that we truly gave them up. Nowadays you can practically eat anything and it’s kosher for Passover; even cake, and sandwich rolls. When my kids were really little, I bought the cereal (the box was tastier) and the potato chips without corn syrup. They hated all of it, so we went back to buying nothing but matzo and potato pancake mix.

This year, though we’ll be traveling to my mother-in-law’s, and it’s Holy Week, and Easter is Sunday, which isn’t usually a problem since I’ve abstained from chocolate and cake and anything not allowed.

But this year, I just don’t feel it.

I didn’t feel Rosh Hashanah, probably because the kids had school and I let them go.

I did observe Yom Kippur, but Chanukah was forgotten most of the week with everyone’s crazy afterschool schedules and my son’s work. We don’t do eight presents because that gets too expensive, but we do always get dreidls, gelt and potato pancakes. Except this year, I didn’t make any.

I’m not depressed; it’s not that, but I’m not feeling it.

I feel the importance of Passover; of the Exodus, but the joy of the Exodus is blended and jumbled with the joy of the Resurrection, and the latter seems more important even though it’s not a competition.

I feel guilty. It’s more than I don’t wanna also, but it both feels wrong to observe and wrong to ignore. I need to sort out a compromise for myself that is both emotionally satisfying and religiously authentic.

The customs and traditions were always important to me, and I don’t want to lose or forget that part of myself. It may take some time until I find the balance that I’m looking for.

A Minor Infraction

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What are your plans for the weekend?

I was asked this when I woke up this morning, and I was embarrassed to answer. After a long pause, the question was repeated.

Umm….I thought, well…..I’ll be watching The Walking Dead.

All weekend? The finale is Sunday at nine. At night.

Yup. All weekend. Marathon starts at eight tonight so I can catch up on all of the season five eps I missed, and then the rest tomorrow after Palm Sunday Mass. Then after dinner, the finale. What do you want for dinner?

I was answered with a shrug.

I’m already making plans to invite friends over in the fall for the premiere of season six, but that’s another happening for another time. That also assumes the kids will get their rooms and the living room clean in a spotless sort of way, although right now it kind of works for the zombie apocalypse theme.

So yeah, my entire weekend is revolving around a season finale of a show that six months ago I refused to watch. It just goes to show you how conclusions are jumped and mistakes are rectified. They’re not always something as insignificant as misjudging a television series. We all have our more serious misjudgments and mistakes in our past. None of us are perfect, and those mistakes remind us not only of our imperfections, but also of how to retake control of our lives and move forward.

We need to forgive ourselves for our mistakes and leave them in the past, and then keep on going.

Life is all about making choices and then reevaluating those choices.

For television I can decide to go back. Luckily for me (and others like me) there is Netflix to remedy this minor oversight.

In the coming days we’ll be reminded of this again when Peter denies Jesus, not once, but three times, and in the end he is still forgiven and it is forgotten as he is asked to be the foundation for the new church; the rock that the rest is built on.

Big or small, whatever lapses we make, there is always room for encouragement and do-overs.

Remember that.

I know that I will try to.

Do Not Be Afraid

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“Do not be afraid, I am with you. I have called you each by name. Come and follow me, I will bring you home; I love you and you are mine.”

– You Are Mine (hymn)

Always a good thing to remember. This was a really hard week, and next week is going to be a really, really busy one. I will try to keep this hymn in mind as I go through everything.

St. Joseph

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Today is the feast day of St. Joseph, husband of Mary and father of Jesus. He was thrown a curve when he found out Mary was pregnant, and after the visit from an angel, he accepted his role in this Holy Family. All across the world fathers do what they do, working and caring for their families, their children, their parents, and more often than not without getting or expecting a thank you.

This would be a good day to do that; to show your appreciation for all they are to you, and all they do for you.

My husband is a son and a father. He talks to his mother all throughout the week. Every day after work, he spends time with his kids, walking, reading, snow-playing and play-shoveling. While he’s working, though, he’s also doing laundry, washing dishes, going up and down the stairs all day long getting things done.

It is a thankless job.

He’s always available to drive them or take a special trip to the ice cream shop. Sledding at the park. Putting out the compost. Taking out the trash and recycling. Going to the comic store and picking up the comics. Getting the groceries and cooking dinner. Getting the kids out the door in the morning and on the bus.

All the time busy, taking care of his family, unspoken gratitude hovering nearby.

Pope Francis, Year Two

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Today is the second anniversary of Pope Francis’ election as the 266th Pope. When he was elected, I had already been attending Mass for just about one year. I knew by then that in a few months I’d start the weekly classes that would teach me all about the rituals and history of the Catholic Church; all the things I’d need to know; all the things I’d need to learn; all the little things I’d need to do.

I was calm and confident in my new direction. I remember one of the things that I was saying two years ago was how excited and happy I was to be joining the church under this new Pope. It was like we were comrades, joining at the same time. Of course he wasn’t joining; he was moving into a new role, but it still felt like we were connected somehow. I didn’t know anything about him and Papal politics was the one political party I didn’t follow, but upon his election I started hearing some things about him.

He sounded wonderful and in the two years of his leadership and guidance the church is coming back to its roots of following in the footsteps of Jesus, leading by doing, reminding people of his message – to help the poor, to care for the sick, to forgive your enemies; to love your neighbor.

I Do Believe. Help my Unbelief

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“The identity of Jesus. Imagine him looking to me and asking, “Who do you say that I am?” To which I respond…”
– from The Little Black Book, Wed, Mar 11, 2015.
(Ref: Luke 22:66-70)

Growing up as a child and even as a young adult, I really did not know who Jesus was. I knew that most of my friends celebrated Christmas and Easter and some went to church on Sunday, but we (and they) never talked about it.

My open mind wondered if he was the Son of G-d, if He was the Messiah. I questioned, having been told that peace would come with the Messiah. No peace, no Messiah. If I was wrong, He would forgive me right?

It seemed simple enough.

That was one of my problems.

It wasn’t simple; not really. But for those who have faith, who truly believe, it really is that simple.

I always believed in G-d; in the Bible stories I learned as a kid. I didn’t walk into my church seeking G-d; or his son. Even on my many of my first visits He was hidden from me.

Until one day he wasn’t.

I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t been there. Empty church. Silent. Lights out but outside light streaming in. And then a bright light, that came closer and got brighter. I was crying and then I stopped. I was sad and then I wasn’t. I was suddenly full of knowing.

Jesus was…..

everything.

I knew and I believed; it was all there in my heart.

“Who do you say that I am?”

You’re who saved me and I’ll follow you where you’ll take me.

It really was that simple.

First Scrutiny

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For catecumems coming into the church this Easter, today was their First Scrutiny. The Gospel for them to hear and discern is the woman at the well. I remember thinking on this nearly one year ago. It feels like forever ago. I’m looking forward to completing my first year in the church, and I’m thinking back and re-reading parts of my journey. My prayers are also with this year’s group.