Halala Mama

The single best decision I made this Christmas season was to go to church, alone, on Christmas Eve at Fr. Bill’s church.

Mass is not enjoyable for me these days as I struggle to keep a toddler from either hitting someone with a stray toy or pulling the long, silky hair of whomever is sitting in front of us.

As I told Lorie, “I already sit in the very back row.  If I sit any farther back, we’ll be outside in the grass, looking in through the windows.”

Last time I took him to Sunday mass, even with my mother there to help, he head butted me so hard that I thought my front teeth were going to fall out.  As I gathered up my things, mom asked, “Oh are you going to the bathroom?”

Yeah.  At HOME.  And we left.

So when Ismael lollygagged around about going to church with me on Christmas Eve, I parked Adam in bed at his usual time, woke Ismael up and told him I was leaving and took off.  The long drive gave me some time to actually think and enjoy some peace.

As usual, Father’s sermon was excellent.  I really, really wish he was at a church that was more geographically friendly to my side of town, but alas, he is not.  His sermon was about the love of Christ and the need that humanity has to open themselves up to that love if only for a moment in time.  As I left, Father enveloped me in his big, warm bear hug asking, “What?  No baby?”  Take a 1 year old to 10 pm mass?  Ahhh….no….Merry Christmas to me!

The following day, while drowning an excellent cut of beef in even better red wine in preparation for roasting, I reflected on the sermon.  The hours I spent years ago with Father as my spiritual director came back and it wasn’t hard to imagine this possible conversation:

• Fr. Bill:  Why not let the love of Christ in?
• Me:  I dunno.
• Fr. Bill:  What are you afraid of?
• Me:  Everything.
• Fr. BIll:  What happens if you never let it in?
• Me:  Eternal damnation?
• Fr. Bill:  ::heavy sigh::

I think this is why I’ve been so down in the dumps this holiday season.  The magic that exists for me in Christmas is spiritual, not secular, though the gifts ARE nice. And this year, maybe it’s because of the stress of the autumn we have had, I just can’t find the usual magic.  Anywhere.  Even at a far away church with a kind priest and good sermon.

Hopefully next year will be better.

Though he brings grief, he will show compassion,so great is his unfailing love.
For he does not willingly bring afflictionor grief to the children of men.
Lamentations 3:32-33

Lately, I have found myself reflecting on suffering and how God allows people to suffer.  Even if He indeed suffers with us, as Father Bill believes, why do we suffer at all?

I find myself thinking about this more and more as I bond with Adam. My worst nightmare is that something horrible would happen to him. I see people on television who have lost children and I just don’t know how I could ever survive it. I’m simply not that strong.

I found this passage in Lamentations and over and over again I find myself asking, if God does not willingly bring grief and affliction, then why does it exist?

Deaths, breakups, harsh words, financial difficulties and trials all bring grief to our lives. Some of these can be attributed to the consequences of our own actions through free will. Some if it also can be attributed to the exercise of the free will of others. Each of our sins causes grief for ourselves or others.

But death is different whether through an accident where no sin is involved or a natural illness that ends one’s life. I think if we better understood God and what it meant to go home to heaven, we would never be grieved by death. It would be a celebration! We are all going to pass on someday; we can’t prevent it.

I have found myself turning to God lately, not with my usual prayer asking Him to prevent grief, but asking him instead to show compassion to me. With His compassion, I can find my own way.

It’s an empowering prayer.

Rather than waiting for Him to rescue me, this prayer makes it my responsibility to find my way out of my own messes. With his compassionate help.

Circumstances that cause me grief are not necessarily “God’s will,” but often a consequence of free will, either mine or someone else’s. This understanding helps me better see God as a partner in my life journey rather than an all powerful God who doles out victory or defeat as He wishes.

Fr. Bill is a striking character. He’s probably about 6′5″ and something about him, other than his height and priestly clothes, makes him stand out in a crowd. The first time I ever saw him, he was leaving Kroger in regular clothes. There was nothing priestly about him, yet he caught my attention in the crowd. I found myself asking, “I wonder if that is our new priest?” I don’t know how I knew he was a priest, I just did. He was my pastor for a few years before he was transferred to a parish in the southern part of the state.

Fr. Bill helped me through a really rough time in my life. I learned a great deal about God, life, spirituality, and relationships through my hours of conversation with him. He patiently tried to teach me that God is compassionate, loving, and not the awful father figure that often still colors my spiritual perceptions. We kept in contact and visited periodically after he transferred, but in time the distance became too difficult to overcome.

I think also that I was at a place where I was unwilling to advance any more spiritually in that moment. I just couldn’t take that plunge and trust God to any greater degree than where I was at. I wish I could say I’ve grown on my own in that regard, but I think that would be an untruth. I can honestly say I try, but it’s more of a blind resignation than a cheerful surrender.

Over the years, I have thought of him often and always wished him well. In particular, I have missed his sermons. Most weeks, some part of his sermon would touch me and offer some piece of instruction that I would contemplate in the days to come. At times, I would be moved to tears by his words.

I thought of him most in the happy times of my life – my marriage and the birth of our son being the highest points. I wanted to send a birth announcement and short note to share my joy. Much to my surprise, I found that he was back in the city. It’s not a parish close to my house, but is a reasonable distance and in some of my girlfriends’ neighborhood.

I stopped there for mass on a Saturday night when Ismael was working. I was very happy to see my friend and laughed internally at how some things never seem to change. He still forgets his wireless mic is on and the congregation hears his hallway conversations until some kind hearted parishioner runs out to tell him. The visit was sometime before Christmas but I still remember part of his sermon from that night. It came back to me today as I was holding Adam and reflecting on how I worry about him.

Father went to visit some patients at the local heart hospital. As he walked down the hall, he heard a man’s voice call out, “Hey, holy man.” Father remarked that he had often been called a tall man, never a holy man.

“Who me?” he asked.

“Yes, I have a question to ask you.” The man was maybe twenty years old, wheel chair bound, and connected to all sorts of tubes. “Why?” he asked, “why is this happening to me?”

And in a very simple, honest voice, Father answered, “I don’t know. I don’t know why this is happening to you.”

“That’s the right answer, sit down,” was the young man’s reply.

I looked at Adam that night in church and felt a very deep pain in my heart.

I do everything I know to do to protect him. Use the carseat correctly and faithfully. No rice cereal in his bottle at night. No pillows or blankets in his bed. Put him to sleep on his back. Don’t leave him unsupervised on anything he could fall from. Get his vaccines on time. Go to all the well baby visits.

Yet, today as I held him and felt his little heart beating under my hand, I know that my protection of this precious gift can only go so far.

Ultimately, only God can keep his heart beating in a normal rhythm or prevent his body’s cells from becoming cancerous.

Father talked about how when we suffer, he believes that God suffers along with us. Something to think about, but not much comfort to me. Suffering or not, God is still all powerful.

I have to trust God. And, honestly, that terrifies me.