Are You Afraid of the Dark?

I have never been caught saying any of the following:

“Man, I wish I was eating at Carl’s Jr. right now.”

“Oh this is my favorite Phil Collins song.  Can you turn it up?”

“I think I want to go on a run.”

“I love paying parking tickets.”

“I can see so well at this concert!”

“I totally get why men have nipples.”

“Of course I will go shopping with you!”

“Did you see that hilarious Frasier re-run last night?”

“If a man wishes to be sure of the road he treads, he must close his eyes and walk in the dark.”

Yes, none of those statements will ever come out of my mouth.  But that last statement, the one about the darkness, never.  St. John of the Cross said that.  WHA!?!  I heard it three months ago and it still stops me in my tracks.

Honestly, I am afraid of the dark.

I was 14.  It was my best buddy’s 13th birthday and it was September 13th and it was a Friday.  The stars had aligned for this one epic event we would remember for years to come.  It was like a script from a coming of age, teenage buddy movie like The Sandlot, or Stand By Me, or even The Goonies had fallen in our laps.  Naturally, something HAD to be done.  So we did what any brave 13-14 year old man, er, boy would do, we planned a late-night visit to the local cemetery.  This was not just any cemetery.  It was a cemetery that had fueled our conversations for years.  Local lore had placed in us a certain fearful respect for what may or may not have happened at this place over the years.

Yes, in fact, I am.

As we made our journey in the back of his dad’s truck, the air was filled with ridiculous hypotheticals and what ifs.  We all had our ideas of what we were going to see and more importantly for teenage boys, how awesomely we were going to react when we were confronted with certain danger.  And of course, I participated with full acclaim in these conversations.  I ain’t afraid of no ghost.  I was living the dream.  I was with my boys, it was Friday, I could sleep in tomorrow, mom bought a fresh box of Lucky Charms for the morning.  I was brimming with confidence and nothing could break my stride.

Then we arrived.  The drive was much too short for my liking.  I had to step out of the truck bed and out of my bubble to face this fear that I successfully ignored until this point.  I knew I was going to be faced with a decision.  To go or not to go.  To face my fear.  To step out of myself and into this dark cemetery.

We all walked together with excited energy and nervous farts leading our way.  We had arrived at a crossroads.  Literally.  We had to cross a road to get to the cemetery.  And I stopped.  My friends were egging me on.

“Come on dude!  It’s going to be awesome!!”

I played it cool.

“No, I’m good,” I said as I scrunched my face and nodded my head to make seem like it didn’t bother me and that I was way better than this silly idea.  The face was equivalent to someone saying “I hate school dances” when the reality is they are just too scared to ask anyone to go.  After a few more jabs at my man/boyhood, I stood my ground.  I did not cross the road into that dark cemetery.

Two other guys stayed back with me, but two guys who did not have enough street cred to make my decision look manly.  We just hung out by the truck.  We waited.  We talked about how dumb those guys were with hints of jealousy and fear in our voices. We tried to take our mind off the fact that we were the only three not participating in a potentially life-changing experience by talking about girls and how awesome the lineup was for TGIF that night.

“Isn’t Cody just the coolest!?  I wonder what he is saying to Al right now?”

“Would you date D.J. or Stephanie?  Or Kimmy Gibbler?”

“Yeah I wonder if Uncle Jesse is having a bad hair day episode.”

After an eternity (45 minutes), the group made it back.  They were alive, still had all their limbs and they would not shut-up.  They just returned from battle and boisterously shared in their comradery without any regard for us three who stayed away from enemy lines.  Who could blame them.  We just watched with jealous hearts and added to the joy when we could with forced enthusiasm and regret.

This story sticks with me still.  It kills me that I stayed back.  That I played it safe.  I think it kills me because this was not a one-time thing.  I was notorious for this.  I was the oldest child.  I was responsible.  I did the right thing.  Although that character worked well for me many times, I seem to only remember the opportunities I missed because of it.

This trait stuck with me through high school and into the years of my conversion.  As I fell in the love with my Catholic faith and with my Lord, I still seemed to want to play it safe.  I found freedom and confidence in my Christian truck bed, but fear and self-awareness outside of it.  I was content to play it safe and stay where I shined but afraid to step into the darkness.

We are all a little afraid of the dark sometimes.  This anecdote is tried and true for good reason.  We know once we walk in the dark we have to trust in that Someone who will be the light to guide us through.  This is an important aspect of anyone’s faith journey.  But what about when we are called to be the light?  When we are called to lead others to the light of Christ on that dark road?

In my own life, I have come to realize something very important.  I was (and still sometimes am) afraid of being the light.  Yes, because of my fears and self-awareness, but more so because I had not really, truthfully, honestly let myself access the light within me.  Look at what the Catechism of the Catholic Church says about Baptism.

Having received in Baptism the Word, the true light enlightens every man, the person baptized has been enlightened, he becomes a son of light, indeed he becomes light himself. CCC 1216

I was afraid of what might happen.  I was afraid that I would have to change.  I was afraid of the responsibility.  But when I finally let go of myself and finally let true conversion take root in my heart, Lord.have.mercy.  It was like a new man had been born in me.  Through the Sacraments, through God’s abundant grace and most powerfully through prayer, the light starting seeping through my pores.  When I say prayer, I mean real, authentic prayer.  I had faked it for years until I realized what the power given to me in Baptism could do.  In prayer it was just me, the Lord and all my joys and brokenness.  And it was in that gradual growing away from darkness that I realized who I was and who I was called to be.

This video is a shining example (see what I did there) of finding that light within us.

It is so powerful.  Look at his eyes.  He comes alive!  The light within us needs to come alive in the same way.  It needs to be reignited so that when our brothers and sisters close their eyes, we shine with the light of Christ that makes them sure of the road they tread.  For me, the fear of standing out crippled my witness.  I was afraid to ruffle feathers.  I just wanted to play it safe.  But we cannot be afraid to draw attention to ourself, because if we are doing it right, we are really doing just the opposite.  If you have ever seen someone hold a candle in a dark room, you know that you can no longer see their face, only the light and their silhouette.  People are blinded by the light and revved up like a deuce like another roamer in the night.  Not by us but by Christ within us.

This is our call as Christians.  If you don’t believe me, look in Scripture.  Light is used as a metaphor 240 times.  But when we discover the light within us, then what?  We just walk around in dark places?

In John’s Gospel, Jesus says this, “I am the light of the world; he who follows me will not walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.”

Did you see that?  If we follow Christ, we will have the light of life.  Ch-yeah!

Now look at Matthew’s Gospel, “You are the light of the world.  A city set on a hill cannot be hidden… let your light shine before men, that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in Heaven.”

Crap.  Does that mean there is work involved here?  <—  That is my attitude sometimes.  I have discovered this light, now I realize I actually have to do something with it.  We are called to be a city set on a hill, but we don’t want to put in the work to climb that hill.  We become content with high-fiving those on the way up and offering consoling words to those on the way down.  It takes work.  It takes virtue.  It takes prayer.  And once we do arrive on the top of the hill, we are going to have to go through hell, literally, to keep our city aflame.

But Lord is it worth it.  Darkness is a part of our life.  It is a fact that we cannot go a day without facing.  It is also a fact that there are people in our lives that feel as if they live in a world without light.  And it is a fact that we are called to walk that dark road with them.  But we also know that if we want to be sure of the road we tread, we have to close our eyes and walk in darkness… and then, St. John of the Cross, my favorite Spaniard, if you don’t mind me adding, be ready to be the light that guides the path.

To close this blog, please sing your favorite terrible song about light.  Some examples could be, “This Little Light of Mine” or “Light the Fire.”  Or go watch an episode of Guiding Light.   Whatever you do, go forward remembering who you are and where you came from and how powerful the Sacrament of your Baptism really is.  You were born in light and live with the light Christ in you.  The world needs you.  Go set it ablaze.

The Quarter-Life Crisis

Someday I hope to be the change-jingling Grandpa that tells the same ‘ol story over and over.

Until then, I have this…

One day a little over a year ago, my phone rang.  It was my mom on the other line.  We were just catching up and I was getting the scoop on all of my siblings and what they had been up to the past few weeks, and we got to my then 10-year old sister, Claire.

“Claire had a crazy week,” she said.

Usually that was cause for concern, so I perked up a little bit more than usual.  My mom continued on as I tried my best to listen intently.

“Claire screamed, cried and could not speak.”

I felt my heart jump.

“What!  What happened?” I said.

“Claire met the Jonas Brothers.”

The Jonas Brothers were coming to town to rehearse for their upcoming tour and wanted to use our fine city to get ready.  Apparently they were not good enough to play an actual show, but I’m not bitter about it.  I swear.  They were going to be there the whole week and the city was on Jo Bro watch.  For real.  People were going crazy.  The newspaper ran a continuous story about them, people were posting all over the the internet.  And by people, I mean me and all of my friends.

I was all like, “OMG! We just saw them at Wal-Mart!”

And he was like, “I just touched the door at the restaurant they were in! 2G2BT!!”

And I was like, “Kevin Jonas, FTW!”

And he was like, “ROFL!!”

My dad works at the establishment they were calling home for a week so our family got a few Jo Bro-perks (how many times do I have to say Jo Bro before it gets annoying).  The Brothers were nice enough to allow one person from each staff member’s family a time to meet them, talk to them and get their picture with them.  And of course my dad asked Claire.  Originally it was me, but I decided to be a nice older brother.  I mean they actually talked to her, spent time with her and used her name in sentences.

Imagine being a 10-year old girl in this situation.  The posters on her bedroom door and the karaoke CD’s in her karaoke machine and the characters she watched on the Disney Channel, all came to life before her eyes.  All these things she knew existed and made such a huge part of her life were right there in front of her.  And look at her reaction.  She screamed, cried and lost all control of her speech.  She was afraid.

that's me on the left

See our God is a great storyteller – the greatest in fact.  As Catholics, as Christians, as human beings, we were born into the greatest story ever told.  Our faith is not a philosophy or an idea or a moral code, but a narrative, a love story of God reaching out to His people.  And we were called at this time and place to exist in this story.  Not just to exist, but to live and to live to be great!  But for many of us, this is our greatest struggle.  Our Father calls us to greatness, but we fear.  He comes before us wanting to meet us where we are, wanting to take pictures with us, wanting to use our name in sentences and we scream, cry and cannot speak.  We fear.  It is comforting to know that we have this beautiful story in our midst.  It is comforting to know that we have a God who calls us into a life of greatness as sons and daughters,  but it is even more comforting to know we can keep it all at arms length.  Our greatest fight as people on a journey for the truth lies is in not acting; in seeking comfort instead of greatness.

Look at the Call of Moses, a story we all know well.  God appears to him in a burning bush giving instructions that would change the course of history.  God is right there, present in the form of A FREAKIN’ BUSH, He gives Himself a name and still He has to say to Moses, “Be not afraid.”  Look at the Annunciation.  The angel Gabriel appears to Mary saying you will give birth to the savior of the world.  The angel’s instructions…  ”Be not afraid.”  How about the Transfiguration.  Jesus is transfigured before Peter, James and John and God speaks…  ”Be not afraid.”

And it does not stop here.  Did you know that some form of the phrase “Be not afraid” is written in Scripture 370 times?  370 times!  Jesus came preaching it, popes based their pontificate on it.  What is going on??  What is this fear and what are we afraid of?

Fear can be kind of an unhappy word.  You know like, fear is what I feel after walking through my dark house after watching Saw 17.  Or, fear is what I feel when I go into Urban Outfitters and there are hipsters everywhere.  Or, fear is what I feel when I am around girls.  But I think it is much more subtle than that. Fear keeps us from acting.  Fear stifles us because we worry about consequences that may follow.  Fear makes us hesitant to follow reason because of some perceived difficulty.  Fear, in a big way, determines our actions.

But what are we afraid of?

Did you know that there is such thing as a quarter-life crisis?  Seriously.  There is a website dedicated to it.  There is a book out.  It is fascinating.  Go to the site and read some of the statistics.  You will probably chuckle as I did because you get what they mean by crisis.

You, me and our friends are stuck.  Stuck in that awkward place between knowing  and doing.  In many ways, we have lost our sense of purpose.  And what I have been afraid of and what I think a great handful of my peers have been afraid of lies right at the center of this crisis.  We are afraid to say ‘yes.’  We are afraid to let go of ourselves and follow this inkling that burns on our heart and that will lead us into the unknown.  We are afraid to let go of ourselves and follow Christ with everything we have without looking back at the plow.  Above all, we are afraid to be who we are called to be.

These great Biblical figures paved the way for us.  The moments when the Lord appeared to them were the moments they had the choice to say yes or no to God’s call.  Thankfully for us, they said yes.  And because of their yes they became exactly who God put them on this earth to be.  And because of that it changed the world.

But we don’t get that… the burning bushes, Our Lord transfigured before us, angels, pillars of fire.  What do we get??

We get our desires.

No, not just emotions or the Yanni song, but desire in its truest sense.

In Latin, desire has four different definitions:

• Cupido – fat baby with arrow
• Libido – duh
• Aviditas – eagerness
• Desiderare – longing when someone you love is away (read that again)

We know our God is not far away.  We can always call on Him in prayer, He is waiting in the tabernacle to pour out His love on us, we can receive Him into our very being through the Eucharist.  But this is just a taste.  Because what our hearts are longing for is complete communion with our Creator.  Our hearts are longing for heaven, our ultimate home!  And so we are created with desire – a longing when someone we love is away.  God did not create us with just a general desire, but he creates us with very specific things, deep down within us that make us come alive as human beings.  Everyone has different desires.  And it is a discovery.  A discovery of ourselves and of our God.  These desires are a roadmap to the heart of Our Father.  They are meant to guide our steps and lead us to the goal of every human being on earth, happiness.

But what has happened?  People between the ages of 18 to 32 have an average of 8.6 jobs.  65% of college graduates move back in with their parents.  Suicide has became the third leading cause of death.  What are these stats telling us?  Fulton Sheen says, “God has two pictures of us: one is what we are and the other is what we ought to be.”  We have lost our way.  There is a disconnect between our hearts deepest desires and their fulfillment.

In many ways, our desires have been redefined for us.  Instead of chasing after the adventure of our salvation, we sometimes feel we have to chase a life in which the script has been written for us.  Go to school, get a job, get married, buy a house.  Things that are not bad, in fact they are great, but when found on the foundation “that is just what you do” they seem to lose taste.

OR, we run.  We run from greatness because we do not want to let go of our own accumulations, whatever they may be.

OR, we settle.  We get bored, we get lonely, we get disaffected, we live in quiet desperation.  We settle for scraps when God wants us to feast on His abundance.  And we search.  But when we search, we search after by-products of happiness instead of the real thing.  We jump from thrill to thrill.  New jobs, new relationships, new things, new addictions.  ”If only” and “I can’t wait” become our life’s mantra.  We fear.

All of this is spoken from absolute experience.  I was and still sometimes am afraid to let go of the comfort I seek and chase the desires I know offer me lasting joy.  And I know my story is not unique.  Fear can be magnified as we move forward on this journey because it seems to us that not many people are living it.  But that is exactly why our yes is so important.  People want to see courage.  ”Oh you are a Christian? Prove it!”  ”Carpe Diem, huh? Prove it!”  People are so thirsty for authenticity!  Authenticity that can only be found through the desires placed on our hearts.

Peter has become one of my favorite saints.  He is crass, he is bold, he is an idiot sometimes, but he is so real.  One of the greatest examples of Peter’s character emerges when Jesus appears to the disciples at sea.

…but the boat by this time was many furlongs distant from the land, beaten by the waves; for the wind was against them.  And in the fourth watch of the night he came to them, walking on the sea.  But when the disciples saw him walking, they were terrified, saying, “It is a ghost!” And they cried out for fear.  But immediately he spoke to them saying, “Take heart, it is I; have no fear.”  Peter answered, “Lord if it is you, bid me come to you on the water.  He said, “Come.”  So Peter got out of the boat and walked on the water and came to Jesus, but when he saw the wind he was afraid and beginning to to sink he cried out saying, “Lord, save me.” Jesus immediately reached out his hand and caught him, saying to him, “O you of little faith, why did you doubt?”

Peter got out of the boat.  He took that step.  It can be easy to focus on Peter’s shortcomings in this story, but Peter stepped out of fear, if only for a moment, and bridged that gap between knowing and doing.  Yes, he fell and would fall many more times throughout his life, but he never walked his journey alone.  After Jesus saved Peter from his doubt, He did not walk back on the sea where He came from.  He got in the boat.  He entered the disciples lives and continued to walk with them.  And what did the disciples say after Jesus entered their lives?  ”Truly you are the Son of God.”  Only by letting go of themselves did they recognize Christ in their lives.

What are your deepest desires?  Ask yourself very honestly.  Come before the Lord in prayer holding onto to nothing and ask Him these questions.  What makes you come alive?  Be vulnerable with the Lord.  What burns brightly on your heart of hearts?  What did Our Father create you to do on this earth?  And do not be afraid, for He is with you.

“Don’t ask yourself what the world needs, ask yourself what makes you come alive and go do that because what the world needs is people who have come alive.” ~Howard Thurman

Who Me? Really?

Today at Mass, I noticed something. 

I was not praying. 

(I will give you a minute to clean up the water you just spit out of your mouth from the shock and horror you experienced from reading that sentence).

Now let me explain myself.

I was there at Mass.  I swear.  Physically, I was standing in the pew.  My lips were moving, prayers were coming out of my mouth at the appropriate times, I even closed my eyes at the important parts.  But I was not praying. 

In fact, I was letting other people do it for me.

I sure looked like I was doing everything I was supposed to do on the surface, but in reality I was listening to the guy behind me and hanging on his every word.  When he started praying, I followed.  When he messed up a word in the Our Father, I messed up.  I even sang in his key on the Alleluia. 

This got to me.   The realization that I was lip syncing my way through the source and summit of my faith.  That I was singing karaoke, playing air guitar to the most beautiful music that can and will ever be made.  That I was participating with a closed heart, content to just coast my way through on another person’s voice.

I know, I know.  It happens to all of us.  We can’t always be on our game.  Such is life.  But it stung today. 

How often it is that I forget what I have. 

Imagine this is spoken in the voice of that main character from The Sandlot when he was a kid.  You know, like really fast and high-pitched.  Or you could try the Beav.  Or even a Morgan Freeman voiceover would work.  Whatever feels right.   

“You mean to tell me that’s the God of the Universe?  My Lord and my Savior??  Right there on the altar!?!?  Wait, that’s the God I have been hearing about all these years!?  Oh Mylanta, I am walking towards Him.  There He is!! This is awesome!  I can’t believe this.  This is it.  This is it. Be cool.  Be cool, Matt.  There He is, right there, in my hands.  I am touching Him.  I am holding Him.  I am consuming Him.  I just ate the Bread of Life.”

I don’t say this.  I don’t think this.  I am sitting in my pew or walking up to communion thinking about God knows what (most likely bacon or the Bears) and letting other people say Amen for me.  Letting them say “Yes!  I believe and accept with my whole being that I am about to receive the Body of Christ!” 

Who remembers their first day of kindergarten?

(You can’t see, but I just raised my hand).

Mine was pretty unforgettable.

I want to give you a mental picture before I continue.  For those of you who know me, you know that I was not gifted with long legs.  I am short, but back then, I was SHAWT!  And the car doors that hang on either side of my head looked even bigger on my little body.  My backpack was too big and my jeans were brand new.  Refer to the picture below.

I had a great day.  I met lots of new friends, played with stuff, drank a juice box, TOOK A NAP.  Can I please go back to Kindergarten.   

Basking in the glory of a successful first day as a free man, I boarded the bus to go home with all of my new buddies, bursting at the seams with great news to tell my parents.  As the ride went along and the noise started to fade, I could remember the crowd slowly diminishing.  Bit by bit, my classmates stepped off the bus as they reached their destination.  Their parents waiting to hug them and the kids running to be hugged.  And there I was.  Sitting.  Waiting.  “I mean I had never rode a bus before until today so maybe this was normal,” I thought.  One by one I was getting closer to being the last kid on the bus.  And I was dreading it.  Kindergarteners do not want to be last in anything. 

What I was dreading eventually came true.  We had arrived at the last stop, just me and the bus driver.  And he did what any good bus driver would do (enter sarcasm here) he let me off the bus.  And I did what every prideful man would do, I got off. 

I got off and just started walking.  Nothing looked familiar.  At all.  This certainly was not bike-ride territory.  But I was determined to find my way.  So I walked.  I walked and I hoped I would find some sense of home that would lead me to my destination.  But my walking got me nowhere.  In fact, I ended up in a large open field with nothing around me but space.  I stopped walking, gripped my backpack even tighter and let the tears roll down my tired face. 

I had nowhere else to go.  I was so lost and thought I would be lost forever. 

And then I saw a car coming from the distance.  A beige VW Beetle.  It was slowing down as it came closer to the field.  And I was slowly inching towards it.  As I wiped the tears away from my face and started to realize what was happening, my heart started to beat.  I was scared and hopeful in the same breath. 

I could see the man’s face.  I still remember what the man looked like.  He looked like …  dudes will know better on this one … the host of the show Trucks.  It aired on Sunday mornings.  It was so stupid and so fascinating at the same time.  The show centered around this guy and some of his random garage mates as they took viewers through the steps of suping up trucks.  This guy would walk around spouting off mechanical mumbo jumbo that I am pretty positive NO ONE knew.  I mean, no one knew what the heck this guy was saying but people watched.  Including me.  It made me feel more like a man that day.  And he would speak with this pejorative, patronizing cadence that made you feel like you should know what he was saying.  And his hair….  I still remember his hair.  It looked like a mullet before mullets were cool to make fun of.  He was hanging onto the late 70s/early 80s with a stone-cold, vice grip.  And I think he wanted to be in the band Bad Company.

I digress.

“Are you lost?” he asked me.

“Yes,” I replied in a mumble.

“How’d you get here?”

“I don’t know,” I said as I looked at sneakers that I am pretty sure were on their first wear of the school year.

“Well, let me take you home,” he said.

Nervous but trusting I walked a few feet behind him, still with my head down.  Memorize your phone number, scream “Stranger Danger!” if creepy people approach you and certainly NEVER, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCE get into a stranger’s car. 

I got in his car.  I did what every pre-school teacher tells you not to do.  I do not remember the ride much but I remember how it ended very clearly.  That beige Beetle pulled up into my driveway, I didn’t even say thanks because I was so flustered and I sprinted into the waiting arms of my grateful parents.  I had made it home. 

That instance at Mass today was not just about forgetting what I have.  The river runs a little deeper for me.  It reminded me how often that when I forget what I have, I forget that my life is a reflection of what I have been given.

Now do not let the Christian niceties of this fool you.  These words have weight.

As Catholics we possess something so amazing.  So unfathomable that it could only make sense that it is given by a God who loves us as his own.  A love that He wants to share because it is so great!  A love that He shares with us so that we may share it with others.  How often we skim to the ending instead of basking in the beauty and depth of this chapter of our life in Christ as Catholics.  How often it is that we forget that there are people yearning, with the depths of their being, for the Truth that we possess.  They are yearning for acceptance, for community, for love, for their true selves.  They are yearning to be home.  They yearn for this, because every. single. one of us was created with that desire.  Our God placed that on each of our hearts so that we can seek Him in all things and find our true joy in communion with Him, our Creator.

But how often we keep this idea at arm’s length.  “That’s not my bag.  That is definitely not for me.  I do not want to cross that line.” 

Like me at Mass today, it is easy let other people do it.  Let me come to Mass, put money in the collection, receive the Lord of the Universe and pretend that no one needs to hear about what I just experienced.  Somebody else will tell them, right?

Do not misunderstand me.  Sharing our faith can be a scary thing.  The word evangelization can make us cringe.  As Jim Gaffigan says, “It doesn’t matter if you are religious or not, does anything make you more uncomfortable than some stranger saying ‘I’d like to talk to you about Jesus… ’ You could say that to the Pope, and he would say, ‘easy freak I keep work at work!’”  But I am not talking about what you may be thinking.

For me it begs the question, how am I living my life?  St. Francis is famous for the quote, “Preach the Gospel always, when necessary use words.”  This quote is a favorite of many people, but I think it is oft abused.  If taken in the wrong vain, it can give us a reason to think other people will do it for us.  I will just live my life and hope people come along for the ride.  But here is the thing… living takes work!  Living takes action!

During a homily at the first Mass we attended in Spain last month at World Youth Day, the priest left us with something that had a profound impact on my spiritual life.  He said, “You are not on vacation.  You are on a pilgrimage.  This is the time to abandon yourself to the will of God.”  I was so moved.  I was moved because it was exactly what I needed to hear.  So I did just that.  I put each day of my pilgrimage in the Lord’s hands and let Him do with me what He willed.

And it changed my life. 

I was touched so deeply by the freedom in this act of letting go.  Everyday I said, “Lord put the people in my path today who you want me to see.” And everyday I was blown away by His providential timing. Literally everyday of my pilgrimage was filled with life-giving encounters with the greater Body of Christ that took place without a phone, without email or without the Bat Signal (should have said the Matt signal).

I saw a friend who was roaming around Spain for a month prior to the pilgrimage. I was in Mass one day praying, “Lord, if it be your will today, how about I run into him.” Sure enough two hours later there he was. I ran into a friend who had been on my heart in prayer for months. I knew she was heading off the join the Sisters of Life soon and wanted to see her before she moved onto to this next great step in her life. I prayed and sure enough I saw her. Four times! And not to mention, I saw the Pope.

How am I living my life?  Am I letting other people live it for me?  Is my life a reflection of this truth, goodness and beauty that I possess in my life in Christ?  Am I sharing this life with others?

What if that man on my first day of kindergarten was not living his life?  What if he drove by that field, saw me and said, somebody else will help him?  Nobody would have blamed him.  Think about what he was going through.  What are people going to think of me?  I mean, have you seen the news? 

Think about what I was going through.  I was lost.  I was scared.  I was alone.  I tried to find my way on my own and failed.  And here comes this person.  I mean, I have seen the news.  What is he going to do?  I do not know what it is yet, but I am going to follow him to see where this leads.

Because of that man living his life as a reflection of the greatness he possessed, my life was changed forever.  And so were the lives of the people I loved most.  Because of that man’s ‘yes’ he gave me the best gift a person can receive… he brought me home. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

P.S.  My friend Maura has answered God’s call to enter into full-time ministry.  And her ministry is AWESOME!  It is called Made in His Image.  I think you should read about it here…  http://ifighthimwithlove.wordpress.com/

Y Un Jamon

I like to think I know a little about life and the world.  I mean, I have gray hairs on my head after all.

But again, I like to think. 

Last week I was able to spend a few days in Nashville.  I was enjoying a night at Robert’s Western World when a nice gentleman sparked a conversation with me at the bar as we were both waiting for our libations.

“Are you a local?” 

“No.  I am from about 5 hours from here,” I said.

“A five-hour plane ride!?” 

“Oh no, I drove,” I said to him as I tried to make out his accent over the country swing blaring in the background.

“Oy.  Alright mate.  I was thinking you flew here from London” he said.

“What about you?  Are you from London?” 

I cringed.  I wanted the words back as soon as I said it.  He said Oy.  He called me mate.  C’mon, Matt at least pretend!

“Haha.  I’m Australian.  No worries, mate.  I was using my proper accent,” he told me as he gave me a patronizing pat on the back and walked away. 

I told myself I was never going to do that again. 

So here I am…  just back from Spain, my first time in Europe (I’m not sure what took so long either) posting a dorky picture of me making a dorky pose wearing a camera and a nametag and holding a map.  That Australian guy would be proud.  I have come such a long way.

This past week I was a tourist and I loved every minute of it.  And this week I want to share my stories.  I know, I know.  I said I was going to do this all last week but apparently Madrid does not believe in internet.  It could have been the whole ‘we invited 2 million people here…  at the same time’ thing.  My hotel room had an oven, a dishwasher, a towel warmer, a toilet that “cleans your undercarriage (not my words-sorry mom)” but no internet.  I do not intend to make this just a day-by-day recounting of my journey because that would be sort of vain.  That would be like trying to re-tell a dream from the night before.  You know what I am talking about.  We all do it.  You wake up feeling like you just have to tell someone what happened while you were sleeping but really the person on the other end is spacing out, politely repeating the phrase “that’s crazy” with a sense of forced enthusiasm and thinking about what they are going to have for lunch.  I will try my best not to do that.  Or at least I will save it just for this post. 

I came home seriously moved by so many things.  Moved by the Church, by the world and by the Holy Spirit.  And I think these are stories worth sharing. 

But before I do that, I had the craziest dream last night…

JPII at the Cathedral

standard fare

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

in Avila... saints abound in Spain!

 

 

on top of the walled city of Avila

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Eat, Pray, Love Chocolate Milk

I was in Panera last week looking to enjoy a nice little Sunday morning of reading and drinking coffee to the point of stomach ache.   As I was waiting for my over-priced, under-portioned spinach and bacon soufflé, a couple and their three boys walked in and took their places behind me in line. I am pretty sure the whole restaurant knew they were there.  It was that sort of entrance.  The boys were loud, the parents were louder and the temptation to yell, “Lord, beer me strength” was the loudest. But I stayed and endured the roller coaster ride that was this family’s Sunday morning.

The parents were obviously fed up and past the point of caring if fellow patrons knew that.  And the boys, well, obnoxious does not do them justice.  As we inched closer to the register, two of the boys ran off to “look for a table” while the other was forced to stay back with his parents on account of being the most unwieldy.  The unwieldiness persisted and he started vying for his mother’s attention by pulling on her shirt.  He kept tugging and asking for things, and on the top of his list was chocolate milk.

“Mom.  Mom.  Mommyyyy. Mom, can I get chocolate milk.  Mom. MMOOOOMMMM!!”

After holding strong with the silent treatment, the mom finally caved, “What!!”

“Can I get chocolate milk?  Pleeeassseee.  I’m thristyy.” (Genius move right here – we all know chocolate milk just makes you thirsty  …  for more chocolate milk)

“Fine!  Now go over with your brothers,” she said.

And what followed was the most authentic, joyfully reserved response,  ”I love you, Mommy.”

I was touched.  Not because that boy got what he wanted or because he finally shutup, but because it struck me that in that exchange, the truth of our relationship with the Lord was made so apparent.

When we are first taking those steps in faith, this is sort of how we relate – like children.  We feel a pull that reason or the internet cannot explain.  We feel a hole that cannot be filled.  We feel a longing left untouched.  So we tug on the shirt tails of our Creator.

Our prayer turns our heart into that of a child.  God calls us forth with a simple, “come to me my child and look no further” and we respond with a look of awe, wonder, fear, contrition and most apparently, the desire for our prayers to be answered.

And swift is His response during this time.  We ask and he gives promptly.  Because these are the moments when our hearts are the most sincere.  Moved by grace, we seek conversion and God’s guidance in anwering the deepest prayers in our heart.  And like the kid hearing an answer to his deepest desire to drink a delicious chocolate milk, we see God’s love in that response.

Isn’t it beautiful to know that our God wants us to come to Him in that way!?  Jesus does not teach us to call God ‘Master’ or ‘Lawgiver’ or ‘Thor.’ He teaches us to call Him Our Father.  How beautiful!

But as we all well know, it does not stay in that blissful exchange of ask and you shall receive.  In fact it seems the opposite at times.  As we grow in relationship, the more challenging it becomes.  And this is where we can get stuck.  This is where we can turn away.  We doubt.  We take advantage of this newly discovered source of joy.  But Daniel (son) would have never been able to beat that chump Johnny from Cobra Kai in Karate Kid had he not learned the art of trimming a bonzai tree from Mr. Miyagi, am I right??  It takes time to grow our heart into one with God’s.  It takes some trimming back of that which is getting in the way of our holiness.  And He continues to test us in this so that we can grow in the places we sometimes do not want to grow.

When I first got out of college, I spent a year working with at-risk kids in the St. Louis Public Schools.  When I first started, the kids loved me.  And it was easy.  I was different. I was a long-haired, white guy who could dominate any playground game ever invented. I was sort of like Mr. Schneebly from School of Rock.  That and our office always had candy.

My relationships with the kids started much like ours do with the Lord.  There was a sense of awe, curiosity and unknown.  In the beginning it was all about how I could improve their life. “Mista Matt, lemme get some candy.” “Mista Matt, come get me outta class.”  And I would usually oblige their requests.

Then they started asking me questions about my life.  “Mista Matt, are you a player (no joke)?” ”Mista Matt, you got kids?”  ”Mista Matt, you gotta girl?” They started to get to know me more and more.  The respect was still there, but they could take advantage of me and that sort of unconditional love because they knew me and always knew where to find me. They started fooling around more in class.  They stole money from me because they knew I would forgive them.

It got harder as the year progressed, but I got harder on them because I could see where to push them just far enough to make them grow.  There were sometimes they hated me and refused to acknowledge me.  But near the end, when our teacher/student relationship went through the fire and back, it was the strongest it could have been. There were moments of sheer joy watching them grow and growing because of them.  I got to know their parents, I knew their siblings, I was invited to parties.  I was at a party once and saw an entire gymnasium full of people, parents, teachers and children alike AND an 84 year-old woman, erupt in the “Shake that Laffy Taffy”dance when that song came on the P.A.   In all seriousness, it was the greatest moment in recent memory.

I still remember those kids like it was five minutes ago.  They had a profound effect on my journey and I pray for them whenever I can.  And this was only a year.  Think of how beautiful love can be after a lifetime of growing.  This is what God our Father offers us.

He does not want us to stand still in our relationship with Him.  He wants us to grow ever closer to Him.  If I saw that kid 15 years from now at Panera pulling on his mom’s afghan asking for chocolate milk, something would not be right.  It takes work, like any relationship does.  That old married couple out to dinner at Bob Evans isn’t avoiding conversation, they just have come so far that being in each other’s presence is all they need to communicate their love.  Same is true for us.  The root of our love with the Lord is not found in those happy moments of a prayer heard or consolation felt, it is found in the truth that we are on an ever-moving journey leading us closer to the heart of God… Our Father.

And to bring this full-circle, the three boys found a booth that was conveniently placed within earshot of where I was sitting.  As I was writing and reflecting on this, my thoughts were drowned out by the chanting of, “WE WANT FOOD!   WE WANT FOOD!  WE WANT FOOD!”

Lord, chocolate milk me strength.

Time Is On Your Side. I Promise.

Remember that movie with Denzel Washington, John Goodman and Donald Sutherland called Fallen?  You know, the one about the serial killer and the fallen angel that moves from body to body?  It was hot back in the day.  Denzel is on the hunt for the root of a string of murders, all while strutting around like his poop doesn’t stink (I know, this is every Denzel movie).  You know something bad is about to happen in the movie every time one of the characters starts singing the Rolling Stones version of the song, “Time is on My Side.”

I bring this up for two reasons.

#1) I think The Stones can sing this song with complete conviction, especially Keith Richards.  How that guy is still with us and playing music, Lord only knows.  He has taken his body to Gehenna and back and is still coherent enough to play “Brown Sugar.”  He looks like he belongs in a wax museum.

And #2) Time really is on your side.  Yes it is.

We are three days away from Easter and now entering into the Triduum, the three ‘Holiest of Days.’  And it is in these days where everything we think we knew about time was changed.

It was nailed to a tree.

We often hear in movies or say when recalling an event that happened so quickly and profoundly that “time just seemed to stop.”  On Good Friday, time did stop.  The people of Jerusalem were going on about their day, some watching just another crucifixion of just another blasphemous man while others were in town minding their business when the world went dark.  The sun was eclipsed.  The veil of the temple was torn in two.  And Jesus said his last words, “It is finished.”

Time stopped.  Time finished.

The Easter season reminds us what time really means.  It reminds us that we are not the author of our lives.  It reminds us that God the Father had a plan for us all along, and in His time He showed us.  Time stopped so that it could go on forever, FOR US, in eternal life.  All the temporal sacrifice that was offered up to this point in order to atone for the sins of the people were no longer.  Prayers were finally answered.  The Messiah that everyone was waiting for finally made it.  And He, as the Passover Lamb, was the final, living and continual sacrifice.

But still, we doubted.  He gave the answer to years and years of prayer and did so by giving none other than Himself.  And what was our response?  Distrust and doubt.  We crucified the living God and only five people came to His funeral because all of His friends were spread out”like sheep without a shepherd.”

Sound familiar?

Have you ever burned the roof of your mouth on that piece of pizza you thought was going to grow legs and run off the table if you did not eat it as soon as you put the parmesan on it?  Then, after you gasped heavily a few times and contorted your body in ways no one should witness in public, the roof of your mouth felt as if you just ate three bowls of Cap’n Crunch?

Of course you have.

Have you ever seen a teenage kid try to grow a mustache?  You know the one that just looks like dirt on his upper lip because that is all his face can muster?  The one where he gets the premature satisfaction of looking in the mirror over and over again all while thinking, “Yeeaahhhh.”  And people say to him, “whoa nice mustache” not so much in admiration but more so in bewilderment.   And you know in reality they will probably talk about it on the car ride home.  (Mine was a goatee – I wish my friends would have told me).

Or how about Sylvester Stallone’s face?  It looks like the Silly Putty we used to use to stretch over the comic strips pulled way too tight over his head.  All that plastic surgery makes it look like Rocky can still go 10 rounds with Ivan Drago.

My point?

We try our darnedest to make our time our own don’t we?  We try to move things forward. We get antsy.  We try to hold on too long.  Whatever the response may be, it is apparent that it is haunted by what the Catechism calls man’s first sin….  ”He let his trust in his Creator die.”  If you have been following this adventure of mine since the beginning, you are probably starting to see this theme in my life.  The stories I tell are starting to come together under one, big umbrella.

Fear can grip our life.  Fear of letting go.  Fear that time won’t come or that time is moving too fast.  Fear that we won’t get see the deepest desires of our hearts fulfilled.  Fear that we are doing it wrong.  Fear that we are missing out on something.  Most importantly, fear that one day our time will be over – For. ev. er.

The beauty of Easter is that it turns our gaze away from fear and to its holier rebuttal…  Hope.  What a powerful thing.  It has transformed lives.  Transformed nations.  We are approaching Easter and about to experience THE greatest hope-giving act the world has ever seen – Jesus rising from the dead.  Guess where those friends of Jesus who ran in fear from His death go after they witness the risen God?  They go, without fear, to fulfill their purpose in life…  To die in the name of their faith so that One, Holy Church may live.

See if we abandon ourselves to God and His time, life makes a whole lot more sense. Because if time was made eternal and this life is meant to get us to that eternity, then our hope lies in that beautiful and glorious truth.  And because of this, time is without a doubt on our side!  And this is all because God has made us His very own.  Seriously.  Stop and think about that for a second.  That is not a tired cliche.  It is reality.  God’s promises are so faithful!  And he tries us in this to show us His love.  He wants to show us how far-reaching our love can go.  And He wants us to try Him!  Because we doubt ourselves.  We doubt God’s plan.  We doubt we can trust that much.  We doubt we can let go of our desires without trying to grab them right back.

Remember the story of Peter and the disciples in the boat?  Jesus appears to them, walking on the water while the sea is raging and restless.  The disciples see Jesus and at first think He is a ghost. Peter recognizes Jesus and tests Him.  He says “Lord if it is you, command me to meet you in the water.”  What does Jesus say?  ”Come.”  Peter gets out of the boat, takes his first steps and he is walking on water!  As soon as he looks down, starts to worry, checks his watch and tries to care for his own needs instead of keeping his eyes fixed on Christ, he falls.

God wants SO badly to show us that, in His perfect time, our life will have its meaning, if only we let Him.

So often today, man does not know what he carries inside himself, in the depth of his soul, of his heart. So often he is uncertain of the meaning of his life on earth. He is invaded by doubt that shifts into desperation. So then, allow—I beg you, I implore with humility and confidence—allow Christ to speak to man. Christ alone has words of life, yes, of eternal life.  -from JPII’s first homily

And our time on Earth is just the beginning…

“We are an Easter people and Alleluia is our song!”

If I Have To…

If you are like me, most Lents have started like this…  “Crap, its Ash Wednesday.  I have to think of something to give up before the day is over.  Well Oreos bag, looks like it is going to be another lonely Spring.”

This year I was determined to not make it one of those years.  I made a list three days before, narrowed it down and was going to spend serious time praying about what I should do.  The Bulls have been playing well, I got this music recording program working on my computer, I sort of got hooked on American Idol (yes, men watch this show, and yes, I think Casey is going to dominate) and what do you know I woke up on Ash Wednesday completely unprepared.

But I still had the day.  Working for the Church, Ash Wednesday is a big one.  People are everywhere and so is the Mass.  I knew I was going to be surrounded by Church all day so I was bound to get inspired. 

Well, the Lord sure made an example out of me. 

I went to an early campus Mass to help some of my co-workers with the liturgy.  I stayed back after Mass as all of the students cleared out to see if there was anything I could bring over to the next service that was happening 30 minutes later in a parish about 5 minutes away.  No one could seem to find anything for me to do.   I was just standing around getting in the way until someone said, “Hey, who is getting the cross.”

As per usual, we had a wooden cross draped in a purple cloth positioned on the right of the altar.  It was large.  I looked at it and walked by secretly hoping someone else would grab it.  I had a quick conversation and looked back and that dern cross was still there, staring at me.  Here is what I was thinking…  “Someone will get it.  Yeah someone will get.  I will just get this box of papers.  Plus, its too big for my car.  And I don’t want to carry that thing all the way across campus.  Man, I hope somebody grabs it.  Just man up and grab it.  Wait, someone is walking by maybe they will… oooh.  Alright, I guess I will get it.” 

I walked over there, picked it up and went on my way sheepishy through the crowded campus center. 

Now let me give you an idea how big this cross felt.  I mean it was big, but it felt even bigger because of the circumstances.  It felt almost comically huge…  like the foam “We’re #1″ finger of Lenten crosses. 

So I made my way through the mass of students down two escalators and not without the looks of passerbys and comments from the friends I was with.  Finally I made it to my car in the parking deck and could breathe a sigh. 

But my Lenten journey was just beginning. 

Again, I didn’t realize how big this thing was until I tried to fit it in my car.  It barely fit.  I went on my way and made it through the countless ramps all the while getting settled into my current situation of this cross taking over life inside of my car.  I could not see to my right and everytime I shifted my knuckles scraped against the wood.  Thankfully, I had only a five minute drive. 

You can guess what happened next…

I took a wrong turn coming out of the parking deck and ended up in places I didn’t even knew existed.  I drove all the way to the proverbial “other side of the river.”  If you would have pulled up next to me all you would have seen would have been the top of my head peeking out above this giant cross…  and me trying not to cuss about being lost and hitting my 17th pothole.  But I would have waved. 

All told, it was a 45 minute trip.  I finally made it to the parish but of course, parking was non-existent.  Maybe 45 minutes ago, but downtown on Ash Wednesday there was not a chance.  I found my way to another parking deck and again, breathed a little. 

But I still had to walk.  I had to complete my journey.  And not without this giant cross on my shoulder.  I walked six floors making sure to give smiley head nods to all I passed until I made it to street level. 

There I was, downtown, with this cross on my shoulder walking the streets trying to make it to my final destination.  All I could think was…  “OK Lord, I get it.  Thank you for my cross.”

Suffering is another topic for another post because its a long one, but I wanted to share this story in light of it and in light of Lent.  Suffering is undoubtedly a part of who we are as Christians and as human beings.  It is unavoidable.  No matter how hard we try to forget about it and no matter how hard we look the other way, it is an unavoidable facet of our existence. 

Still we do our best avoid the hard parts don’t we?  We like that easy way out.   I mean have you seen the Shake Weight.  What in the name!?!?

“How does it work?” 

“Oh you just stand there and shake it.”

“Really, just stand there and shake it?”

“Yeah, just shake it.  Oh, but you better go get your work out clothes on.”

But when done well, suffering is filled with joy!

EVERY saint story you have ever read, they suffered well.  I mean every single one.  And guess where they are now!?

And look at Catholic Lent.  For many of us, it is a time of penance.  Our time of “giving something up.”   Cheeseburgers are replaced by cans of Chicken of the Sea, chocolate is neglected long enough to get that nasty white stuff on it, but for those who are Catholic, it also the greatest time of the year…  It is fish fry season.

Only we would come up with something so glorious.  ”Well Lent kinda sucks.  What should we do?  I know, lets have a big party every Friday at the K of C Hall and eat fried fish and drink beer!” I mean I look forward to fish fries like some look forward to the McRib (which is a lot).  We find ways to make our suffering joyful!!

Suffering permeates our life but always leads to good.  Hard work brings new life.  Winter brings Spring.  Seeds bring flowers.  102 years without a World Series brings… well nothing yet.  But you get the point.  And all of this would all make no sense without Christ and the Cross. 

“The message of the Cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God.” (1 Cor 1:18)

Lent, our suffering, our penance,  and our joy in all of this shows where we come from and more importantly what we were made for.  God became man, suffered, died and rose from the dead so that we might share in that same life of eternity.  The Cross means nothing without resurrection just as Lent means nothing without Easter. 

So don’t be afraid to enter into Lent like never before…  Make it joyful, eat lots of fish and know Easter is a just a glimpse of what is yet to come.