What breaks your heart?

That was the question for the day.  Want to discover what you need to work on?  Ask that question.

What breaks my heart?  Children who aren't loved by their parents.  Children who don't feel loved by their parents. Those  were the first answers I could find inside me...and I decided I really didn't want anything to do with it. I don't want to think about it...ever.

So I suppose that's where I'm supposed to go.  Now I'm wishing I had decided on another place to work this fall.  
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Two nights ago, I dreamed about the priesthood. Last night, I dreamed I wore a cassock to the Methodist Church where I used to work.  The older people in the church were happy to see me. The female peer I used to work with just stared at the collar...oh, and I came to the church with a dog.  A little dog, somewhat like the one my children have...and it was the damn dog that kept me from leaving the church. He kept running around, in and out of the congregation and the pews...and I stood in the back and angrily whispered his name and to come.  I did not want this Protestant congregation to see me in my clerics.  Especially when it wasn't Halloween.
And at some point, I stopped worrying and looked down at my beautiful robe. I noticed how the fabric was so comfortable and breathed well.  I was not hot. I liked the freedom it provided...but I also knew I was not supposed to be wearing it. This beautiful dress was designed for men. Catholic men.
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So perhaps the "parent" issue is not my greatest fear. Perhaps, in these nearly 500 posts, it is the Catholic Church...and that I will never be a priest. That is what breaks my heart. I am tired of that issue breaking my heart. I am well aware it is not worth my time to even discuss the issue with anyone that matters. I am also keenly aware that I am most likely unworthy to be a priest.  I have not led an exemplary life. If I am to be a priest, I am more like the Robert de Niro character from The Mission. I was a slave trader...and when the pressure comes, I may not be strong enough to not use my old ways to solve problems. It's not so much that the God would not forgive my sins, but we live in an unforgiving world. It takes pleasure in being angry.  It thrives on treating everyone like the enemy.
Or does it?
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The reality of the power of God far transcends any evil we can conjure up.  Most of the time, we forget that. Most of the time, I forget that. The priest who tried to back-pedal and yell at me, for whatever personal issues he may have had at the time...to scream at me and say, even if women could be priests, he didn't think I would make a good one...and the others, having changed their minds...thinking perhaps I was too progressive, too passionate, too dangerous...for whatever reason, they cease conversation with me...I think perhaps their fears are greater than mine. But I have matured to a place where I am not going to let their emotional reactions to my thoughts (statements) stop me from discovering the truth. 
I'm not going to suggest that, while I go through this process of living out the gospel, that I have somehow found a 'more correct' way to do it.  What I know is that I believe we all struggle with the Word of God, and the Tradition of God in this world.  To think, in this very male dominated world...that a woman might have thoughts worthy to think and speak...is a kind of blasphemy. It unsettles the status quo.  While it unsettles, we do not know if it will bring good or evil.  The timid will stand on the sidelines and wait...to see who or what wins.  Then, they will declare victory or defeat...but they will hold no badge of honor from the battle. They will not be able to say, "I made a difference." They will say, instead, "I survived."  And we need survivors, even if they are not heroes...but they will keep the human race going...and trying. 
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I am simply always aware that there is a lot of hatred for Catholics...Roman Catholics...and perhaps some of it is deserved.  But most often, hatred is based on what we think we know and not on what we do know.  Hatred is a by-product of fear. We are all afraid of something. We all have a deep dark secret fear...and that fear still governs our actions...and our feelings. Some of us have many fears. Those people are hardest to help, and perhaps hardest to love. But love them we must. Sometimes, those people are us. The one we see in the mirror.

This is my second year in CPE where I am the only Catholic.  I got to wondering why that keeps happening, and I realized...duh...that people put them through this hellish class because they desire to become more compassionate and better pastors. In the case of Catholicism, that refers to priests, not men or women of the Catholic faith who happen to want to do this work. I am an enigma.  I am that evolutionary mistake. I have an extra chromosome...or I am missing one.  Whatever it is, I should not be upset because I am always uncomfortable or feeling lonely.  I am the only one of my kind.  Or perhaps, I am the only one who admits it. 

Perhaps I am that black sheep has been given a bottle of white shoe polish and have been told, "Here. Got and make yourself look like us. You are scaring everyone."  I'm sure every person who has been marginalized knows this feeling.  Some of them gather together and have parades.  Some of them create a new church.  Some of them live a lie. Some of them just hang themselves in their bedrooms.  Some just go about the world...like zombies...
I wonder if that is why all these strange television shows are so popular.  People are drawn to finding their truth, they just don't know how to do it.
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What breaks your heart?  Hungry children?  Runaways?  Alcoholics?  Poor people?  The uneducated?  The lonely? The athiests? Those who do know know "your" God?  The lazy ones?  The thieves and robbers?  The wealthy? The politicians? The ones born different? The women? The men? The animals? The 'ones who have no one to pray for them?'
What breaks your heart?
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Come and I will make you fishers of men. There is not one of us who is not called to help. As human beings, with souls, our lights cannot shine without the deliberate effort of "giving." Which is not just an attribute of loving, it is the central source of loving. Giving in the sacrifical sense. Giving without getting back. The irony is, whatever you give away...it always comes back...always. 
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Henri Nouwen wrote a book, I can't recall the name, on the Eucharist. There's this amazing truth about Holy Communion: it is never still, it is never not breathing, it is never not alive. It is a giving and taking thing that cannot be ever understood as linear. God gives us, we receive...as best we can. We believe He is or He is not...there. And from the receieving of the "is" or "is not" we give back, first to God and then to ourselves and then to our brothers and sisters. And then to the neighbor and then to the stranger...which might be the same thing as neighbor.
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I perceive the Body of Christ as a real thing. It comes to me in the most intimate way, through my mouth. I allow it to happen...and God is willing to give. It becomes part of me. It gives me life and I give it my life. I close my eyes and wait for the miracle, the transformation, to happen to me...so that I can give it away again during the day, through my actions...to the ones I meet. This Body of Christ is a great and mysterious thing. This meal I share...these people who are present are part of my family. I know some of their lives...they know some of mine.  Each day we meet, we grow closer together...and through that we help each other get through this world...filled with so much anger and loneliness. It's kind of a miracle.
It is a miracle.
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And it breaks my heart...so that I am able to love.

Love, Cindy