Wrote this part a week ago: Sometimes I wonder if the many drafts I have written are somehow accessible to view, because things seem to happen, even when I am not publishing them...
In my classes on pastoring, I learned that you don't go into a new church all fired up and start changing things. You spend the first year just listening and watching. You identify the the things that work, the things that don't work; what they perceive as problems, what you perceive as problems...and discover all the "sacred cows."
Change is always hard. Change is sometimes painful. Change causes us to doubt our absolutes, question what is true and what it not.
So when the 90+ year old man decided to ask me a question. He wanted to discuss what the priest did the week before during a Mass we shared for someone who had died. I sat and waited to hear what he really needed.
What is that book the priest was reading from during Mass?
The Sacramentary.
It belongs to the Catholic Church?
Yes.
Well, who wrote it?
What do you mean?
The priest read the 23rd psalm. It was all wrong. Why did they change it? Who is responsible for changing it?
Pope Benedict.
(He paused)
I just don't why we keep changing things. We keep dumbing down things to accomodate people. You can't tell the difference between right and wrong anymore. Why don't they just leave things alone? The psalm was all wrong.
At this point, I had to decide how to frame the next group of words. This man was a very intelligent man. How much did he want to know and how much would be helpful to him? I had to decide. In the midst of this conversation, other people in the room agreed with him. Someone said,
Why don't we just do things the way Jesus did them?
sigh.
So I explained that Pope Benedict's goal was to make the translation more true to the original scripts. (I had no real knowing of what was absolutely correct...as the Catholic Church has such a need to be right...I cannot expend too much energy there or I would never get any work done, still trying to understand it all, but I offered my opinion as best I could) The Catholic Church uses the Jerome translation from the Septuagint, which differs from the Protestant translations of the Bible. In particular, the 23rd Psalm, if you were to look at the Hebrew, had some different understandings of what words mean.
I took the example of 'hell.' When I visited the week before, the reading spoke of Gehenna, which means trash heap...the place where trash is burned. It was the least desirable place to be. Hell, when we hear the word, we think of pitchforks and fire and such, but in fact, the idea of the place of the dead was quite different in those days. I explained that although it appears watered down, the new translations are more correct...even if they don't exude the familiar feelings we associate with the more familiar words. (I think I did a better job explaining at the time than I am doing recalling it now)
Then I told him about my little prayer book. In my first Catholic prayer book, the 23rd psalm was not the 23rd but the 22nd...and I would get out my Bible and then look at the prayer book...and I didn't understand how it appeared that at least one of those two books was wrong. At 8 years old, I do not know if I ever asked the nuns about it, but at night, I would stare at my books...and go from word to word to word...it was a great mystery.
I can't recall how far I went into the discussion, but I suggested a bottom line...to reflect upon what the words might be telling us to do. Change seems inevitable...and maybe it was a good idea and maybe it wasn't; but we can agree that this world is suffering...and it needs God.
That was my first event of the morning, after Mass. I'm sure I have not told it well, or even with great accuracy, but it is one of the reasons I love this life. People want to know about God. It is my obligation to continue to learn how to tell the story as accurately as possible, so that someone who hurts might feel better. I love the questions they ask me, things I may not have thought about.
I have no doubt that every encounter I have is a vehicle to draw me closer to God. I recognize that I must always offer my best, and to quickly forgive myself when I fail. And then try again. I celebrate the challenges because each one reminds me that I belong to God alone.
I keep wanting to change my relationship status on FB. I think I may want to let a man into my life on some intimate level, but I doubt that I could find one who would not distract me from my work...and as a woman, I know I would be inclined to want to please him...but if I had to choose between, say, a husband and helping someone in trouble...I know I would choose the work.
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I stopped here (above) because I had gone too far...again. The thought of letting someone into my really private space is just plain scary, but I am left with no reasonable excuse to reject that option any longer. God has removed all of my excuses, one by one. Still, I believe I would choose the work over play...most likely because I may have forgotten what it was like to play.
Spent three hours this morning with a friend, reviewing, observing...and plotting...ways to bring people, in particular women, into the strange and wonderful experiences we both knew of God. God has provided me with such perfect friends, each unique...and well suited to help me grow closer to Him, as well as to my friends. I had been pretty much overwhelmed by the sufferings of people I care about and I needed, not so much recreation, but to sit down and do a little strategic planning, to be held accountable to my own prayer life, to recognize my gifts and graces, and to help my friend see hers.
I thought at length about the encounter I had a week ago. This last week, in the reading from Tobit and the Pharisees confusion about heaven, I found myself speaking to the concept of despair and how we deal with it. In the prayer to God:" Lord, I cannot endure this suffering any longer. Please take my life." This prayer is a true and authentic prayer to a God you trust. "Take my life, God. I am tired of living. I am tired of remembering who I am not. I am tired of remembering my mistakes. I am tired of being alone. I am tired of being in pain...I am tired."
I spoke about that moment when we realize God is not going to end the suffering...so we consider ending it all by ourselves...and that, too, is a prayer. Should be a prayer. Some good Catholics may tell you it is a sin to pray for death. I will respond with the truth that we often pray for things that are neither good nor reasonable, but we are not able to see that we are praying for unhealthy things, so we pray them anyway. Some women pray for a husband, young girls pray for a prince, young boys pray to be a hero, or have a good job...but often our prayers are so myopic...yet God hears them, and I think, is gladdened by our willingness to speak with Him...even about the "less than pretty" stuff.
As in Tobit, we see the prayer of Sarah (in Tobit), where she decided to kill herself...and as she prays...she realizes how her death would hurt her father...and changes her mind.
That is the great truth about prayer: (spoken of in The Shadowlands-look it up)
Prayer doesn't change God. Prayer changes us.
The lament (well documented in the psalms) is a perfectly acceptable form of prayer. I knew when I said, "if you have a friend who is despairing, considering suicide, do not argue with them, but listen...and suggest making a pizza. In the 20 minutes it takes to make a pizza, the desire to die will be gone...because that's how feelings work. They change." And I knew I hit a nerve. I could feel it. The "pizza story" always hits a nerve. I eventually tell it everywhere I go.
So the battle between "always done it that way" and the truth that our feelings "change on a dime" are in constant battle inside of us. We seems to live by both "rules" at the same time. Both can work for us and against us....sometimes at the same time.
The key to survival is communication: listening well and speaking well. We are stuck with all these hungers and desires and must somehow manage them rather that "them managing us." I confess I am not very good at it...prudence...or temperance, for that matter. I just keep trying. It's a process. It's organic.
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I wasn't going to post this one yet, but I just read a comment from Scott Hahn who said the Pope was speaking about the same thing...so here it is, still unfinished.
I do like this Pope. And I had a truly great day of conversation. THAT must be writting about much later.
Dearest Lord,
I am grateful for these moments, for the times when you were smart enough to send me friends who suggested we share a pizza. I am glad to have walked with others who really didn't want to stay here...and in nearly 20 years of talking with others, I have only lost two. Those two made me bolder, though. I don't wait anymore. I know you hold them close, and their pain is now gone.
The ideas today were so full and vast, I was exhausted just from thinking about them...but I can see a bit more clearly than the day before. I have no idea how things will unfold, sometimes I want my own way, but even when I ask...I know that You will only give me what is best...so I never ask too hard or too much. I surrender my ambition to you. And that is hard for me to do.
I stood outside tonight, and remembered our evenings together, when I was less than 20...I sang better, but I knew so very little about life. Yet, I do not think I loved you any less then than I do now.
This is a crazy, kind of insane life...but I do love it. I feel like I am such a slow learner, and I am so grateful that you hang in there with me. Last night, I was stuck in a guilt circle...I remembered when I was ambitious, and how I had failed myself and you...and I thought I might never get to do all the things I want to do for you...and I became despairing. But you did not leave me in my despair.
You brought me the right people, in the right moments...who were able to say the right things. Thank you. At the end of this examen, I know I remembered to pray, I remembered to teach, I remembered to learn. I remembered to be thankful. I remembered the love. I remembered the laughter and the tears. I remembered the truth, and the hunger, and the waiting.
Truly, it is in giving that we receive and in dying that we are born to eternal life.
It was a good day.I must remember this day when I come to the day that is not so good.
You know how I stepped out today. You know the risk I took, even if it might be too small. You know about my fear about tomorrow. I hand those over to you as well.
For all the ways you protected me today from harm, most often in ways I will never know, I thank you. For the steamed broccoli and cheese, and for the hamburger; for the bagel and coffee for breakfast, for the books I read today, and the songs I got to sing. For the rain that fed my grass and flowers, for the much needed relaxing bath...and for all the feelings I got to feel today...I thank you.
Now I'll stop writing...and I'll just listen.
My first, my last, my only love...it's gonna be okay. I can feel it. Now teach me to share it.
Love, Cindy
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