The Best Sound EVER (and no, I'm not exaggerating)

Yesterday was a fantastic day. Not only did I get to get my haircut (exciting, I know, but I’d been talking about it for months!), but I also got to meet up with a group of Moms from my parish and chat with them about all kinds of trivial and not so trivial things. And at the end of the day, I got to hear the best sound in the world: My baby laughed.

The first time he laughed was over a month ago, but at this point he’s not a giggly baby. His laughs are few and far between, and so still so special. Usually, he opens his mouth into the biggest smile possible and just sort of squeaks at me—like he wants to laugh, but just doesn’t know how. Last night, though, he was ticklish and chuckling. Apparently “This Little Piggy” is actually quite funny.

Laughter is one of those things I usually take for granted; I laugh more easily with friends and those I love than otherwise, and while I do at times tend to be more serious, it is not because I cannot laugh. This little baby has taught me to realize how beautiful and profound that ability is. Because his laughter has come out with his personality-- it is more beautiful because it is innocent, because we have to work for it, because we have to learn what he finds funny. He is an individual with a sense of humor and his laughter is one of the first signs of who he will be.

These thoughts remind me of something a professor once said to me: The devil has no sense of humor because laughter is an indication that we do not take ourselves or this world too seriously, which is what the devil does. The innocent child’s laughter helps us to see this; he is not burdened by sin, and so he sees simple things in this world and laughs because of the joy of them. Christ enables us to continue laughing as adults because he enables us to laugh at our mistakes and follies, although they are serious, for he has redeemed them. This is why I love this cheesy picture- which is so cheesy- but I love it because it is a picture of Jesus as a human person, laughing with the freedom that we all should have, rather than as a moral teacher or judge who takes us to task for our failings (which is how I tend to see him in my mind):

  

Christ allows us to relax, to find humor in little things and in our many absurdities, enabling us to use these failings as opportunities to see his goodness and greatness in the everyday. My child’s laughter, coming from the sheer joy of having his father toss a toy on his lap, is even more like Jesus’ laughter than my laughter can be.

As adults, we usually laugh at absurdities or incongruities—and this does keep us from taking ourselves too seriously, which is great. But Peter’s laughter is purer than that. Instead, it is a reminder of the joy of being alive, of his being a person with a sense of humor, and of the hope we all have in things to come. It is a result of the joy of being loved and the nature of the world-- that some things, for no apparent reason at all, are just funny!  Like this:

Oh so much more...

I’m only able to write this because my baby is sleeping. When he is awake, he demands my attention, or at the very least, my hands and body. Every day for the last four months, he has laid his claim on them- and through my body I have nourished him and watched him thrive.

While taking care of my son does require mental engagement (I am not a zombie mom), it strikes me over and over again that what he needs most from me right now is my physical presence: my body. In grad school, I often heard John Paul II’s Theology of the Body belittled as a narrow teaching about human sexuality; what I have come to realize is that this teaching can go so much further.

Theology of the Body is primarily about the idea that the human person is not just a soul, but a body and soul, and that through the body the soul is expressed. Thus, John Paul asks us to recognize the dignity of the human body and its actions, seeing the actions of the body as its language. As a community, we intuitively recognize the dignity of a person’s words, since they seem to obviously come from her rational soul. The Theology of the Body recognizes the idea that the soul is expressed in more ways than just words, and that even words require the work of the body. This is in contradiction to modern culture, which does its best to reduce the dignity of the body to that of a mere tool, in turn, removing the dignity of the body’s actions.

Hopefully, you can see that this has obvious implications for human sexuality. What is less obvious is how important this teaching is for other areas of life and for helping us to understand our individual vocations- for me, motherhood.

If my body was simply a tool, rather than integral to who I am, it would be a lot more difficult to see motherhood as a vocation, rather than an occupation. For, right now, as a mother, my primary duties are feeding, cleaning, and entertaining my child. Exciting, I know. I also know that thanks to modern developments in nutrition, anyone can do these tasks. Because of this fact, I find it easy to belittle my own choice to stay home to mother my child. Instead what I have to choose every day is realize that for me as his mother, these actions mean something more.

In many ways it would be easier to write off my actions as biological facts: instinct responding to necessity. I’m sure science could explain away an infant’s love for his mother and vice versa. In the same way it is easier to say that anyone can care for an infant just as well; this is to say that Theology of the Body is just putting rose-colored glasses on tasks that are mundane. But so much of the world depends on perspective. In large part, this is what Catholicism is about—it’s about asking the questions:

Do you choose to see the world as it is, or as it could be? Do you prefer to take things at face value, or to ask what they mean?

To me, the richer answer, and the richer way of life, always lies in the latter half of those questions.

This meaning is what motivates me to do these simple tasks every day. It is easy to forget- changing a diaper is not a pleasant task by any stretch of the imagination. However, when I think of it in terms of an expression of the Theology of the Body—of these simple actions as expressions of my love for my child— they become not only bearable, but a part of my vocation. For it is through this task and the many other daily tasks like it that I am able to express my love for my child. Because I know right now that my son does not understand the “love” words I repeat to him many times a day, but his smile when I come to pick him up after his nap tells me that he understands the small actions that say the same thing. 

Hodie, non Cras

Hodie, non cras!

Procrastination

When I was a youth minister, I took a group of my students to a nearby Catholic youth camp, called Catholic Youth Expeditions. This organization was started by a priest of the diocese of Green Bay who was inspired by John Paul II’s  outdoor adventures with a group of young adults in Poland who became his friends and inspired many of his greatest works. This camp was geared at teens and young adults, and run for the most part by college age students who volunteered their summers to grow closer to Christ. One of the years I attended, the theme of the summer was ‘Hodie, non Cras,’ which is Latin for ‘Today, not tomorrow!’—and this theme was proudly yelled every few hours by different members of the staff, which delighted the teenagers (who doesn’t love being encouraged to yell at the top of your lungs?), who soon picked it up. Needless to say, this theme has stuck with me.

Most recently, this theme has come into my head with beginning to blog again. I have a million excuses in my head for why I haven’t started until now, most of which are just stupid: ranging from, ‘I don’t have anything to say’ to ‘I don’t have time’ to ‘no one wants to read what I write.’ What I’ve had to realize is that in the end, these things are either not true or they don’t matter. For some reason, God will not let this idea die from my brain…

With all of these excuses, I’ve had the chance to analyze (to death), why I feel like God is calling me to blog. At first, I tried to tell myself that a desire to blog is just a misplaced desire to feel important- a call to others to ‘listen to me, because I know so much!’ And to a certain extent, I’ll admit, this is part of it. This is something I need to work on, but it’s also not the main reason this idea won’t die.

Instead, I’ve come to realize that much more than that, I need to blog in order to force myself to think deeply, and to hold myself accountable spiritually. For, as much as I love my 3 month old, he needs my body and presence a lot more than he needs my intellectual gifts at this time in his life (more on that later). And while journaling works for this to a certain extent, I am not disciplined enough to maintain this depth without some sort of audience (even if it is only a mental perception- or the chance that someone could read it). For whatever reason, that’s the way my brain works.

Sadly, it seems that C.S. Lewis is right in the Screwtape Letters-- the devil does not manifest himself openly, but rather works through more subtle means. In my life, this means distraction (I can’t write now, I HAVE to plan my week, or go on facebook, or…) and procrastination (I have too much to do today, but it’s on my list for tomorrow…). The sad thing is, often I realize this, and still allow myself to be distracted. But today, not tomorrow, I am starting- and though this is nothing very deep or profound (how many people have observed this before me…), it is a beginning:  and that’s farther than I was yesterday. 

Reading and Thinking....

Despite this summer being incredibly busy, I did still manage to find time for some ‘fun’ reading. I have always loved literature, in all of its many forms: classic,modern, adventure, fantasy, drama, mystery, and romance. Curling up with a good book is still one of my favorite pastimes. While the point of this reading is often that it requires little to no thinking, I also cannot help thinking about why this is so- especially in connection to my not so fun (or at least light) reading in moral theology.

This got me wondering: what is it about a good novel that is so appealing; so enjoyable? It seems that at least one answer lies in the fact that novels in some way function as a lens of our lives and society. Think about it: what is it that draws us into a book like Pride and Prejudice, or even Harry Potter? First, I think it magnifies certain aspects of its characters such that we can in some way identify with them. We all recognize Mr. Darcy’s pride because we have all been there in some way, and we all have felt lonely or abandoned like Harry. We identify with the characters, which attracts us to them. But I don’t think it stops there.

While we may identify with certain aspects of characters or situations, we also recognize (or at least recognize that we ought to realize) that the story of the novel is not our own. We are self-interested in many ways, but it doesn't seem to me that novels are popular just because we are narcissistic. While in a lot of ways they allow for escapism, to me, they also offer more than that. We don’t read a book just to get away from our problems, because those in the book have problems too. Rather, it seems to me that I read because subconsciously I recognize that the simplicity of fiction can shed new light on many problems.

This is not to say that a novel has to be simple to be good, or that complicated characters in tangled situations makes for a bad work of fiction. The simplicity of fiction comes in that in most cases, the described human being simply cannot be as complicated as the real thing. Even the deepest character cannot be all-encompassing. We human beings have too many aspects for that. Rather, the beauty of fiction is that it paint a picture of a person in a way that is believable and yet simplifying, such that a particular problem or issue is highlighted.

Since Harry Potter is all the rage right now, take that as an example. Since this was a series, Harry is perhaps better developed than the average character. We get a picture of an ‘average’ boy: he goes through teen angst, falls in love, makes friends, and, above all, makes mistakes. Yet through the fictional setting of the magical world and the choice made by the evil villain to single out Harry, the power of love and self sacrifice are shown again and again. We see this not only in Harry’s final action, but in the actions of his friends, teachers, and the complete strangers who are unwilling to do evil in order to save themselves, often at the cost of death. Through the lens of the extraordinary situation-- the amplification of the good and evil that exist in this world-- we see what love can do. And we start to wonder what it has done (and can do!) in our lives.

Through this lens, the reader is then able to think through the dilemma in a way that is separate from and yet still relevant to her own life. The novel presents, through its characters, a snapshot of the drama of human life. Maybe it’s a picture that the reader recognizes as parallel to something in her own life, or maybe it’s a completely foreign experience. Perhaps she gains perspective on her own problem or maybe she catches a glimpse into another person’s experience, enabling her to sympathize. Either way, she is enriched.

Basically, I think all of this leads to a really interesting question about the role of Literature in cultural Morality and individual moral formation, but I think for now I'll start with these musings. I'd love to hear any thoughts you may have on the subject?

Being Bodily

In studying the Theology of the Body, as I have been blessed to be able to do for the last couple of weeks, I’ve realized that there are a lot of absolutely amazing things about the Church’s teaching. Some of them have been more profound than others, and I don’t really have the time, energy, or space to reflect on them all here, so it seems like the perfect time to make a list.
 

1. I’ve realized that I often think like a dualist. Body and soul are separate, and the body is the bad part.  To me, it is an AMAZING revelation that our bodies are actually good, and necessarily part of WHO we are, our person.

2. Thinking #1 is pretty natural to us, given that we live in a fallen world. No joke, sin means our bodies don’t work with our spirit as they were supposed to. This may seem obvious, but when you really think about it, it’s surprising. We don’t know anything else because we live in this fallen world…

 

3. Though we often think of sin as in the body (think St Paul here), if you look at the whole of Scripture, what is often blamed for sin is not the body itself, as though the matter God created is bad, but bodily desires, which cannot be separated from the person himself.

 

4. The only way we know it’s supposed to be different is through revelation (see prior post). I can’t get over that one.

 

5. Even though we are fallen, and this affects everything we do, we are also redeemed through Christ. This means we can do good with our bodies; we can overcome sin and we can recapture who we are meant to be.

 

6. We actually need our bodies to do good. Think about the Sacraments!!

 

7. All of this means that I’m not totally going to be in heaven until my body is there too.

 

8. Once we are body and soul in heaven, we will experience ourselves (our personhood) in a way that we cannot even imagine right now. 

It is such a temptation in our world to think this way; to think of our bodies as property for our ‘use’ or tools for gaining whatever we need. We often think of our bodies as hindrances, especially when we have to exercise, or get sick, or need sleep. This kind of thinking is so easy because these weaknesses are in the body, and since we always want to believe we are invincible, we separate our ‘selves’ from our bodies. This is how our world justifies so much, and even if we don’t fall into the major sins (e.g. my body is my property so I can have an abortion or do drugs), this attitude sneaks into little things, and before I know it, I catch myself copping out and blaming my body for my failings.

Being Human

This week I started a course on John Paull II’s Theology of the Body that was introduced by the Professor with a quote from Guadium et Spes, the Constitution of the Church in the Modern World developed at Vatican II: 

“Christ, the final Adam, by the revelation of the mystery of the Father and His love, fully reveals man to man himself and makes his supreme calling clear.” (Section 22)    

I must admit, I had heard this before, but never really understood it. Whenever I had previously heard this quote, I thought, “sure, of course, Christ was the perfect man, so we should follow him, etc…” But for some reason it struck me differently this time around. The Church is actually making an incredibly bold statement here. It’s not just saying that that Christ is a good guy so we should follow him, but rather that we human beings cannot actually know our true selves without God becoming Incarnate as a man. Christ is the perfect man, and we would not even understand what ‘the perfect man’ meant without Him. It’s an extremely humbling thought, and also sheds light on a recurring problem I’ve run into while studying Moral Theology.

So often it seems that the conclusions the Church comes to are completely contrary to what the world judges to be right. Not just in the obvious things, but in seemingly minute details like the difference between contraception and family planning. The whole world seems to disagree, and the Church stands alone. On the face of it, this seems arrogant, and in our democratic culture, obviously wrong. When asked why this is, Catholic appeals to the ‘fallen nature of man’ seem hollow and unreal, grasping at straws to explain away the pride that leads us to claim to have truth.

Seen in light of this statement, however, I realized that this truly is the only answer that we, as Catholics, can give. While our faith is illuminated by reason, Christ is the Truth, and so we can only know the whole truth in knowing Him. It is not just our actions that are affected by the fall, but our ability to know things as well. Thus, we, as fallen beings, cannot even know the whole truth about ourselves, about who we are, without God’s revelation. And so even in the face of overwhelming opposition, the Church, which has used reason and revelation to discern the truth in Christ, must proclaim this to the world.

This, incidentally, is what the Theology of the Body is all about: how Christ, as a man (body and soul!) demonstrates for us the truth of our personhood. It’s controversial, because it’s about Christ, and who we are meant to be, rather than what we currently are. And nobody likes to be told to change. 

Be Still

I like ideas. I also like tasks, lists, and activities. The feeling of accomplishment and satisfaction when I cross the final item off my long list of ‘to do’ items for the day is one of my favorites. I have also always liked rules and rubrics, with their transparency and well defined limits, telling me exactly what to do in order to accomplish my goal. Conversely, I tend to get frustrated with projects and people who expect things of me, but do not lay out guidelines in a clear way.

I realized some time ago that this tendency often led to my treating people as tasks, and to my getting frustrated with others who ‘got in the way’ of my ‘to do’ list. While I have (am still working) worked on this problem, what struck me recently was how much I had let this tendency pervade my prayer life. My general thought process: “I want to be holy. What can I do to be holy? Dear God, I love you. What can I do to be holy? If I go to mass every day, pray more, read spiritual books, or become a nun, will that work?”  The general idea of this: “what can I do, God, just tell me and I’ll do it?!” You can imagine the ensuing frustration when I cannot figure out the answer…

 And yet, as I’ve realized before, this is neither possible, nor (fortunately) what God wants from me. This revelation came about when a friend pointed me to a familiar verse in the Psalms: “Be still, and know that I am God” (46:10). In this request, God is not asking us to do anything, but rather simply to be. In our task oriented culture, it is so hard to even know what it is simply ‘to be’.  What can it mean ‘to be’ with God? How can I be with someone I cannot see? The saints got it; Mother Teresa has a famous quote about ‘looking’ at God as prayer. My question was always, how do I get there?! 

What I failed to understand was that this ‘being’ with God isn’t the end to arrive at, it’s the whole point; just as loving my mom or sister or friend here on earth isn’t about doing anything, it’s about spending time, building a relationship, being with and for the other person. Our actions matter in these relationships, but much more so the relationship does the relationship itself.

I’ve realized in my struggle to overcome my task oriented nature that I am much happier, much more who I am meant to be when I ‘waste’ time with others, simply being with them. How much more so will this apply as I simply try to ‘be’ with God.