I was listening to a priest talk today about being pierced in the heart. He relayed a very sad story about a man from his parish who had died unexpectedly, and while as a pastor and friend he has been dealing with this sudden grief, he heard himself saying to people that his heart had been pierced.
I couldn't help but think how tied to the suffering of Mary this sounded. She who at the crucifixion was Pierced through the Heart. JP II tells us that women in a special way see people with their hearts... so it makes sense that there is something particularly feminine about experiencing the loss of a person this way.
That experience of piercing, then, has a uniquely feminine quality. Not just in the Freudian, sexual sense that I can't help but ponder... but in a real and resonant echo of the heart of Mary, the paradigm of the feminine.
It's beautiful to me that this man could experience a truly feminine understanding of pain. It makes me think that by participating honestly and faithfully as the Bride of Christ, this man understands in a small way who we all are in this intimate relationship with the One who overcomes pain and death. In moving through death to the resurrection, it becomes imperative to understand as Benedict says, that the feminine is the element at the heart of the church.
And then this meaning of the feminine becomes more fully realized. Through pain and piercing comes new life. Like the pain of labor gives way to a child, the pain of loss gives way to rebirth. The Church embraces this piercing and she gives life back to us all, men and women alike, who see the power and the path to resurrection. What a magnificent understanding of the feminine! It is not quiet and gentle in fact. It is strong enough to stand being pierced through the heart many times. It rages against the power of death, and triumphs when bringing forth life.
May we all have the courage to face such piercing, and learn from Mary the holiness of a feminine heart.
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Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
The Quality of Mercy
Forgiveness is one of the hardest parts of Christianity to come to grasps with. That is to say, I want to be forgiven immediately and easily. Others should understand that I am not feeling well today, that I didn't think something through, that I was just reacting, or that my Past has made me ill-formed... but... how well do I return the gift?
Mary Ann Glendon reminds us that "we all like the parts of Catholicism that are easiest for us to personally put into practice." Sure. Participate in singing at Mass. Yep. Only place I get to sing in public these days, anyway, so hooray- I will eagerly add my voice. Visit the sick. Not even that big a deal, especially when I can do it by picking up the phone or brightening someone's day.
Forgiveness. We get stuck.
Lent rears its gloomy head and yawns and shakes out a mane of self-discipline, prayer and sacrifice as it wakens for yet another season. And in that shadow, I am forced to think of the ways in which I have not pursued the Best Version of Myself - not been receptive to holiness. One of the billboards flashing before me blazons with the words: forgiveness.
I wonder whether people know I am holding a hurt against them. I wonder if they would be shocked to hear the list that rattles in my head when I see them - of the movies that silently replay in my mind. And whether they do or not, or care or not, I wonder how deep a wound I have created in my own heart and soul by holding onto these lists, movies, snippets, misgivings.
Because, ultimately, I suffer when I hold on to hurt. I harm myself when I carry around the weight of others' faults atop my own.
Several years ago I had an amazing experience when urged to take -not my own sins- but the hurts Others had caused me to the sacrament of Reconciliation. For the first time, I could say to God: I have been so wounded by the men in my life for years and years, and if I don't let go of their words and these wounds, I can never be free. The beautiful priest who was ministering to me told me to pray, over and over: Father, forgive them, they know not what they do. And in that dark night, in the candlelight glow surrounding the Eucharist, I was able to pray those words and find real, intense and fruitful healing.
Are there others I need to forgive? Yes. Have I been freed without adding to my burdens? No. I have a lot to work on. But maybe if we all took care of the hearts we have been given, if we could spend a day, a week, a year, nourishing our hearts and authentically seeking healing, we would have hearts that were stronger and quicker to love. Because love is a person. And love makes us whole.
Lent points us to that wholeness, that Person. I invite you to join me in a new commitment, not just to turn away from sin... but to be faithful to forgiveness.
Mary Ann Glendon reminds us that "we all like the parts of Catholicism that are easiest for us to personally put into practice." Sure. Participate in singing at Mass. Yep. Only place I get to sing in public these days, anyway, so hooray- I will eagerly add my voice. Visit the sick. Not even that big a deal, especially when I can do it by picking up the phone or brightening someone's day.
Forgiveness. We get stuck.
Lent rears its gloomy head and yawns and shakes out a mane of self-discipline, prayer and sacrifice as it wakens for yet another season. And in that shadow, I am forced to think of the ways in which I have not pursued the Best Version of Myself - not been receptive to holiness. One of the billboards flashing before me blazons with the words: forgiveness.
I wonder whether people know I am holding a hurt against them. I wonder if they would be shocked to hear the list that rattles in my head when I see them - of the movies that silently replay in my mind. And whether they do or not, or care or not, I wonder how deep a wound I have created in my own heart and soul by holding onto these lists, movies, snippets, misgivings.
Because, ultimately, I suffer when I hold on to hurt. I harm myself when I carry around the weight of others' faults atop my own.
Several years ago I had an amazing experience when urged to take -not my own sins- but the hurts Others had caused me to the sacrament of Reconciliation. For the first time, I could say to God: I have been so wounded by the men in my life for years and years, and if I don't let go of their words and these wounds, I can never be free. The beautiful priest who was ministering to me told me to pray, over and over: Father, forgive them, they know not what they do. And in that dark night, in the candlelight glow surrounding the Eucharist, I was able to pray those words and find real, intense and fruitful healing.
Are there others I need to forgive? Yes. Have I been freed without adding to my burdens? No. I have a lot to work on. But maybe if we all took care of the hearts we have been given, if we could spend a day, a week, a year, nourishing our hearts and authentically seeking healing, we would have hearts that were stronger and quicker to love. Because love is a person. And love makes us whole.
Lent points us to that wholeness, that Person. I invite you to join me in a new commitment, not just to turn away from sin... but to be faithful to forgiveness.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Move over Weston - Fiona's here
One of the most complex characters in nighttime drams is Fiona, the trigger happy ex-girlfriend of spy Michael Weston on Burn Notice. She's a sun-kissed, sleekly muscled slip of a woman with a bad attitude and an obsession with all things explosive. Let's just say her pretty figure is not the one you'd want to be on the wrong side of a dark alley with.
And yet the writers have skillfully, masterfully crafted her to be distinctly feminine. Hers is far less a violent bloodlust than a consuming desire for justice. And while money and gain never seem to attract her, the instant she hears a child has been threatened she runs in, guns blazing. Literally.
From a feminist standpoint, she is smart, independent, and powerful - a ideological thumbs up, for sure. But from the perspective of the New Feminism, she also strkes a chord. Violence aside, Fiona sees the person. She devotes her life to the outcast Weston. She sees the person, defends life, and despises bullying. She adheres to the encouragement in Gaudiam et Spes to reject discrimination. And as a single woman, she gives herself as s sincere gift for the other - serving the marginalized and weak.
Perhaps this is no saint Fiona. But in a culture where women are often still portrayed as passively passive or masculine in their activity, Fiona strikes an encouraging balance of strength and dignity that makes her a woman that could teach the culture a thing or two.
And yet the writers have skillfully, masterfully crafted her to be distinctly feminine. Hers is far less a violent bloodlust than a consuming desire for justice. And while money and gain never seem to attract her, the instant she hears a child has been threatened she runs in, guns blazing. Literally.
From a feminist standpoint, she is smart, independent, and powerful - a ideological thumbs up, for sure. But from the perspective of the New Feminism, she also strkes a chord. Violence aside, Fiona sees the person. She devotes her life to the outcast Weston. She sees the person, defends life, and despises bullying. She adheres to the encouragement in Gaudiam et Spes to reject discrimination. And as a single woman, she gives herself as s sincere gift for the other - serving the marginalized and weak.
Perhaps this is no saint Fiona. But in a culture where women are often still portrayed as passively passive or masculine in their activity, Fiona strikes an encouraging balance of strength and dignity that makes her a woman that could teach the culture a thing or two.
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