Reflection on God's Word: LUKE 7:36-8:3

This Sunday’s gospel is one of my favorite Bible stories; it is the story of the sinful woman who anoints Jesus’ feet with precious oil. The righteous are indignant and wonder why would she waste her valuable perfume, instead of selling it and giving money to the needy?

The men who had invited Jesus to eat with them failed to see themselves in this woman who approached Jesus with humility. They did not possess humility; they were quick to judge this woman’s behavior. 

Jesus taught them that this woman’s repentant act was an act of faith, a divine dialogue with God and we must be slow to judge others.  This woman was moved to pour out her most valuable possession upon her encounter with God.  This is how we please God, when we give the very best of ourselves to Him, to glorify Him!

Isn’t this what the world needs today more than ever; Less judgment and more humility? The climate we live in is one of self-hatred, competition and division. The world tells us that our worth lies in physical perfection or in what we do for a living, or what we drive, or where we live, or the people we hang out with, yet God calls us to see ourselves for who we really are: a spiritual being made for union with Him.  When we learn to see each other neither with cynism nor fear, rather with love and forgiveness, we are more in union with God. When we learn to see ourselves as worthy of God’s love because he created us for himself regardless of our circumstances, we become closer to knowing God.

In this scripture reading I am reminded to turn to prayer first. In prayer I am more able to see through the lens of charity. God sees us as worthy of his forgiveness, even when we don’t see ourselves that way. God wants me to run to him and offer him myself in humility.  God knows who I am.  I am unclean. Yet when I go to him in faith, He restores me. This woman understood the beauty of God’s grace; she understood the gift of God’s forgiveness. She went to seek Christ out, knowing that a personal encounter would heal her. The Sacrament of Reconciliation is this gift that Jesus left to his Church, that allows me to go  and through Grace I can know that God has healed me just like this woman was.  When I go to Confession I go with humility and with joy, knowing that God loved me before I was even born.  When I go before him his eyes upon me are not of anger but of love and compassion.

Humility means compassion. It means being able to see myself and  others through the eyes of true love. This story reminds me that humility and being able to forgive others like God forgives me is what makes us all beautiful and holy in the eyes of God.

At His Side-an Ode to my Growing Boy

My growing boy;  tender moments such as

when he rests his head on my shoulder and

his smiling brown eyes  speaks directly to my soul.

 I relish  these moments when he is at my side.

Bedtime rituals; smoothing the waves of  covers

turns into an invitation to  speak our mind

his always open to senseless giggles and tickles

how I relish these moments of  being by his side.

Surprising me constantly as he steps boldly into wisdom

I notice that he is absorbing the world's lessons

Generously he wants to respond in love

How I wish to always  keep him at my side.

Deftly afternoons transform to evening shadows

He will transform into a young man soon

and  be called to taste sweetness found in yonder gardens

lured by scented roses who hide their ache  on their side.

For now I take comfort in our own secret garden

where his yearning for new horizons are just dreams we share

I pray that the innocent love that now shines from within him

will be God's warm love that he will always have at his side.

 

CCayon

June 9, 2013

On the wings of learning

When I was in 5^th grade I sat in the middle of my classroom. I was not the brightest nor the loudest nor the shyest nor the tallest nor the funniest.  I enjoyed school but I preferred to be outside playing. I got good grades, and I suppose I was quite “normal” by most standards.  Two things made me “special”. I was the only Hispanic in my entire elementary school and I loved to draw.  When any class assignment involved drawing I felt like I became engaged in what the subject was about.  Most of my memories of when I was in school that are my favorite memories revolve around a drawing activity or event. That was when I was learning at my "best".

One of those memories is in Mrs. Zinn’s class in Indianapolis and learning about birds.  Everyone was given a report to do on a particular species of a bird and for whatever reason, mine was the noble red-winged blackbird.  She also handed me a manila colored 8 ½” by 11” construction paper in case I decided to also depict my subject. I remember analyzing the bird in my mind’s eye (now having had experience as an art educator I realize that what I was doing implicity was breaking it down into parts and figuring out its proportions so that I could put it back together again as a whole). The image of the bird that I was looking at amazed me, perhaps it was its elegant shape, or perhaps it was the striking contrast of the bird’s black feathers against the bright red-orange and yellow crowned wings.  I am sure I also studied its habitat and its feeding habits, but what I remember most is its distinctive look and how I tried very hard to get my black crayon to appear as glossy as it actually looked in the encyclopedia’s picture and I worked so delicately to blend my red and orange crayons so that I could imitate the beautiful bold hue that gave this bird its name.This memory surfaced for me this week when a few days each morning a neighboring red winged black bird came tapping on my office window.  I was transported immediately to my elementary school desk as I proudly turned in my report with my drawing of this beautiful creature.

This experience this week coincided with my evaluation on the catechetical lessons for next year’s children’s classes. It made me aware of how learning is very complex and multi-faceted in the field of any kind of formation. We can’t just lump every child as one “learning type”. We must remember that every child is “special” and learns and processes information uniquely.

Catechesits must always re-evaluate and train ourselves to be able to adapt the “how” of what we do in a classroom environment. Are we so rigid that we can't respond to a particular need from a child? We must be open to changes driven by feedback from our families. What are the challenges to their faith journey? We must get to know our students intimately so that we can determine what drives them to want to learn.  We must also stay focused on our priorities. This work is most likely to be manageable and effective when we work together as a team.  As catechists, we must be willing to avoid working "solo". We must work with our families; as they are the primary catechists. We need to  encourage, train, and empower them to be part of the learning process for their children.

This quote from an educator makes me pause as I begin my summer in reflection for the next year: “As you enter a classroom ask yourself this question: "If there were no students in the room, could I do what I am planning to do?" If your answer to the question is yes, don't do it.” Gen. Ruben Cubero, Dean of The Faculty, United States Air Force Academy

As I join the hundreds of  DRE’s at the National Conference for Catechetical Leaders next week in Cleveland I hope to be inspired by what I hear and see. And who knows, I may also get to draw?

 

Seeing Christ in all things

It is easy to see God in the beautiful moments of life.  I can’t help but be inspired to be a part of God’s creative spirit each time I acknowledge the end of a day signaled by a wondrous sunset at our beach house. I saw God in each of my baby’s angelic sleepy face each time they nursed at my breast. When I paused to admire an astonishing work of art like Michelangelo’s David, God shone there too. The times I have visited a reverently magnificent and peaceful space like St. Peter’s Basilica I was affirmed in God’s glory through man’s creativity.  Each Sunday with my community at Incarnation Church as I gather for Mass I feel God’s smile of reconciliation.  All of those moments for me have been moments of communing with God on a very intimate level.  I didn’t have to work too hard to feel God’s presence in those experiences.   All it took was an open and seeing heart.

 

Yet, as a Catholic, I am taught that Jesus did not come to comfort the already comfortable….he challenges me to see him in those areas in my life where outward beauty is not present.  Lately, our new Pope is reminding me of this too.  Look for Christ not in the majesty of our environments or in the richness of our communities only….look for Christ in what seems dead, in what the world says is useless or ugly, for he is surely there too!

At Mass this past Sunday I looked around our sanctuary, I noticed the beautifully white clean and tidy altar cloth which beheld the gold chalices that would hold the precious blood of Christ, the beautiful fresh flowers that adorned the altar of our Lord, the large leather Book of Gospel with the regal gold embossing on the cover, illuminated by the flicker of the large Pascal candle, a symbol of God’s light in our world. Seemingly suspended in the air my eyes gazed at the amazing hand carved wood cross of our Resurrected Christ, boldly reminding us of God’s greatest miracle.  I became aware of the beautiful families, many of them my friends, who gather with me each week, laying our weakness at the altar of our God, and giving thanks and worshiping our God together.  I noted our altar servers so eager to serve our priest, a deeply devoted man who mystically takes on Christ in the consecration of the bread and wine; I heard God’s word proclaimed by our priest, reminding us that after Christ resurrected he appeared to his friends, yet his own disciples didn’t recognize him at first. And then I realized maybe they too, like me, look for him in the beautiful, the glorious, the wondrous, and the momentous. In This Sunday’s gospel St. John tells us our resurrected Christ was patiently waiting for the disciples on the beach fixing them a humble morning meal.  This is our God….patiently waiting for me to see him calling out to me in the daily routine of my day. Can I learn to see him there too?

God’s message to me this week is this: As I learn to follow our Lord, I will find him in all areas of my life. I may be surprised that he cares about the simplicity of my day, that he is in the dirty face of the bearded homeless man outside my grocery store who asks me for change, he is the annoying woman who cuts me off in the carline at Zac’s school, he is the suburban creek overrun by trash that I so casually drive by each morning, he is the black vulture that feeds on the dead gopher on the side of the road, he is the alcoholic who frequents our parish asking for money to pay his rent, he knows the heavy burdens I carry,  he asks to heal my wounds, our wounds….He is all that and more. 

 I am realizing I must open my heart even more, that is where my challenge lies; that is where God patiently waits for me. I will follow you Jesus, because it will lead me beyond myself and you will teach me to see you in all things. You will teach me to trust. You will teach me to share your love more and to love my brothers, sisters and all of creation deeper than I have ever imagined.

Mi Papa or Patrem Meum

My papa…..no, this is not about the Holy Pope, this is about MY PAPA.  With all the media hoopla over our new Pope, it is understandable that Catholics and even non Catholis are rejoicing over the election of our spiritual father. I can’t help but think that in one week’s time or less they will be crushing him to death, as our media does with their “celebrity of the minute”.   However, as Christians we understand that this man, chosen to be our Pope, leader of over 1 billion Catholics, but also a spiritual leader for all humanity (as Vicar of Christ)  is human; we are aware that God always calls us out of ourselves to serve others.  We are blessed that this new Pope said yes and he deserves our prayers, as he so humbly asked for, as he appeared on the balcony and looked upon  many of his  family gathered  around him in St. Peter’s Square.   

As I have watched and shared the news since Wednesday I can’t help but also think of my own Papa.  One reason is that many have shared how much the new Pope looks like my dad (which is quite funny, he kind of does) but more striking for me is that the way the Pope came out on the balcony in simple fashion, without some of the regalia of bygone Popes, that side of him does remind me of my own father.

We all have biological fathers and if we are blessed we also have spiritual fathers who shaped us and were examples for us. No father is perfect, none of us are.  Jesus said only our Father in Heaven is perfect. (Which is what he meant when he also said don’t call anyone else ‘Father’, he was referring to the perfect Father.) So although we know we can’t be perfect, we are all called to be holy and my father represents for me many qualities that I would say qualify him for sainthood. I would like to tell you why.

My dad is the opposite of my mom in some ways.  He is reserved, yet he is not afraid to speak what’s on his mind.  With my dad, you always know where you stand with him.  He is forgiving; often times I hear him humbly apologize to my mom, or others, for speaking without listening, for example.

My dad made mistakes as we grew up, but he never gave up trying.  He bravely took us out of a country that had become inhumanely restricted in natural freedoms.  He cut himself from his roots, he left behind a family and a country he loved and he created a new home for us in a new country. Having had a profession, a college graduate, in this country he found and worked menial jobs, lowpaying jobs, working odd hours. He learned a new language and new customs.  He invited others in our home to share what little we had.  He was always sending what little money we had to missions (especially to Native American missions here). He worked overtime to send money, clothing and medicines to our family overseas, in Cuba and Spain.  In my dad I always saw a spirit of service to others.

Now, did I say that my dad is not perfect? He had a temper and he was strict, with a capital S.  I respected him and feared him as a young teen. He held me up to high standards.  I did not want to make him mad, because I knew my punishment would be to be grounded for life, with no chance of parole. I would try to build up my alliances in the family, but everyone knew that when my dad spoke, his word was law.  He did not allow me to wear make up until I was 13 ½ ….what? Dad, just lip-gloss? I was convinced I had the meanest dad in the world! I couldn’t go anywhere with my friends without an adult chaperone….what?  Dad, we’re just going to a football game!  Yes, definitely the meanest dad!

Yet today, I am grateful because I see that what he did for me was to protect me from the world at a time when I would easily be swayed by the luring attraction of rebellion.  I think he knew that I loved rebellion, but I feared my dad more.  So, I followed his rules (most of the time!) and when I didn’t, I could be found in my bed room without a phone, without friends, just me and my Teen Magazines that would just add to my misery as I would dream about all the cool things I could be doing with my cool friends wearing cool clothes.  That was what was important to me during my early teens.

My dad’s goal for me was to keep my heart pure, stay healthy, develop my mind, and be nice to my grandparents. (Let me also confess here that I was not easy to live with as a teen, a handful, the most melodramatic teen, I know now because I go back and read my diaries and you would think I lived in total misery). 

Eventually, I matured and I went away to college to study artchitecture and design at the University of Florida. (One has to understand what a big leap in faith this was for my dad.)  My parents at first were totally dead set against my leaving, but they realized that as an adult that this was a decision I now had to make.  When I left for Gainesville my dad gave me a small statue of the Virgin Mary.  It was simple and lovely work of art, all white porcelain, and it stood on my dresser drawer throughout my years away.  It reminded me of my dad’s faith in me and in our Lord.  He knew that Our Lord and our holy mother would watch over me, when he wouldn’t be around to do so anymore.  I still have that statue, and I cherish it because it reminds me of my dad’s love for me.  He loved me and trusted in me and my future enough to let me go.

Now, in our later years, my dad is much more sentimental than he was when I was young. I saw him care for each of my four grandparents until they passed away in his and  mom’s care.  I see him care for my mother now as they get older, I see him care for his grandchildren, I see him still worry for my brother and I. I also see him more in prayer.  I see him trust in God more, I see him in a process of conversion that says to me….we are all works in progress. He did the best he could as a man, and I am so thankful that when God called him to be a father to me and my brother he said “yes”.  I think this is what it means to be a father, to say yes to God, and then allow God’s grace to transform us so we can be more than we think we are capable of.  My dad was called to serve his family; he did and he continues to serve us well, not perfect, but really well!! My father loves me.  I am proud to say he is my spiritual and Holy Papa!!!

Una Tacita de Te

My Abuela "Longa" would have celebrated 97 years last week.  It has been five years when she left us after dying peacefully in her bed at home under the care of Hospice.  I was teaching a class that morning, awaiting the dreaded call; my husband and my parents were with her.   Her last few weeks were hard because she suffered, her heart had grown tired.  It became more and more difficult for her to breath, however, she never lost her smiling eyes and  her faith in the power of love. 

Today I poured myself a cup of  Earl Grey tea (her favorite) and it reminded me of the teas we shared together her last few years whenever she would come over to my house, so I could watch her while my parents went out.  She would have preferred to be at  home, she relished her independence, but having had a few perilous falls my parents were cautious to leave her alone anymore. These visits provided us time to just hang out. She always enjoyed telling me of her past.  Through her  stories I learned a lot about growing up without a mother's love, overcoming struggles, the importance of family, and the value of kindness.  I am thankful that although the politics between Cuba and the US separated us for many years, I was able to enjoy her final chapters here in Tampa and Houston, where she shared time between two of her three daughters. ( Her youngest never left Cuba). Her regret was not able to see her third daughter before she passed.

This prose is written as a dedication to her, strangely writing in spanish (which is not as easy for me as in English) seems natural today as I am remembering how we always enjoyed English tea together and how fresh her memory of her adventures as a young woman, as she came of age in a small town outside of Havana.  Interesting how our simple ritual of tea can bring back so many memories for me. She taught me to pass on our memories with love...so I am doing just that through these words.

 

 "Una tacita de Te"

 

Una simple tacita de te caliente le brindaba  a mi abuelita

Y con su sonrisa genial de mi la recibía con cuidado

Y me decía que sabroso el té que yo compartía con ella

Juntas pasamos tardes en mi casa de esta manera

La veo en mi mente todavía sentada en su silla favorita

 

De ahí  ella me hablaba de muchas cosas

Le gustaba contar de cómo un joven militar la conquisto

Me contaba  de su dulce pasado en su tierra natal, y yo curiosa

Con  imaginación la veía  una Cubanita joven, lista, y sabía

Recuerdo sentirme  que yo bebía sus palabras

 

Con sus manos envejecidas tomaba el te ingles y me preguntaba de donde era

Y yo le recordaba que era el mismo que tomamos la última vez

Abría sus ojos azules y sorprendida decía que no recordaba

Aunque su memoria de la niñez que vivió siempre fue fresca y puro

Y ella seguía soltando al aire sus lindas anécdotas

 

Hoy contemplo  esas tardes y noches que compartimos juntas

Ahora me doy cuenta que bella  lección de humildad y amor ella me brindaba

Cuando hoy  me serví  una simple tacita de te vi sus ojitos de flor

 Con una lágrima yo le brinde gracias por lo que aprendí más de ella

Que nuestras melosas memorias son regalos de Papa Dios quien es Amor.

 

Por CCayon-Marzo 12, 2013

 

Celebrating a Scrutiny is frightful!

Grant me, Lord, to know what
I ought to know,
to love what I ought to love,
to praise what delights you most,
to value what is precious in your sight,
to hate what is offensive to you.
Do not allow me to judge according
to appearances,
nor to pass sentence following
the judgment of the ignorant,
but to discern with true judgment
between things visible and spiritual,
and, above all things,
to seek to know what is the good
pleasure of your will. Amen
Thomas A. Kempis

 Today I am getting ready to celebrate the Second Scrutiny at Mass this Sunday with our RCIA group and parish community.  As we reflected last Sunday in our group, after our First Scrutiny, someone shared how frightful they had been when they heard that they would be celebrating a Scrutiny at Mass!  Although I thought I had done a good job preparing us all for the Scrutinies, this person reminded me that I had forgotten to see outside of my lens.  Of course! This should be frightful for anyone who is taking this celebration seriously.

Our group has been journeying together for many months now and together they began by inquiring of the community what our Catholic faith is really about. Together we have been scrutinizing our parish community. Our group has examined what the Church believes and how it responds to what it believes.  That process is painful at times, because our Church is made up of sinners and we can’t white wash the times when whom we said we were and how we acted were in conflict with one another.

Most times it is the newcomer who points out the good in our Church.  They will share the good news of what led them to the Catholic Church, how the Holy Spirit pointed the way to our church through a person, an event, or an experience.  This is where I am renewed in my own faith, when I see how God continues to call everyone to Himself, without discriminating between ethnicity, nationality, race, class, sexuality, age, etc.  Each person who visits us through RCIA is someone whom God has moved their heart enough to "come and see" for themselves.

Now during the period of Lent, the Rites of Scrutinies are meant to be for each one of us; whether we are coming into the Church, or already part of the Church through our baptism, the Church uses this period to nudge us to scrutinize ourselves.  Yes, that should be frightening, because if we are honest we should see ourselves for who we really are:  how we may have deviated from the path that Christ calls us to each day.  We discern: Where have I not loved what I ought to love?  When have I not delighted in God’s blessings?  When I have not rejected what is offensive to God? When have I judged others and not been compassionate enough to share in their pain; instead I may have distracted myself with selfish goals or numbed myself of my pain with destructive addictions?  The answers to these questions can disturb us, because we may consider ourselves to be “ok” or even worse “not sinful”.  Part of the journey of Lent is to see our sinfulness, accept that we need the Lord as our savior and we need his sacraments to nourish us on our walk of faith.  On our own we are easily lost.  Together we rejoice that our Lord has already redeemed us. 

So, now I prepare the Rite and I reflect on my own faith journey I am touched by the conversations I am having with the group and realizing once more that it is through our Elect that God reminds me  to “move outside of my box” and allow myself to be “frightened” enough to respond humbly in prayer…. “God I am a sinner. Thank you for loving me anyway!”