Fellowship, Facebook and the Holy Spirit

The original caustic title was "What is Wrong with You People?" which became "What is Wrong with Us" which became something far less accusatory. But being a Catholic blog junkie and a Catholic writer want-a-be, I've watched several firestorms erupt within the Catholic blogosphere that resemble the fellowship exhibited within the confines of the Senate between political parties.

I am for Simcha!  I am for Greydamus! 

The tenor, which began as a discussion, often became a poor witness of what we say and believe and know we are to be. 

Noah is a stupid film with rock monsters! 
Noah is a serious if imperfect film!
See it! 
Don't See it!
How about, there is no mortal peril to laughing at Noah or to going to see Noah? It's not an occasion of mortal sin except to the extent we forget that ours is not the defining opinion. 

This also happened with The Catholic Stand and a fight over the issue of romanticism and marriage, where advice given freely became fodder for personal attacks because others were protective of their friend who voiced her understanding in a piece, but with more force than experience or doctrine warranted.   Truth in Charity we are called to give, but we often forget one or the other, and the public nature of the internet can make discussion easily turn from instruction to entertainment, to something less noble.  We're supposed to be known by "look at how they love each other" and the witness of fights over Facebook, does not reveal anything but camps, camps of friendship, camps of loyalty, camps of intellectual agreement, but not Catholicism, which is "universal." It bothered me, but I also feared losing friends on both sides. It is my always great fear, losing friends. 

Then I hopped over to Creative Minority Report and saw the continuation of what has been a long discussion over weeks, that doom is upon us, that the end time is near.  These are also friends,  but at least one of the writers is indulging the notion of despair, that the enemy is warming up the Lions, and our long Lent shall continue even when the season ends.   Now I know all the fights he speaks of, lurking, growing, growling on the horizon, they're legion. I see the coming moral storms and ongoing ones we have to navigate.  None of us are under any illusions, much will be demanded of us if we are to call ourselves Catholic, but to quote from a movie I watched last night:

"Frodo: I wish the ring had never come to me. I wish none of this had happened.

Gandalf: So do all who live to see such times, but that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us."


There is not an age, not a country, not a person in any of the world who embraced Catholicism, who did not at some point feel the weight of the cross they were called to carry and tremble, wish it were taken away, wish the person chosen were anyone else but them, wish the world were lighter, wish the work were less. Some brave souls do this every day. Folks in these great stories that are told every day, didn't know how it would end. 

Sam: It's like in the great stories Mr. Frodo, the ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger they were, and sometimes you didn't want to know the end because how could the end be happy?

How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened?

But in the end it's only a passing thing this shadow, even darkness must pass. A new day will come, and when the sun shines it'll shine out the clearer.

Those were the stories that stayed with you, that meant something even if you were too small to understand why.

But I think Mr. Frodo, I do understand, I know now folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back, only they didn't. They kept going because they were holding on to something.

Frodo: What are we holding onto, Sam?
Sam: That there's some good in the world, Mr. Frodo, and it's worth fighting for.

 It is the dark night of the soul, when the only thing one can do, is pray and carry on.

The desert we travel in, is not our time or our nation, but our hearts.   We need to stop looking outward and despairing, that is judgment; we need to look inward and beg for mercy, that is Lent.   Then, we need to put on our best, to wear our hope and trust in God's mercy, and our friendship with his son Jesus on our faces.  Then, we will be lights to others in places where all other lights go out.  Scared? Sure, that's why we need courage, courage for our friends.  We need to ride out and meet them for there is always hope.     "Anyone who wishes to follow me, must pick up their cross,"... "for the yoke is easy, and the burden light."  I love the constant truth of both and that is our faith.

And it is hard, and yet not.

This week, I fretted.  A friend constantly posted things that I found offensive, that I found hurtful, and they were because that friend sincerely believes his political side is on the side of angels.  Admittedly, I understand the blind allegiance, I've been there.  It's easy, it requires no thinking, it justifies one's own opinion and makes one feel righteous in all things.  I worried how to illustrate my disagreement, i.e, how to "turn the other cheek," so I did not agree and did not run away, and did not lose the friend who has been a bright light for me.  How could I approach this delicate topic of believing all children are infinitely valuable, even in their preborn and even pre-implanted state? 

I didn't want to fail to speak.  But I'd written a response earlier to a prior similar post, one where I used reason and logic, and received no answer.  So clearly, stating a position, even defending a position, telling my position wasn't the answer.  This person knew my faith and that wasn't a compelling witness or argument. 

That day, my brother  posted a picture of his unborn child. And I was reminded of the writing adage, "Show, don't tell." 

Then he posted a picture of my dad holding the picture, two days before he died. 

And there was the continuum, right there, on Facebook.  All life is precious and equally infinitely loved, from conception to death.   I couldn't miss it.  It is right there alive in that picture.  And I remembered the words from Luke, 12:11, "When they bring you before the synagogues and the rulers and the authorities, do not worry about how or what you are to speak in your defense, or what you are to say; 12for the Holy Spirit will teach you in that very hour what you ought to say."

Just in case I was slow on the uptake, and the Holy Spirit knows I need overkill to get the point,  there was this piece on my Facebook feed at Word on Fire!

And the final smack across the heart, a piece by a fellow member of the Catholic writer's guild about his newborn daughter's diagnosis of Down Syndrome, Stage Six: Joy.

 

Which brings us back to how we are to be in the face of everything, joyful, even as we scour our own souls, even as we know there is a tremendous amount of labor to do.  Even the smallest act of kindness is a rebuke of the seemingly endless waves of chaos, pain, suffering and evil, both in the virtual and actual world.  

 

The hardest thing for us to do, is love someone we cannot see, either because we do not know them, we seek not to see them, or we want to pretend they do not exist because to acknowledge such existence would demand something of us. The internet provides us with a constant challenge, to see the person on the other side of the keyboard, regardless of their politics, positions, opinions, power or reach, as people of infinite worth, pearls of great price, people we hope to keep and call friends. 

 

Hold true, hold fast, hold. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mary, Mary, Think of Mary

This year for Lent, I’m trying something different. After talking with my husband, I am attempting to ban a flaw that sabotages my capacity to love my family well. It’s my “personal gritch.”

My personal gritch shows up on Saturdays some time after lunch when everyone is settled into a recreational activity. She goes about cleaning the dishes in a huff or sighs audibly in front of the laundry. She claims she wants help but what she really wants is a reversal; everyone else working while she takes it easy and just yells. She is humorless, joyless and ultimately, a very annoyed cleaning martyr that no one much wants to help or hang out with; and she pops up like clockwork on the weekends. I don’t like her anymore than the rest of the family does, but try as I might, I haven’t been able to shake her influence despite trying diversion (Look Sherry, a blog!), inclusion (Do you want to play with us Mom?) and redirection (We’ll get to that later, did you get to look at that article I mentioned?).

Fat Tuesday rolled around and I asked my husband, “How? How do I beat her?”
He smiled, “Well first of all, don’t be too hard on her, because I happen to love that person even when she’s in a bad mood.” It was hard to stay on point after such a sweet comment but I persisted. “I’m serious.”

“Okay.” He thought for a moment and brought me the picture of our Blessed Mother. “Mary. Think of her. She’s the model you want to shoot for. When you’re stressed out, think of Mary. That will help.”
My oldest daughter agreed to help by saying, “Mary” to me if I seemed too overwhelmed or stressed out. She said it yesterday morning when I began to feel the time crunch of getting ready for school. She said it again today when I started ordering people out to the car and ranting about lost shoes.

This evening however, my daughter would not be with me as she and her sister and brother had altar training. I wasn’t happy at my parish for doing this project. Adding a mandatory four training sessions once a week for three of my most capable children at prime dinner/bedtime routine time seemed cruel and almost anti-family to me, but I dropped them off and started the errands I’d saved for the mindless ninety minutes I’d have to kill before pick up.

The remaining five younger children would just have to deal with the boredom. Well. We all know how kids deal with being bored; they fight. I drove to the post office. I got gasoline. I stopped the fights but they kept coming. Finally, I swung into the parking lot of the school and yelled. It wasn’t Marian. It wasn’t pretty and then I looked at their faces and the clock that indicated we still had an hour with each other. I couldn’t expect things to get better without a major attitude adjustment for all concerned. “Mary.” Think of “Mary.” I told myself and apologized to my son and daughter for yelling. They both looked grateful but the faces collectively were still glum. Part of getting rid of the “practical gritch” involves getting rid of the “practical” part that would have me running errands to eat up the waiting period, so I popped in Foreigner’s Greatest Hits and said we were going to do an exercise program in our seats.

I’m sure anyone who cared to watch got a kick out of seeing a 43 year old woman jab, cross and air box a punching bag in the first row of a 12 passenger van with four happy co-boxers following along. The exercise program devolved into a dance party within three songs before I had to reign it in. I didn’t want to surrender the fun but they were getting a bit too wild. “Mary. Think of Mary.” I visualized the picture my husband had referenced. “Let’s sing songs.” And we sang away another 25 minutes before my voice started to give out. “Tell us a story.” It was now effort, and the gritch wanted to quit. “Mary help me.” I thought; and a story about five puppies was created. Feeling triumphant, I buckled everyone back into their seats, put on some classical music and fed the baby. The older kids returned just in time to help keep the gritch at bay.

There were struggles unloading and getting to bed that evening, but overall, the day was saved by thinking of Mary. This one day of the 40 could be considered something of a success. Even so, with 12 more days to go and a crammed weekend schedule that includes two major band performances and a musical that goes on three days plus altar serving, I'm starting early. Mary. Mary. Think of Mary. Mary. Mary....

A Dear Friend Shared This With Me

Small Success Thursday

Family&Faith Live! does a send up of everyday victories on Thursday as you well know, so here's my recap of the week.

1) Did 20 push ups this week. It is admittedly a sluggish restart of my fitness regimen, but it's a start.

2) Wrote several pieces. Submitted a few too. Gave some contact information to a fellow writer for a good piece. Hope hers sees print soon.

3) Got two kids hair cuts and my own. (Huzzah).

4) Called and visited with several friends.

5) Planned out Date Night for next Wednesday. Hudson's --a good pizza place in DC that has Sinatra Night every Wednesday with live performances. Thought it sounded really fun.

6) Took down the tree and the outside lights.

7) Paul has really started eating solid food. So far, he loves peanut butter cookies, pork chops, toast with butter, soy sauce chicken, chocolate frosted donuts, banannas, oatmeal with cooked chopped apples, eggs, bagel pieces, oranges and orzo.
(Next week, we'll work on adding some vegetables to that mix).

Have some small victories to share? Click on the title and it will send you to Small Success Thursday! I'm getting more fluent at this bloggy thing....sorta.

Peace on Earth to People of Good Will*

*Some reflections from some comments and several discussions.

Peace is the first gift offered man by the angels at Christ's birth, and the first gift offered by Christ upon his Resurrection. Peace is that warm sense of community that comes from knowing that all of us long for the hearth in our homes, that all of us hope to be part of the 5000 fed. Genuine Peace is freedom from sin, not freedom from want or need. We need only look at the lives of celebrities to see that theirs are lives full of everything, except peace or conversely at the women who join the Missionaries of Charity. Their lives intentionally have very little, yet they hold an abundance of peace.

Peace does not come simply from having a military that can take down opposition with force (power); that is the mistake of order for peace; or having a full belly and all physical needs accounted for; the error of satiation for peace, or from the knowledge that no one is better off than one's self; the error of equality for peace. Security, Order and Equality and peace are not synonymous, the three are reflective of peace, but not its equivalent.

Respect for others is insufficient as a means of deterrence when faced with real evil, real wrong; polite regard and courtesy are reflective of refinement, but they are dangerous if manners and good appearances prevent one from acknowledging truth, good from bad behavior. A person can smile and smile and still be a villain; so can a country or a government. Peace is not something we can manufacture with arms or austerity or government programs or extensive systemic charity. It is something we must seek with our whole hearts to receive. If we want peace on Earth, pray earnestly and do good to bring others peace for true peace can only come from the Holy Spirit.

Peace begins in each of our hearts, responding to the slights, insults, irritations and annoyances of others not with anger or hurt, but with humor, gentleness, listening, truth and generosity of spirit. It must be practiced fresh daily and with everyone, even our worst enemies, but most often, it's hardest when required with those we love most. It is easier to love in the abstract where nothing is required than to love in the actual, where sublimation must be practiced; or at least it is for me. Peace means becoming light to and for others.

Peace comes from knowing that our hearts are restless until they rest in Thee, and that God loves us despite our incapacity to hold onto this gift He freely offers us, absent our cooperation with His grace. Confident of this, His Peace comes from going about our lives trying to live out some fraction, some snatch of the Gospels, what Jesus taught and urged and still asks us to do.

If you long for peace within and beyond your homes, pray the Rosary. If you want that peace in your hearts and in the world; practice the beatitudes, wash the feet, serve in the Calcutta that surrounds you, that you see. Poverty is everywhere, and not just in the form of physical dire need, but in the closed hearts, the darkened spirits of our family, friends, classmates, aquaintances and neighbors. Christ in disguise for one, is obvious to another; that is why we all are the body of Christ. And we should work tirelessly hoping that everyone we see, we will meet again in Heaven and greet as the true friends Christ intended us to be.


Wishing all of you His Peace.

Are You Ready for Christmas?

“Are you ready for Christmas?” gets bantered around a lot these days. In past years, most people answered this question by rattling off a list of what they’ve bought, needed to buy, had done or planned to do.

But this year, I’ve heard people lamenting that they don’t quite have a grasp on Christmas yet. They don’t feel ready. They don’t feel prepared. The world feels too dark, too out of control, too angry, too political and divisive, difficult. Overwhelmed by the mere prospect of trying to be ready to celebrate such a festive day, it seems too exhausting to deck the halls and trim the tree or send out cards and hold a feast. Who has the money? Who has the time? It’s just too much hassle over so much tinsel.

However, it is precisely when we feel the grip of the world’s darkness, that we need the joy of this sacred time. It is now when things are hard economically, physically and emotionally, that we must act as luminaries to others, encouraging everyone to prepare even as we ourselves do not quite feel ready. We are called to try whether we are shepherds or kings, soldiers or innkeepers, to recognize our own unwillingness to make room for Jesus in our lives.

None of us are ready or worthy to receive Christ; no one gave His family a place to stay, no one had a perfect home for Him prepared, except for Mary. Thus it is that the Church in its wisdom has given us these four weeks of Advent so we can be about the business of preparing our souls through scrutiny, through prayer, through the sacraments, to rediscover a sense of awe of God.

We can take comfort in knowing that preparing for the pleasure of the presents and the family and the feast is not necessarily selfish or greedy; that our outward actions reveal something of our hearts to the world. Our gifts, our meals, our decorations are all the little things we are called to do with great love. Further, God who knows and loves our whole hearts, will turn whatever we do towards Him to turn us towards Him. So deck the halls. Prepare the way. Enjoy this blessed waiting time and be ready and eager for Christmas. But remember:

The trees were not decorated.
The gifts were not wrapped.
There was no feast prepared.
There was no room ready.
There were unexpected and expected guests.
There was music.
There was light.
There was peace
and there was Christ.

The first Christmas was not ready for the reason of Christmas.

So, rejoice in your unreadiness, for it is why Christmas is at all.

Advent Begins

It's the first week of Advent and already, I'm impatient.

Coming two months early to start, I guess I always have been. It doesn't explain why I'm always late everywhere, but it does shed light on my inability to diet, budget or maintain a cleaning routine. It also explains why I struggle beyond the easy level with Rock Band, I keep jumping the count.

Like everyone, I am my own worst enemy. Original sin just messes with every gift we have if we let it and I do all too often. Delayed gratification is something I struggle with; I like the immediate hit of a comment on a blog and thus often surrender the better prize of a crafted publishable piece. I eat the pie when it's served. I don't take pitches and I panic in the pocket in touch football. The present that is perfect at first glance is too much to not purchase. I don't like looking, I like finding. God knows this, so He placed my future husband in front of me first day of college.

This year's prayer theme was "Wait on the Lord." Essentially, my husband and I have thrown this line out at each other all year long whenever things got hard. Sometimes it has meant serve, other times it has meant patience and most infuriating, sometimes it has meant both. Advent is the Church's "Wait on the Lord" instruction to all of us.

You'd think a year of meditating on this bit of wisdom would have paid off, but I still give hints about presents if they're really cool gifts. I used to do my shopping last minute so I wouldn't mess up and tell people what I'm giving. My current solution had been to tell SOMEONE what I got someone else but even that makes it harder for me not to give more hints to the recipient. It comes down to the fact that I don't like secrets and really stink at surprises. I've always found out what each kid I was having was. I always jumped up and down the last week hoping the time would be sooner than the induced date scheduled. Again, God knows how to work around my flaws and never has indulged my impatience on this point.

Even the one kid who was premature made me sit for a week and the other one that needed an emergency c-section made my husband wait in a room alone to pray while the doctors got ready. I had to wait to find out she'd been born, I didn't feel a thing and she didn't cry at first. Then we got the shock of great joy and that was what we needed, seeing her face and touching her cheek. This is what Christmas is; the shock of the angels, the shock of the star, the shock of the little family in the stable being the salvation of the world; the shock of seeing the one you love completely for the first time.

Christmas is the scheduled delivery day when time will slow down, when we will look around and miss whoever is not there, and feel the day would be better, more and more wonderful if everyone were in one place. We will long for Heaven because Earth only hints with all it's wonder and beauty and bounty but does not satisfy and we really really know it.

So as of today, the all Christmas carols radio station(with the notable exception of a few banned for life tunes), is allowed. We made a list of what we hope to have happen during these next few weeks but have promised not to freak at what doesn't. I will try to "Be still and know He is there." Holding onto the infant Jesus I know will bring the strong true peace not of this world but right now, out in the fields, it's hard not to want to run straight for that star. But then I remember, "Wait on the Lord." So I'm waiting. I'm not patient, but I'm waiting.

Have a blessed Advent.

Small Success Thursday

Participating in the three successes on Thursday at Family and Faith Live! today I must list three small victories over minutia that took place in the past seven days.

1) Managed to say the Rosary three days out of this week. One Glorious, One Sorrowful and one Luminous. Yeah, I missed out on Monday but I'm getting better at getting to it daily.

2) Worked out this week for 30 minutes. Only once, but once is once more than last week so again, it's progress.

3) Read to youngest five four days in a row. (Yes, there's a trend to all of this. Incrimental process of being present even when I'm tired, even when I don't want to).

Marathon Lessons

Back in 8th grade, I wanted a letter to prove I'd made an "A" team more than anything. So desperate was I to achieve this, I even tried out for the one sport my common sense had always told me...you can't do. That's right, Track. But I'm not fast. I'm not tall. I don't jump. So what could a b-team bench warmer do on a track team?

Cross Country.

Now I did make the team and run a 1320 (3/4 of a mile), and I even got a ribbon. I was fifth. The fact that there were five people running doesn't really matter. Before the race, there were more but several quit. On the third lap in, everyone else that had not dropped out had finished. That track felt lonely and quiet and tedious.

I was hot.
I was unhappy.
I lay down.
Deliberately.
I thought about just staying there. (At 13, melodrama is a way of life).

Then, I got up and started moving again and the why fell way as I just kept going.
It wasn't that I signed up that got me a letter from the "A" team. It was that I didn't let myself quit.

So I apologize to all of you that read my "Full Plate" essay. Every word of it was true. (I felt overwhelmed and exhausted and frustrated and all those self absorbed things one feels at 43 that supposedly aren't melodrama because they aren't adolescent). What I needed, was to stop and reassert priorities. But when you feel all those things, it's hard to think, let alone assess.

Three weeks of observing the world dripping with stories that I wasn't writing drove me crazy. Some of those mental photos and turns of phrase would be lost forever. I don't know if such things are agony for anyone else but they haunt me.

So I promise not to flounce.
I promise not to lie down on the track anymore.
I'll finish the race even if I'm stuck running around this track after everyone else has lapped me twice.

What does that mean?

It means I'll be pouring out words for as long as I have access to a computer, but only after I've read to my kids, made sure they've done their homework, bathed, and I've given a bit of time to my husband, the needs of the house and my extended family and friends. I promise to be present in words and deeds.

I'll get fifth for finishing last, and I'll be just as proud of that ribbon as I am of the yellow one that hangs in my office from 1980.

Thanks for coming back.

Summer Re-runs

Because it is summer and there are water gun fights to have, ice cream to eat, stupid movies to watch and marathon games of crazy eights, parchisi, poker and Wii Smash Brothers to play, I too, shall adopt the network philosophy of occasionally throwing in a rerun during prime time.

Why? Am I getting lazy?
Well, yes. It’s summer.

So I’ll start with a goodie just to make it up to you. Here’s the very biggest hit I ever go with a blog entry. Rerun. 50 Something Betters. Yeah, I did have to update it because we used to only have eight.

Everyone who has ever seen Steve Martin's Roxanne, has seen the riff where he gives the bar 50 something betters on how to insult his nose. In my own life, the equivalent of "Hey Big Nose!" is "You have HOW MANY?" and even better, "Why?"

50. We keep hoping for twins but so far that hasn't worked out.

49. We were trying to even up the team. (5 girls, 4 boys).

48. Meet my retirement plan, I'm staying with each of them for six weeks out of the year.

47. Catholic with a capital C.

46. Gilbreths: 12 kids, Nobel Prize winner of Economics, multiple geniuses, published authors, Von Traps: Seven, Broadway show and Musical Movie about story has made bazillions. Osmonds (6). Singing, Fame, Fortune and perfect teeth. Hughes: 6, youngest is a Olympic gold medalist, Kennedy's 9, President, would be President, Senator, etc.,

Antonetti's........Antonetti's.......pending.

45. I lost count after six.

44. We wanted to justify our SUV.

43. Creating my own voting block for when I run for President.

42. I now have plenty of excuses if my high school fantasy dream job goes unfulfilled(which it will and it should --Dancer from "Cats").

41. Wanted to win a trophy at my 25th year High School reunion for something!

40. Getting my money's worth out of the baby clothes and paraphernalia.

39. We never have left overs.

38. Q: Don't you know how this works? A: Well yeah!

37. Hoping for my own Reality TV show.

36. With such good looking intelligent offspring, it seemed selfish to limit ourselves.

35. We enjoy causing pure terror on the faces of travelers in the terminals simply by walking up to the gate en masse. Sometimes, it isn't even our gate.

34. We don't have to share a pew...ever.

33. We can dress them up as reindeer for next year's Christmas card.

32. I can drown out anyone in an argument with pure sound.

31. Hospital now has named a parking place in my honor.

30. OBGYN bought a Florida condo because of me.

29. Defense in depth.

28. Can tell babysitter I have no sympathy for him or her if they have to change a diaper.

27. Creates instant conversation starter or stopper depending upon venue.

26. Email using just initials of children eliminates all spam.

25. We have a bike, shoe, glove, coat to fit every age and gender and occasion.

24. As a friend said, she used to be impressed with me but after the Duggars, not so much.

23. Can mess with people's heads by adding additional baby pictures of brother's and brother in law's children in office without telling anyone.

22. When I call for volunteers, no one else can say..."I'm too busy."

21. No one asks me to co-op babysit. No one tries to take advantage of my being a SAHM for free babysitting either. (It used to happen).

20. Always get the HOV lane.

19. Exiting Car is an event.

18. When we dress the same, (all ND jerseys, all 4th of July) it's an instant parade.

17. Easy to cook for a Church Dinner or Event, used to feeding a crowd.

16. Insta-clod spotter, the person who asks, "So...you gonna have any more?" or any variant thereof.

15. Size of family makes people underestimate our brains.

14. No fights over names of children, we got all our favorites in there.

13. You ONLY Have HOW MANY?

12. Statistically, one of these guys should strike it rich.

11. Gene pool Standard deviation has been skewed in our favor.

10. Fifth one at Catholic School is free. Right? Right?

9. Never have to worry about being corrupted by too much wealth or material things.

8. Can rationalize messy house based on sheer numbers. It was messy before we got to nine, but now I can justify it.

7. Shrunk in the wash, no problem, it will fit.....insert child's name here.

6. Eight months out of the year, we get birthday cake.

5. Easy to teach children how to count to ten.

4. Fun watching people try to test their long term memory listing all our children's names.

3. Can identify recessive genes easily.

2. Every time we go to the shoe store, we get a free pair.

1. Said we'd accept children lovingly from God. God took us seriously.


AND the real statement I always fall back on when asked about our family and its obvious large size, "It's no sacrifice to be surrounded by people that love us."

Two

It is a well established fact amongst parents that children don’t so much grow as they reach a new evolutionary stage in development. One day, she was ten, the next, she became an adolescent. The same holds true for younger beings of the human race. My daughter who has ever been the silent, shy and reserved type, watching what everyone else did before plunging into the fray, has made a severe gear shift in cognitive development.

The first sign: My eleven year old daughter plays softball, but she loves to come over and pick up either her baby brother or toddler sister to show off to her teammates. One of the girls bounded over to say “hi.” And my toddler withdrew a bit into her sister’s arms. “She’s very quiet.” My daughter explained by way of an apology. Then, a decidedly unfamiliar voice said, “I’m not quiet.”

The Second Sign: It was a hot sticky day so I handed out retro water guns, the type that only send a thin stream at one, the kind that won’t cause the middle children to sob if they get hit. Even Mom had a pistol. My toddler reached up with her hands, “Annh. Annh.” Amused, I gave her my gun.

She gritted her teeth in a fixed smile, her eyes shined. She held the gun, squirted it at me and said, with perfect clarity, “Die Mom.”

The Third Sign: Now, I’m no rookie mom. The scribbles on the wall at her eye level were a dead give away. This child was now officially embracing her “twoness.” Still, she wanted everyone to be clear on the matter. And so it was that while Mommy was busy feeding the baby, She who was once the sphinx, who once could be given cursory scans to verify safety and good behavior, decided that she would cook today.

She got out a pan. She got out the eggs from the second fridge. It was masked by a collaborative toddler who brought me a diet coke. “Why thank you…how thoughtful.” And they’re thinking….sap. To their credit, there were no shells in the bowl with the eggs, and they did work at the dining room table, and they did wash their hands. Having four eggs cracked, what's a Mom to do? We made a cake.

So when my older toddler knocked on the door this morning and said, “Mom, what’s that red stuff?”

And I muttered from my sleepy stupor, “What red stuff?”
And she said, “You know, red stuff you put on your lips to look pretty.”
I asked why.

“Because it’s in her crib, she’s putting it on.” I was wide awake and scaling the stairs three at a time. It turned out to be a false alarm, as my other toddler then grinned at me from the base of the stairs, holding my purse, but it could not be considered inplausible after the egg incident.

But the definitive sign, was we took her to mass. Now normally, we go in the early morning, trying to get a jump on the day and get them through the process before they’re fully awake enough to give us trouble, but today, we went to the Saturday night vigil.

Never again.

She who never spoke, giggled and enjoyed the unique acoustics of our building, allowing her laughter to echo across the Church walls. She who never was any trouble anywhere, spent the whole mass being a pretzel, a monkey and a popcorn bag in the microwave. She flopped, she lifted her legs in the air, she ran all around the back. She pretended to weigh 5000 pounds, to have no bones and to be a mountain climber on the statue in the back. She pulled open my shirt and asked, “What’s in there?”

We normally give children a grade on mass, something between a 1 and a 4 Star rating. Negative numbers were discussed. But then, she came and gave my face an earnest searching gaze and a gentle kiss on the cheek. What grade could I give such a cherub?

The same grade I give all my 24-35 month children;

two.

Sherry's Catholic Rant

We just got cable and high speed internet and I feel harrassed. There are now 400+ channels on two televisions that I have to watchdog, and three computers that need supervision. Ack.

So I'm tired, and after reading about how the Boston Catholic hospitals are going via a collaboration, allow for abortions and sterilizations, I'm feeling testy. http://www.americanpapist.com/2009/06/boston-archdiocese-affiliate-health.html

Fair warning.

How did we get to this point?

Because of Catholics like Kmiec and Sebelius and Kerry and Pelosi and Biden. Their error is compounded by their prominent status in public life. Their misstatements and willing complicitness in furthering the forces that favor abortion and its ugly relatives of birth control, sterilization and contraception that divorce the great power and beauty of sex from its purpose and nature bring whole families to nothingness and all without apparent culpability.

So I like the new Shepherd of Saint Louis. And he understands that denying communion is making whoever is denied face the reality of their own faulty moral living/moral reasoning to believe that they are in communion when they are not. It happens. We do fall into error, and correction is how we find our way back. Love requires that sometimes we be firm, especially when the matters are of moral significance. If you wish to experience the Eucharist, be in communion with your whole heart and not just the part that wants what it wants, the comfort of the bread of Jesus' words, without the requirement that they be applied to one's actual life, the body. It is correction, not bullying.

Intimidation is the tactic of the enemy, who wants us at each other, who wants us denying Christ in each other in all things. We may create a society that feeds the hungry, cures the sick, cares for the orphans and shepherds the Earth. But all of these acts shall be dust if they are not the reflection of love, of Christ. If you've ever met a bitter teacher or a burnt out nurse, you understand how what once was a joy and a beauty and a gift, has become a distorted awful shadow of its former self. This is what we head towards when we think that the service trumps the motive, or the motive trumps the service.

The former leads to jaded cynics who perform the acts without heart, and the later to fanatics who despair and either forfiet their values or dwell steeped in perpetual self righteous anger. We are Catholics, it is not random that our most Blessed Sacrament is the Eucharist, and that all our sacraments focus on furthering the Communion of the soul to its Creator.

Given the recent events, the media has suggested that pro-lifers tone down the rhetoric. That we should use fair minded words.

So tell me, if we go out to the desert and whisper into a muffled room that has no outside access, "Abortion is wrong." would that be okay or is that too inflamatory? Because we wouldn't want to be intimidating. What about that "Silence=Death" slogan that was real popular a few years back, didn't you guys mean that? Isn't that still true? And so pro-life causes are linked to the awfulness of the murder of a man who committed awful acts, and we are equally censured for praying outside of places where these acts occurr, or for daring to speak our opinion in the political arena. You can be Catholic, just don't act like one or talk like one. How then do we witness?

Do we witness by imitating our esteemed academia? Like Notre Dame? or Georgetown?

Catholic Universities and politicians never asks the less faithful to understand the other side, arguably, what should be, their own side. No other faith as practiced by it's argued intelligencia seems determined to give all manner of deference to everyone else except, those in their own church who follow the Church's prescribed teachings. We too, are not in communion as we ought to be. There is a broken quality to our fellowship in the Church. I guess these broken elements, these must be where the nail prints are in the Body of Christ. We see the holes. We cannot help but wince.

The fact is we all need our Savior, and He is Christ, and none other.

I don't remember Jesus saying, "Blessed are the open minded or Blessed are the reasonable. Rationality above all, is key."

Catholics are not Vulcans.

We're supposed to love beyond reason. We're supposed to surrender all to Christ. We're supposed to use our minds and our bodies and our hearts to reflect God's love to others, by our modesty, by our humility, by our passion, by our charity, by our kindness, by our clarity, by our truthfulness, by our good counsel, by our good actions and by our whole way of relating to others in all things.

That's not reasonable. That's Radical.

And it was so frightening that the Romans threw those who believed it to the lions for entertainment. It is so frightening, it was persecuted in Russia and is outlawed in China. The radical concept that God wants communion with us, goes in the face of a State that seeks to define all members within it by their contributions, status and fidelity and seeks to be all things in God's stead. We all know, relationships require something of us, and the ultimate relationship requires all from us. Communion.

Pray for all of us in this damnable mess, only the healing power of Christ via the Eucharist, only His Mercy can make us whole and holy.

We now return you to your more reasonable and funnier blog. This has been a Sherry Catholic Rant.

President Wikipedia

In blogging, you never know what will resonate, but you keep throwing things out there, hoping that something will catch people's attention and tickle their hearts or move them. Sometimes, you lavish time over a piece, crafting it to your own perception of perfection. No hits. No interest. In blogging as in life, you can pitch what you perceive as a perfect game and still lose. But once one attains viral attention, it's hard to lose that hold on the public. Perception trumps reality.

And so it is, that we can have amazing deficit spending, high unemployment, stagnant house sales, declining 401k's, lost jobs, lost opportunities, and homes that are underwater, owing more than the mortgage demands, but according to the editor of Newsweek, the President is sort of God.

We've seen Brian Williams bowing to the Commander in Chief. We've heard about tinglies in the leg. We've seen women faint and men gasp with shock and awe at his presence. He's historic; he's beyond Jefferson, JFK, Martin Luther King, Lincoln and the Roosevelt’s historic. And yet, everything that was before him is prequel. We shall have the P.B.O. (Pre-you know who) era, with the new chronology beginning with 2009.

He's the first athiest president, and the most religious but ecumenical, understanding nuance in a way that men who confine themselves to one practice of faith Can't be.

He's metro-sexual, he takes off his shirt when he swims and has a date night. He's hot. He's cool. He's like jazz that everyone likes and knows, but that isn't so overly familiar as to be pedestrian. He can spend more money than we ever have before, percentage wise or absolutely, and then preach that we must become more fiscally responsible. What can't this man say or do?

He can preach at Notre Dame and the University of Cairo. He can claim we're not a nation of Christians and be understood to mean we're bigger than just one orientation of faith, and we're a nation of Muslims and be known to be talking to a specific audience about the lack of citation of the gifts and contributions of Islam.

Pointing out any over glossing or exaggeration about anything historical or factual is just pettiness, partisan or envy. You shouldn't do that you know; it's not good for you.

And so we waft along sipping our overpriced Grande Starbucks coffee, knowing we can't afford it, enjoying how cool we look for having it, and fiercely resisting and resenting any attempt to point out, "It's just coffee in a paper cup."

Because we have our President, our emotional teleprompter, who shall tell us when to get up and when to sleep, how much to work and what to eat, what to drive, how much we should earn and how we should live, so that one day, maybe, we might ...well wait a minute..He’s never said what the reward was for doing all this stuff.

Think maybe we should ask?

The American Milky Way

The economy affects us all.

In a family of 11, there are limitations on resources like milk. Our refrigerator can only hold so many gallons, especially when you add other needed items like meat, butter, vegetables and adult liquid fuel also known as diet coke. In the past, we just used what we had and rotated for meals, orange juice for breakfast, milk for lunch, juice or water or milk for dinner. But one of my children loved whole milk, and as such, she requested we purchase a separate gallon for her.

Another daughter suffered from a slight skin allergy and requested soymilk instead. Both requests were accommodated. Then a child decided that while he didn’t mind skim, whole milk was too thick and could he please have 2%? Things were getting out of hand until the parents in a fit of frustration designated individual gallons of la leche for each child.

“When you run out of this, you are out for the week.” We announced as we loaded up the refrigerator. And then things got a bit crazy.

Some contested that cereal milk should come from the general stock, used for cooking and providing protein and calcium to the non school going crowd on a daily basis in the form of a beverage. Others lectured “to thy own stock be pure.” But kids figured out pretty quickly, once the common stock milk was poured into the cereal bowl, it couldn’t be taken back, and thus the purists abandoned their position until Mom began raiding their stock.

When people began to hold to only their gallons, there were ants and there were grasshoppers, which resulted in over the breakfast counter deals. “I’ll trade you a glass of milk for two cookies.” Such things I could tolerate, but then came the milk miser. One child in particular, nursed her milk by drinking water the first three days of the week so she could smugly make milk shakes every afternoon in front of the rest. This was the same child that hadn’t finished her Easter bunny by Memorial Day, but I took care of that problem personally.

We tried labeling the milks to mitigate milk disputes. “Remember, some milks look alike so remember to check the label before pouring.” We tried buying different brands. “Mine’s the CVS brand, yours is Lucerne…see?”

And then one time, the general stock went dry. “I’m making muffins and need a half cup, any donors?” No one was feeling charitable milk wise. I used water and the kids complained that the breakfast tasted a bit off. The next time, I used an equal measure from each person’s milk, which brought complaints when some had more to start. “This is America.” One of them argued. “You should do a progressive tax of the milk.”

I responded, “We’re Republicans. I’m doing a flat tax.” The voter left disgruntled but admitted the muffins tasted better.

Then there was the spilled milk incident…and from the hoarder no less. Talk about genuine sorrow, and subsequent glee from those who had watched her sip her chocolate shakes so smugly. I was about to intervene with my own version of the stimulus package when the kids took pity on her and pooled their resources to replenish her stock. In response to such generosity, she promised the following week to share in the shakes come Friday.

I thought we had turned the corner.

Then the milk black market started up over breakfast, and enterprising capitalists were charging premium dollars for moomoo juice and measuring it out in fluid ounces. They were shaking down a five year old. I exercised parental fiat power to declare a dairy detaunte.

“We are a family! Milk is a common use product, like toilet paper, bread, air conditioning, the computer, the television, the laundry machines and the furniture of this house. Everyone gets it. Everyone uses it. The milk is for the greater good of the whole family, ergo, as far as food is concerned, this is a communist state. Being the mother, I am the state, and I shall distribute the milk, it to each according to his or her needs.”

“But Mom, we’re Republicans!”

I produced the powdered chocolate Quick mix. “I will sweeten the deal.” They lined up. Pouring each a drink and creating a sense of peace, Motherland has spoken, and sometimes, it’s good to be the State.

If I Flunk Summer, It Won't be for Lack of Effort!

Every year, I take my kids out to lunch at the beginning of June and we make a list. It’s an ambitious selection of activities, some of which we hope to accomplish in the 90 days that seem to stretch out before us with endless tantalizing possibilities on that last day of school. We usually have pick berries, baseball, cook out, camping, amusement park and go to the movies, along with more excentric possibilities like the Circus, salt water fishing, flying somewhere, and horseback riding.

Last week was Memorial Day, the official start of summer.

We spent that long weekend in the hospital. This week, we’ve upped the ante by paying a visit to the department of Motor Vehicles two days in a row, followed by a physical for two of the girls and a protracted stay on hold for the Cable guy, the phone company and the rescheduling of a doctors’ appointment I had to cancel from the week before. In a determined effort to make time stand still, next week I’ll be attempting to organize back to back oil changes for our two cars, read governmentese for some hired work and suffering through my middle son’s root canal.

These joyous activities shall be followed by reorganizing the shelving in the back basement, cleaning out the garage and shepherding my five school attending children through the tedium of a daily math and reading activities. But it isn’t all drudgery, I have a doctor’s appointment first thing in July, and that’s when we should order school books. I wondered if I had stepped into an anti-summer zone, such that I was attempting to fill months usually reserved for reading comic books and drinking lemonade with obligatory studies of statistical analysis and the mandatory eating of a daily grapefruit.

I started considering my summer, and with the prospects of having to repair an air conditioner, my oldest not yet driving but having a job and the recalcitrance of my toddlers with respect to toilet training, the dog days of this year looked like they'd take seven years each.

When did I surrender my soul to the powers that be for the pat on the back for subsisting on broccoli and water from the tap? When did I trade in being the drummer on Rock Band for the docile reward of keeping all the lamp fixtures dust free and well lit? I thought about the dental appointments I needed to make, the bills, the heat and the dullness that seemed not only pervasive but imbedded, I wondered how to shake it. The very nature of all the things that needed to be done, seemed to pile upon each other in a daunting fashion, with tendrils wrapping around all other activities. I felt as though, even if I ordered a snowcone, it would come in the flavor of dutiful novacaine or over cooked vegetables.

It was time to shake things up. I grabbed a CD and cranked up the ABBA.

“Hey Mom, what’s for dinner?” my teen mouthed as he walked upstairs to the kitchen to find a dancing queen mama and three toddlers showing they could jive.

“I don’t know, I’m thinking get everyone in the car and we’ll get shakes.”
“But that’s not dinner.”

“It is today.”

Carpe Diem, or at least Summer!

A Roman Scene We Might Consider

All consciences may not be formed the same, but Truth is inviolate.

Let us imagine.

It is the height of Roman power, when Ceasars are at their zenith, and thus all manner of "entertainment" is allowed at the Colosseum. Some citizens within the Empire, object to the feeding lions with renegade Christians as a form of entertainment, claiming to be "pro-life."

The centurions and aristocracy and government that are in power find these claims laughable, as these rebels bring it upon themselves by not being willing to be reasonable and see the nuances of the real world. If they would have open hearts and open minds and be willing to accept the equal nature of Zeus and Hera and the Ceasar himself to Christ, there would be no quarrel. If they would just give a bit of "respect" to those who disagree, they wouldn't find themselves in this situation.

Some of those arguably on the Christian side, have counseled that their fellow members ought to be more fair minded. They have said, "Debate about this issue is not about to close. Differing consciences on such a matter should be met with love no matter how vexing they may be." and that to argue by refusing to show deference or by shouting or getting upset, to "satisfy that furstration by shunning or denouncing your unseeing companion will accomplish little beyond expressing your exasperation."

Maybe, but when the lions are being sent routinely to rip apart the innocent, it might be time to satisfy some of that frustration.

Once More Into The Breech

I'd let this go, but the argument came from a dear friend who holds that because President Obama is NOT Catholic, the 2004 United States Council of Bishop statement on Catholics and Political life, does not apply.

By this reasoning, the decree asking that Universities not give a platform or awards or honors to people in positions of leadership or power that advocate/vidicate or promote positions antithetical to the Catholic faith (like say, abortion, stem cell research, and other hot button issues), only applies to Catholics not being true to their Catholic faith.

Okay. Let's go with that interpretation. Then, we are saying, we shall not honor people being hypocritical to their professed Catholic faith, because it is the disengenuousness of the individual that hurts the Church if the Church via the University, validates their position.

But it's okay if we're hypocritical to our own Catholic faith via the University by honoring those who legitimately disagree? If the graver sin is disengenuousness...

So the bottom line by this thinking is, we can honor President Obama at the University of Notre Dame, we just couldn't honor Joe Biden.

Look. Abortion kills children, but it also destroys souls and I'm not talking about the unborn, I'm referring to the mortal peril caused by agreeing to or performing such a henious act upon the innocent. Giving a platform to this President, given his predilictions on this topic, and past policy decisions, both before the election and since, provides comfort to those who would say that abortion is simply a hard imperfect decision, and not a moral issue with grave consequences.

Pray the rosary. Ask Mary directly to ask her Son for a miracle. The Lord listens to his Mother.

If you are new to the blog, check out Perhaps Why, Why the Notre Dame/Obama Scandal Matters and Yes I'm Still Mad, and Notre Dame Choses between God and Country. I keep thinking I'm done with this, but it is so hard to bear.

Yes, I'm Still Mad, and I know it.

Back in 1993, I took a course on Epistemology; that is the study of knowing ways of knowing. There was a woman’s way of knowing, an African-American way of knowing, and emerging gay and lesbian ways of filtering the world that were based on collective norms gathered from within the designated strata or population being scrutinized.

The problem with epistemology is two-fold.

1) If one is not a member of the designated group’s way of knowing, one is presumed either to not be aware of how things might be filtered, or unable to comprehend fully what they might mean. Thus, truth is only discreetly revealed to those in the specific filtered class of people, and it is not necessarily able to be transferred.

2) The line which creates the filter by which one knows something –male/female, gay/straight, is to this middle aged Catholic educated Texas female mother of nine’s mind, arbitrarily set by those who wish to draw the lines, but maybe I’m just limited that way.

The question, how does defining one’s reality by one’s collective experience and as unknowable to someone not of that experience, not slip into defining reality only by one’s own individualized experience? How does epistemology not simply collapse into solipsism?

The professor thought I was trying to be cute with the question.

But either truth is knowable or it is not Truth. If it is not Truth, it is merely perception. If reality is merely perception, then the demarcations by which one filters one’s perceptions are almost without limit, such that no one can claim to know what another experiences or comprehends.

Knowledge is not transferable because no one can be certain of what knowledge is, or what should be conveyed, or how much of it is comprehended by the recipient.
Language eventually breaks down in this radically individualized filtering of the world. “You wouldn’t understand,” becomes the natural barrier and explanation for any disagreements.

One’s gender, religion, economics, orientation, I.Q, geographic location, all can be applied to create an impasse from one human being to another as a means of negating any validity in opposing viewpoints. “You’re from the south so you wouldn’t understand.” The accusation of “Lack of comprehension” connotes to the other side, an innate unworthiness to be part of the discussion. The accusation renders any criticism by the side not able to sport a more sympathetic demographic epistemology, impotent by sheer lack of specialized status. Everyone’s argument for their point of view has been reduced to NIMBY status, save the one with the most momentum behind it. (Think loudest and most organized voice).

To get an “A” in the class, one had to come to embrace the concept of epistemologies as legitimate representations of whole groups of people. One had to also identify one’s own misconceptions, biases and intellectual scaffolding that impeded comprehension of other epistemological templates. It also helped to have a thesaurus handy.

“We see but through a glass darkly, but then, when the perfect comes, we shall see face to face.” I think sums ups all epistemologies fairly accurately, but then I simplistically believe that we are understandable and knowable to each other. I’ve since discovered St. Augustine and love his take on things in City of God, wherein he talks of the difference being not what we suffer, but the way in which we suffer.

So we come to today. I have to say, I’m starting to comprehend something of how an epistemology works to convey a sense of import and validity of feeling, without discerning or declaring truth. I must admit freely, I do not understand how it is that President Jenkins can authentically reconcile his Catholic faith and the Catholic identity of the University, with honoring President Obama, (despite his explanations), I only know it is spiritually wrong to honor a man who supports the antithesis of Mary’s Yes in all forms. I know it is not Catholic to honor a person whose policies deny the fundamental humanity of some people based on their level of physical development, and who supports the willful destruction of some people at the hands of others, in the name of research.

I only know this platform weakens the Catholic voice of the faithful to say clearly, Embryonic Stem Cell Research is deliberative destruction of nascent human life for the satisfaction of scientific curiosity. It is wrong. I don’t care if it turns lead into gold and brews the elixir of life, the cost is too high. Catholicism is not about “my way of knowing,” it’s about following HIS WAY, and knowing that is the way, the Truth and the Life.

I also do not understand declaring via a letter to the alumni, that he is not honoring President Obama’s policies by honoring the man, but merely the office and thus the man in the office. If President Fr. Jenkins were to disinvite the man holding the office as a matter of honoring Catholic faith over political policy, perhaps then Fr. Jenkins could say to the media that he wasn’t dishonoring the man holding the office, merely the policies held in firm conviction by the man in office. But I don’t think that would sell with the media any better than the current spin is selling with me.

But then, epistemologically speaking, what do I know?

If God is Laughing, You're in Deep Trouble

Once is just a happenstance...

Friday, it was an early dismissal. The forecast was for scattered showers and a gorgeous afternoon. The one sheet of pure monsoon occurred while trying to load four children into the van for pick up. My pants were wet from my ankles to my knees.

Twice is coincidence...

Today I wanted to go to confession and so I loaded the van, drove to the church and when we got out to load the stroller so I could then push the kids across the parking lot to the building wherein the sacrament of Reconcililation was being held, the momentary but completely drenching rains came again. I was moderately damp the rest of the day as a result.

Three times and it's getting personal.

It hasn't happened yet but I wanted to try and head off the possibilities by letting the Almighty know, I'm paying attention.

Cry Room Rules

On Sundays, I admit I prefer for all of us to go to mass together, whereras my husband correctly points out if we do shifts, both of us might actually get to hear the homily. It remains a source of healthy discussion, as I counter that how can we be a witness as a family if we aren’t all there? My husband points out, how can we be a witness if people observing us see essentially, a pack of crazed pious squirrels scurrying about the back of the church with two adults attempting to round them up?

Cry rooms aren’t a solution, though we go to them occasionally with the delusion that being in a sound proof room full of other understanding parents who are wrestling with their own maggoty and wormity children who decide at pristinely quiet moments in the mass to scream, will garner sympathy. They don’t because cry rooms are really made-for-tv-reality-show contests wherein the winners are those parents who find that there are other families with noisier and more wiggly children than they have. (If you stay after mass and look back in the cry room, you’ll see the winners high fiving after everyone else has cleared out).

There are however, rules to this real life scenario.

1)Those folks who bring toddlers in tow with a lifetime supply of cheerios, coloring books and their entire hotwheel collection are summarily disqualified for 1) being unctuous –yes the rest of us are jealous and mad we didn’t think of it and 2) now we look like meanies for having forbidden the naked Barbie, the turquoise plastic recorder and the superman with glowing eyes that talks and the pack of mini snickers bars from being taken out of the car.

2) Bathroom breaks are of course expected, but points are deducted if the toddler in question begins a long discussion about bodily functions prior to or following the break, double negative points if the usher is coming through at the time with the collection basket, though I suspect it improves the take for the church on those occasions.

Please note that bathroom breaks to discuss potential birthday party themes, what one wants for lunch, or to scout out the number of Boston Crème donuts left downstairs for purchase after mass, is a mandatory major point deduction.

3) Mom rules. Dad disciplines. Most adults responsible for more than one child opt for the divide and conquer method of maintaining a minimum level of good behavior.

If you use the two most likely to fight as book ends of the pew, with the boring parents actually trying to pay attention to mass in the middle, odds of being able to follow along in the missilette increase by 30%. If you use the adults as bookends to curtail spontaneous bolting down the aisle (and it’s been known to happen), fights increase as a possibility by a factor of ten.

Once you have more than three, some combination of children will have to sit together and finding the right combo is a matter of luck and dependent upon many as of yet undiscernable factors. It is for this reason, we encourage as many of our children as possible to serve at the mass, meaning their behavior will be much more public display and limiting our personal liability.

On non serving days, Mom will try to bring order by glaring and whispering sharply, “Be good, we’re in church.” Dad will squeeze the hand of the offending child and say “No donuts.” Please note, the second strategy opted for by fathers everywhere does not work for vigil or the 5:00 Sunday evening slacker mass.

4) Virtue boy and Prayer girl are fighting. If you ever want to witness the true hostility that comes naturally to brothers and sisters of similar age, take them to mass. When they kneel next to each other, check the elbows. Chances are, they’ll be boring into each other’s with such intensity that one could create diamonds out of coal if a suitable sample were placed in between the siblings two opposing joints and allowed to endure simply the Apostle’s Creed.

There will be an unspoken battle to see who can sing better…louder…softer…with fewer mistakes. There will be a race to see who can stand, sit and kneel on cue. One will sit with his hands folded, eyes fixed on the priest while the other follows along in the book. Sure, it looks like both are into the mass, but both are petitioning parents and God to smite the other less reverent, less responsive, less worthy sibling down for his/her sloppy execution of appointed physical gestures.

Parental correction to a singular person equals victory. Admittedly, as long as the war remains a cold one, most adults are willing to allow this sort of muted spy vs. spy battle go unchecked.

So if you were ever wondering why the Catholic Church in its infinite and timely wisdom has the kiss of peace, the “Lord I am not worthy to receive you,” or the “Go In Peace.” Sections of the liturgy, now you know.

These are not just reminders of our unworthiness or need to express love to one another or the words of Christ himself, these are the Church’s way of helping out the frazzled Mom and Dad in the back of the building, reminding the offspring that are the faith’s future to “knock it off.” “Play nice.” And “Be good.” ….or no donuts.

To which we, the strung out grown-ups of the clan say, “Thanks be to God.”