Catholic Hotdish

WARNING – This may be a PG 13 Blog post.

It seems everybody is talking about contraception these days.   It used to be impolite to speak about sex in public and if you spoke to anyone about contraception, it would be only your most intimate friends. Now it has become the subject of coffee clutches, water coolers, the United States Congress and homilies!

If you haven’t heard about the HHS Mandate click HERE for a primer.

Hurray – it is about time we get this hush-hush topic out in the open and because I love to talk about my faith, I welcome the opportunity to talk about the church’s teachings on just about anything.

The question I get most often from friends, family and strangers is: ” The Bishops are just plain ignorant when it comes to contraception.  Don’t they know that 98% of women in their churches are using contraception? The church should change their thinking on this!”

I first ask them to look into that statistic a little further – how was the information taken?  Does it mean that one time a Catholic woman used contraception once? It certainly doesn’t mean that 98% of the women in the pews are currently contracepting.  – I would maybe need to confirm that with the 80 year old blue haired lady sitting in the front pew – but I am pretty sure she is not.

My reply to the the question is: “Of course the bishops know that a percentage of Catholics are contracepting.  Maybe even 98%.  But 100% of us have gossiped, Probably 99% of us have lied.  How many of us have stolen? Maybe we should change those sins too.  If we are going to change what is considered a sin based on how popular it is – I vote for changing gossip too.  I really like to gossip. It is my favorite sin – lets change it so I can always do it and not have to feel guilty or attempt to change my behavior.”

The thing is – the church knows that we are prone to sin and that is why we have the church’s teachings to rely on to help us hold to doing what is good for us instead of doing what ever feels good at the moment. Yup – The bishops know human nature or rightly Jesus knows it.

But Jesus would not trust himself to them because he knew them all, and did not need anyone to testify about human nature. He himself understood it well. (John 2:24-25)

Even though it feels good – gossiping is not good for me or good for my community. (neither is gluttony but since I write about food sometimes we won’t go into that one just yet)  Likewise, sex without responsibility is not good for us, our community or society as a whole.  The years since the sexual revolution has seen the downfall of marriage, the family and parenting. Sex before marriage has not been a great thing for our society.  Contraception makes it easier to just do what we want without consequences. The church, like a good parent, only wants what is good for us.

What father among you would hand his son a snake when he asks for a fish?

Or hand him a scorpion when he asks for an egg? (Luke 11:11-12)

Regardless what congress has to say on this subject – the Catholic church will not be handing us (or more likely paying for) a scorpion.

I have spoken to women who have used contraception before marriage or  are possibly in a difficult marriage situation who say to me that they just can’t use Natural Family Planning.  It takes two to tango you know. NFP requires self control – for both parties.  I ask them to read Blessed John Paul II’s Theology of the Body and then ask them to tell me that it is not a beautiful teaching. It is important to know the value of what you are throwing away.  You can’t say it is not beautiful, because it IS a beautiful teaching and in a perfect world we all would be living it ALL of the time.  Instead, people want the church to change it’s thinking from this beautiful teaching and recognize human nature and let us do what we want instead of holding us to a higher standard.

And – maybe like myself and my favorite sins – some people can’t follow this teaching successfully.  Or maybe they can’t YET.

That brings us to the real beauty of our church.  Because Jesus knows human nature – he gave us this beautiful gift.  The sacrament of confession.  As Mother Theresa said “We are not called to be successful, we are called to be faithful.”

So once a month or so – I head into confession and confess many of the same sins over and over again. It occasionally seems futile, but the grace of that sacrament produces a miracle. Little by little – my behavior changes (I hope) to comply more and more to God’s will for me.  And maybe someday – in a perfect world – I will be living it all of the time.

I think they call that place Heaven…

Father John Ubel prepares to baptize people preparing to join the Catholic Church at the Easter Vigil at Saint Agnes in St. Paul.

I got to witness what I believe is a once-in-a-lifetime event over the weekend. It took place Saturday at the Easter Vigil Mass at Saint Agnes in St. Paul.

Sitting in the front row were nine children from the same family, all of whom were there to be baptized and received into the Catholic Church. Their amazing story will be published this week in The Catholic Spirit.

We at The Catholic Spirit were tipped off by the pastor at Saint Agnes, Father John Ubel, who felt this was a unique story that was worth telling. Immediately, we agreed and made arrangements to interview the children and their uncle, who now is their legal guardian. Father Ubel also invited myself and the reporter assigned to the story, Julie Carroll, to come to the Easter Vigil to witness and document this remarkable event.

After attending the rehearsal a few days before, I felt confident about being able to be in the right place at the right time to capture all the drama. I can’t finish my commentary on covering the event without mentioning how incredibly gracious and hospitable Father Ubel and the parish staff were to me. They bent over backwards making sure I was able to get everything I needed.

The only tense moment came when the children, and several others who were being baptized, assembled on the steps of the sanctuary facing Father Ubel and the baptismal font. During the rehearsal, I noticed that the podium on the left side of the sanctuary was blocking my view of the family from the sacristy door. So, I had asked Father Ubel if it could be moved when the people gathered on the steps just prior to being baptized.

No problem, he said. But, during the Mass, someone forgot to move it. So, I talked to an altar server in the sacristy, who in turn notified a sacristan. Quickly and discreetly, they went out and moved the podium off to the side so I could see everyone and get a shot of the whole family, along with the others there to be baptized.

The only other problem, which had nothing to do with taking photos, was the fact that I did not understand the many prayers and singing done in Latin. Although I minored in Latin in college, I hadn’t used it much after that. Would have been helpful to brush up before the Easter Vigil at Saint Agnes.

I was impressed by how well the congregation knew the Latin prayers. To be honest, I’m having enough trouble getting the prayers of the New Roman Missal right in English, let alone trying to do them in Latin. As much as I wanted to join in with the congregation, I was not able to do so.

Fortunately, Father Ubel’s homily was in English. He focused on the Easter candle and talked about its connection to Jesus, the Light of the World.

It was obvious that the light, both literally and spiritually, was shining brightly at St. Agnes on this night.

Featured speaker Matthew Kelly delivers remarks at the archdiocesan men's conference March 31 at the Cathedral of St. Paul.

As I walked around the Cathedral of St. Paul at the annual archdiocesan men’s conference on Saturday, it was hard to ignore the large crowd of men gathered in the pews. In fact, I did not spot one empty spot, much less one empty pew. From front to back, from side to side, the Cathedral was jam packed.

I believe we can thank Father Bill Baer for that. He is doing a marvelous job as the chaplain of the new men’s apostolate, and the numbers show his success. He announced that 1,800 men came, which was 200 more than organizers had planned for.

A guy I went to grade school with, Kelly Scott of St. Charles Borromeo, came in after it started with his son, Luke. They looked high and low for a spot to sit, and apparently didn’t find one, as I saw them standing later on.

The big draw this year was featured speaker Matthew Kelly. According to his website, he was born in Sydney, Australia and began speaking and writing there in 1993. Since then, he has written 12 books and traveled to more than 50 countries to deliver a message centered on helping people become the best versions of themselves. Among his titles is a book on the Catholic faith entitled, “Rediscovering Catholicism.”

His talk was dynamic, and he both energized and challenged the men to be better Catholics and better versions of themselves. Be sure to watch next week’s edition of The Catholic Spirit for more on his talk and the conference.

For now, let me say that I found myself energized by Kelly. I have never heard him speak before, and only recently found out about his books. I walked away wanting to read at least one of them. For that, I can thank some of the guys I met who are huge Matthew Kelly fans. One of them owns all 12 books.

If anyone doubts that much is going on with men spiritually in our culture and our church, the men’s conference is proof that God is at work in the hearts and lives of men. I was very encouraged by what I saw. So, also, was Archbishop John Nienstedt, who celebrated Mass, gave a brief talk and delivered the final blessing at the end. I’m sure he is very pleased to see such a gathering of men at the Cathedral.

If Father Baer keeps this up – and I have every confidence he will – it’s only going to get better. The nice part for me is I get to document good news like this. And, meet lots of good men in the process.

March 25th marks the date of the Annunciation. It is the day that Gabriel proclaimed the good news to Mary that Christ would be born within her. This year – because the date lands on a Sunday – we are celebrating that feast on March 26th.

I don’t normally see this blog as a place for my personal stories but this day is special  – so bare with me.

It was on March 25th some nine years ago Christ was born within me too.

In 2003 my children were attending a Catholic school.  As part of the Lenten practice, they were offered the sacrament of reconciliation as part of their school day.  Though I was a cradle Catholic and my children attended Catholic School, I had not visited that sacrament since my Confirmation. For me that was when I was in 4th grade!  Prompted by what I now understand as the Holy Spirit, but at the time felt like the guilt of expecting my children to go to confession when I didn’t go myself – I made an appointment to visit the new priest at our church.  The objective of my appointment was to argue with him the teachings of the faith.  Filled with misconceptions and pride,  I descended on this poor priest as if I would be able to convince him to “set the church right.”  At that time I rarely went to Mass, never prayed and and I certainly didn’t know that the date of my appointment fell on the feast day of the Annunciation. I didn’t know what a feast day was and I would have had to look up the word “Annunciation” if I even knew how to spell it.

I would have then called myself a Pro- Choice Catholic! (Who knew that 6 years later I would be working on the Archbishop’s staff as the Respect Life Coordinator.)

What happened at that meeting changed my life.  As Father patiently waited out my arguments on contraception, abortion and the anti- woman establishment that I saw as the Catholic Church, he offered some education, but most of all he offered me compassion.  At one point I remember getting up to leave – I didn’t want to hear what he had to say.
Out of no where he said to me, “Sharon, what are you afraid of?” The words hit me like a ton of bricks.  I sat back down, cried for 5 minutes and entered into a confession – a real confession; a confession of my life, of all my fears and my pain.

When angels appear in the bible – it seems they always start out with the phrase “Do not be afraid. ” Our common idea of angels is  cute little cherubs or gentle looking young men with wings.  But angles – must be awesome – and I don’t mean in the way that we say pizza is awesome.  Fired by the Holy Spirit and carrying the message of God – they appear to us as something we ARE afraid of. Is it the wings of fire, glowing with bright light or with a voice that booms of an orchestra or organ?  What is it that we are afraid of?

Ultimately, I think we are afraid of the message that they bring; the message of knowing ourselves and of seeing ourselves as who we really are.  We are afraid because we cannot comprehend the idea that if anyone knew the real us – the us that only God knows – that we could really be loved in return.  We also are afraid of what God may ask of us if we accept that love and try to return it.

On the day that the angel Gabriel came to Mary and said “Do not be afraid” Mary carried Christ within her for nine months. She carried her love for Him through his death on the cross.

Was she afraid of what God might see in her heart?

Was she afraid of what saying yes to God might mean?
I don’t know, but her  “Fiat” meant that not only would she carry God within her womb, but that God would carry her and would always be with her.

I realize now just how unprepared  I am to carry God within me to anyone. I realize how unqualified I am to work for Life.  I realize how unworthy I am to even receive the Eucharist at Mass. But when I say ‘Yes” I don’t have to be afraid, because like Mary – God carries me too.

So this Lent, I ask – how long has it been since your last confession and “What are you afraid of?”

A poet and an illustrator patch together history, art and spirituality in boisterous words and blooming color

What it was like to be a Black slave in the American South — the back-breaking work, the pain, the evil masters, the broken hearts and yet the joy, the inner satisfaction, the compassionate masters, the deep faith — all of it comes at readers full bore in “I Lay My Stitches Down: Poems of American Slavery.”

Cynthia Grady has provided the poems — themselves named for quilts and structured like the patchwork craft of the seamstress — and illustrator Michele Wood uses quilt patterns to the max to dress the poet’s stories in form and color that simply can’t be ignored.

A book just of the poetry itself would be worthy. Grady’s storytelling is teacher-like, thought-provoking as all good poetry is, and musical in the dialect of the slaves themselves.

Phrases like “the devil hisself,” “fetch a good price” and “make your skin goose up” grab your senses — and your sensitivity to what Black people went through during those pre-Emancipation Proclamation decades.

Just like a quilt, each poem incorporates three layers — intentionally, Grady explained — with spiritual, musical and sewing references. Even the shape of each poem – 10 lines of 10 syllables — mirrors the squares of quilt blocks.

Each poem is accompanied not only by one of Wood’s creative illustrations but by a paragraph or two or three of historical background that makes each two-page spread even more informative.

Looking for something different yet spiritual and substantial for Black History Month in February? This Eerdmans Book for Young Readers would fill the bill nicely. Order here from the publisher or check at your local bookstore.

Here’s a philosophy of life worth adopting. It’s from illustrator Michele Wood:

“Follow the light along the path of God because there will be precious jewels to pick up on your way in life. The treasure will confirm the path you have taken is the right one.”

True for you?

I wrote this some time ago, but it seemed appropriate to share as we review the past year and “clean our our drawers” to start the new year!

The Drawer
The drawer at the top of my dresser is one of those skinny drawers that are really useless for storing anything. I suppose some women use it for socks, underwear or even jewelry – but mine is a haphazard collection of items.

The drawer is a mess and their seems to be no rhyme or reason as to what it contains.

It contains my memories.

Some of the items in the drawer are easily recognized as having sentimental value, like the Mother’s day cards or the anniversary card from my husband. As typically would be found in most Mothers’ collection of mementos, you can find the plastic necklace made for me by my daughter and the gum ball ring that my, now six foot three, son bought for me on a Mother’s day many years ago. Others might also guess that the silly little hat decoration (a hat the size of a thimble) was a craft from one of my childrens’ school projects. The sweet love letters from my husband need no explanation.

Other items are more abstract. In this drawer I have a scrap of green cloth that was once part of a very ugly church banner that I had made and immediately realized it was a mistake. When the priest saw it he cracked a joke about how it looked like I was hanging my bath towels out to dry in the church. I think I keep it to remember not to take myself too seriously. I also have a piece of handmade wrapping paper from a gift given to me by a friend. It is red with handmade gold polka dots on it. My friend certainly didn’t make the paper – He most likely re-gifted the paper to me. I can’t remember the gift it was wrapped in – just the person who gave it.

Other items in the drawer recall memories more bittersweet – like the tiny crocheted pink rabbit pin my sister made in the year before she died – some 30 years ago. Or the newspaper article about the fundraiser that my husband and I did for a SIDS fundraiser after we lost our son so tragically. For some reason I kept a letter – a rejection letter of sorts – that brought me pain. I look at the letter periodically and remember the pain. Maybe I keep it as a way to guard myself from being too hopeful. Afraid of disappointment.

Some items are unrecognizable even to me. There is an assortment of rocks in the back of the drawer. No doubt they were given to me by a child on a walk, or I picked them up on a vacation. One is black flat and smooth. I am sure I took it from Lake Superior but I can’t remember if it was from a trip with my sisters or from a family vacation.

Sometimes the feelings attached to the memories change. What was once a sweet memory of my little girl, is now a reminder that she has grown up – the feeling is more bittersweet. The disappointment of the rejection letter has faded after the newness has worn away.

Periodically I clean out the drawer – once every ten years or so. I throw away the items that have lost any meaning or memory and keep others. It becomes a bit of a ritual for me, a time to choose what I will keep and what I will throw away. I think I will throw away that letter – time to let go of lost hope and hurt feelings and become hopeful once again.

Wishing you a very happy happy New Year!

Sharon and "the guys"

I recently had an opportunity to work on the House of Gratitude project at Divine Mercy parish in Faribault. The project, a Habitat for Humanity style project, is a home for our priests, a new rectory that will be situated near the new parish. The occasion for me to help at the house came after I had volunteered my husband to be a site host. A site host would be someone who would arrange coffee and make sure lunch was ready for the workers, but they are also the person on call to run to the hardware store or grab a tool for the workers. Having no building experience myself and barely knowing the difference between a Phillips and a flat head screwdriver, I thought that job might better suit my husband. It came to my attention that they were in need of site hosts and my husband was unavailable. Hesitantly I offered my “fiat” when asked if I would be interested.

This invitation came to me at a time when I was feeling unsure of myself, unsure of my abilities and unsure of my own value and not just in construction matters. In my work I find myself constantly reminding others of the inherent worth of every human being, but for myself I had started feeling deflated in my own abilities and lacked seeing my actual worth. I was beginning to loose sight of the fact that I too was made in God’s likeness.

My first day at the House of Gratitude introduced me to Bill Sartor. Bill has been working on “Habitat” houses for years and I was  blessed to meet him. His welcoming and friendly manner immediately put me at ease. Leading the opening prayer and signing in the volunteers were my first duties, but pretty soon I was looking for things to do.
Under Bill’s guidance and the others’ encouragement I started helping with the skilled labor. At first I was holding two by fours while one of the seasoned workers made a cut. In no time at all I was helping to build window bucks. (And now I actually know what a window buck is!) Whenever I was standing around looking for something to do, Bill would give me a quick tutorial on a task. Before you knew it I was using a drill, setting up scaffolding and actually helping others  put up the supports for the walls!

In Paul’s second letter to the Corinthians he speaks of the “authority, which the Lord gave for building you up and not for tearing you down.” (2 Corinthians 10:8) I realized that was what Bill and the others at the house were doing – they were building me up along with the house. Little by little, step by step I gained confidence and ability.

Encouragement is an amazing thing. So often I think we forget how much it means to each other. I often find myself encouraging my children, but I forget that it is needed for us adults too. Encouragement in prayer, encouragement in living a Catholic lifestyle, encouragement by letting others know that they are loved.
Later I met with a friend who had seen me on the day I was working on the House of Gratitude. He commented that I looked so free, relaxed and happy. I can’t quite explain why I had this feeling or why it was visible to others, after all I had just spent an entire day outside in very cold weather doing manual labor, but it felt better than a day at the spa!
Others who have helped with this task have mentioned the same feeling – there is something indescribable about it.

There is something other than a house being built here; as we worked on this house – God was working on us.

In the prayer that is recited at the house before work begins it states “As we build this House of Gratitude, may we all as one body turn our hearts more fully to You and receive from You the glorious vision of Your heavenly kingdom, our true home.”

I won’t be quitting my day job, as they say, to take up construction work, but I will remember that it is my job to help build up the community of believers by offering encouragement and with the encouragement of others I will continue to look for my true home.

Read more about the House of Gratitude in the December 22nd, 2011 issue of the Catholic Spirit.

Not even 24 hours after returning from a wonderful trip to Montana with my family, I heard the tragic news about Johnny McClure, a member of my parish, Nativity of Our Lord in St. Paul, and a sophomore at Trinity School in Eagan, where I have been sending my kids for the last seven years.

Johnny died in his sleep the morning of Nov. 28, with no warning that anything was wrong. I got the news about 9:30 a.m., when someone from the school called with the news and said all students were being dismissed for the day.

Of all things, a deer sighting on Saturday evening, hours after his funeral, gave me some encouragement as I mourned the loss of Johnny and felt just a small portion of the pain his parents, Randall and Mary, and siblings were experiencing.

I had planned to attend the wake on Friday evening, but when I arrived at a little after 7 p.m., a line of greeters stretched outside the funeral home and around the corner. I didn’t think there was much chance I would get to greet the McClures before the scheduled 8 p.m. ending time, so I turned around and drove home. I talked to several people who waited in line more than two hours.

I chose to go for a walk that evening and offer prayers for Johnny and his family. I did the same thing the next night, and was greeted by several inches of fresh, powdery snow that made a distinctive crunching sound under my feet as I made my way down Hamline Avenue toward Highland Golf Course. During my 3-mile journey, an almost magical scene unfolded, with flakes falling quietly as I made new tracks in the now-snow-covered links. All of the white lit up the landscape under the soft glow of the city streetlights.

Normally, when I walk in the darkness, I cannot see very far in front of me. But, the fresh, white snow illuminated by the streetlight gave me visibility that stretched more than 100 yards. That made me optimistic that I might see a distant whitetail dining on the course’s lush green carpet. Over the past few years that I have taken walks and runs on the perimeter of the course, the deer have shown an affinity for the smorgasbord of browse contained therein.

Turns out I didn’t need such far-reaching vision to spot a deer. On the edge of the woods just past the police station near the corner of Hamline and Montreal, a doe was grazing in the snow to my left. She was beautiful, plump and completely unconcerned about my presence, even though I strode past her at only about 10 yards. Deer here are used to human presence, but almost always they still will pop their heads up and remain alert as I walk by.

Not this time. The doe looked up briefly and glanced at me, then quickly put her head down to continue feeding. During that brief time when her eyes locked onto mine, she seemed to be saying, “Look at me, see how beautiful I am and know that, in the midst of tragedies like Johnny’s death, God is still radiating his goodness to you and the whole world.”

Perhaps I had that sense because of the way the doe stood so peacefully in the falling snow, it’s beautiful, sleek coat softly glowing under the streetlight. Or, perhaps, it was because the words of Father Michael Keating’s amazing homily still were resounding in my mind. Or, perhaps it was a combination of both.

Whatever the reason, I finished my trek in the peace and comfort of God’s loving presence, which I prayed he also would give to the McClures. As Father Keating emphatically noted at the funeral Mass, “Johnny is fine.” It is the rest of us who are sad.

But, as Father Keating pointed out, such an event like Johnny’s death doesn’t go against the message or the season of Advent. Rather, it is as reminder that we are sojourners on this earth, and that our place is not here. Rather, our ultimate place is with God in heaven, a reality that Johnny McClure now knows.

As for me, I believe I saw a glimpse of Johnny’s heaven on a snowy Saturday evening in St. Paul.

What was Timothy Mullner going to do without his vice-president’s title, a staff to direct and an expense account?

Terminated — by phone yet — the life-long Catholic turned to God to ask where God was calling him.

One of the answers was to write “A Spiritual Guide for the Unemployed.”

This is a book filled with realistic, down-to-earth, from-the-gut emotional releases that will likely resonate with most of the 9-plus percent of the U.S. population that is out of work. Yet it’s a prayerful, powerful work with touches of humor, anecdotes that will make you misty-eyed, and will probably have many of the unemployed among God’s children nodding their heads in agreement.

Easy to read and relate to

Mullner, who once was youth minister at St. Stephen in Anoka, Minn., writes about asking for God’s grace — “Help me be gracious” upon learning that his position was being eliminated. Among the thoughts and questions for reflection at the end of each chapter he suggests “Write a prayer or poem about ‘Hearing the news.” “Don’t think, just write,” he says.

There’s both prose and easy-to-read poetry — prayers in poem form, really — in this unique self-help book. Readers will find it full of understanding. Having been unemployed myself at one time, I could related to thoughts like, “I kept wondering what I could do and whom I could talk with to correct this ‘obvious’ error.”

There’s this great line in a prayer/poem to the Lord: “Your will be done, and quickly wouldn’t hurt.”

Advice and encouragement

Mullner’s unemployment period wasn’t over quickly, however. His 15 months without a job meant selling a house, moving in with friends, and taking a call from an adult son who says, “You’ll be OK, Dad.”

Now employed, Mullner advises, “Choose hope over fear and faith over despair.”

The book’s closing section is a useful “Top Ten List for Finding Your Way Through Unemployment.”

As beneficial as I think that will be, I can’t help but wonder if these words of Mullner’s may not be even more supportive — yet challenging — to those still looking for work: “God is waiting to see what you’ll do with the gifts you’ve been given.”

It’s beautiful writing, not unexpected from Mullner, who contributed to the Catholic Bulletin during his time in Anoka.

Thanks to Liguori for publishing something so helpful.