“I can’t believe I did that, again!”

“Why did I say that?”

“Why can’t I get this right?”

“Is there a reason I can’t break this habit?”

“Does God still forgive me?”

Many people ask these questions quite often. By and large I believe that we don’t know what to do with our failure, with our sin. If we are Catholic, confession should be the definitive answer. But all too often it is not. Not because God hasn’t forgiven us, He promised that. So often our problem is accepting the forgiveness He offers. How can we move past our sin and accept the forgiveness of God?

Insight 1: Your Sin Doesn’t Surprise God

Think about it for a moment. Do you really think God is caught off guard by what you did? Do you think God says, “My, my, I can’t believe that s/he has done that? What will s/he think of next?”

Consider this: Would He have given us confession if He didn’t think we needed it?

Confession was given to us as a gift by our God who knew that we would fall short. He knew that we would need a way to deal with our failings, our tendency to do our own thing and not His. We are invited (and yes, in many cases required) to partake of this grace-giving sacrament precisely because we sin. Our Lord didn’t institute this sacrament “in case” we needed it, but because He knew we needed it. No. Breathe a breath of thanksgiving because our failings do not catch Him off-guard. He has anticipated them.

Insight 2: Awareness of Sin is the First Step to Reconciliation

Be glad that you are aware of sin in your life. Why? Because there is something worse: being ignorant of it. Because you are aware of it, you are sensitive to the voice of your conscience and, more importantly, the voice of God. There is obviously part of you that wants to please God. Being aware of our sin is the first step to coming home. This is borne out in the story of the Prodigal Son. In Luke 15:18-19, we hear the Prodigal son’s recognition of this: “I shall get up and go to my father and I shall say to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I no longer deserve to be called your son; treat me as you would treat one of your hired workers.’” This is the Prodigal’s first step on his journey home.

Insight 3: God Never Rejects the Repentant Sinner

When you seek God’s forgiveness He will not scoff or turn away. We may recoil (rightly to be sure) at our actions, but when we seek God He does not recoil at us. Again, consider the Prodigal son. He doesn’t even make it home before his Father runs out to offer welcome and forgiveness. The Prodigal never makes if fully through his rehearsed speech before his Father embraces him and begins making plans for his party. “While he was still a long way off, his father caught sight of him, and was filled with compassion. He ran to his son, embraced him and kissed him” (Luke 15:20, NAB). Let this image inform your soul as to how God views His repentant children. Every time we make a good confession, we are embraced by God Who rejoices at “one sinner who repents” (Luke 15:10).

Insight 4: To Reject Our Own Forgiveness Is not Humility but Narcissism

Having been forgiven and embraced by God, we do not need to further punish ourselves for our sin. When we do this we retreat into ourselves, often falling into despair. We become so concerned with our sin, our failure, that we quit looking toward Christ and continue looking inward. This further alienates us from God, and, this is key, it continues to give the sin (already forgiven) power over us! We must reject this tendency and fully and freely remind ourselves that God’s power and grace are far stronger than whatever it is that we have done. We must take courage and trust in God’s power and promise and the absolution we have received.

Insight 5: Begin Again

Blessed Josemaria Escriva wrote in his phenomenal work, The Way, “Another fall…and what a fall! Despair? No! Humble yourself and through Mary, your mother, have recourse to the merciful love of Jesus…lift up your heart! And now, begin again” (The Way, #711). Having been forgiven, our faithful response to God is to begin again. In fact our acceptance of God’s forgiveness is how we show our love and thankfulness to God. In starting over we can not only be thankful for God’s mercy and love but also for the way that our temptations and sin actually become occasions that call us to seek God and be strengthened in our faith. We learn how to resist, how to flee temptation but we also learn how great God’s forgiveness truly is. With hope and even joy, we can begin again. That is good news!

We sin. We all fail. We all stumble in our walk with Christ. This isn’t news to God who gave us the sacrament of confession. We should be glad for our awareness of sin and thankful that our repentant hearts are never shunned by God, but welcomed home. We must be careful not to be too inward looking and understand that the most faithful response to God’s mercy is our acceptance of it. Joyfully, we are actually called to begin again, hopefully wiser and more humble in our faith.

Confession is good for the soul. We are all prodigals. I am thankful that as messed up as I am, the Father is already running down the road to meet me. He’s doing the same for you.

This saying has become a part of our culture, embedded into our collective consciousness as a guiding principle in those moments where car keys are in hand after one too many brews. It’s not a bad slogan, as far as slogans go. It is always timely, with an almost proverbial-like quality. But what I’d like to call to your attention is the assumption behind this quote.

The “Friends Don’t Let…” campaign starts with the assumption that you and I have a responsibility to assist others for their own good. It boldly calls us to action in sometimes dicey situations (ever try to get the keys from a determined drunk?). We can be assured that our efforts will not be universally applauded and may perhaps cause some rather angry reactions. But the working assumption is that I have a better perspective than my intoxicated friend and that, for his own good, I am going to take his keys and drive him home. This places the burden on me, the sober one, to be brave enough to speak the truth and act on it. The idea is that if you care at all and are a responsible member of society then you will not “let friends drink and drive.”

I bring this up because I believe it correlates to what I’m going to call the “Catholic Moral Imperative”. The Catholic Church is regularly bashed for its stances on a host of issues from contraception to homosexuality, to the plight of immigrants, to the plight of the unborn.

That’s just the short list. The complaint is that the Catholic Church is meddling in people’s business. The charge is often leveled that the Church is oppressive and anti-fun and hurtful. The culture claims it is fine and can “drive” itself without any help from God, the Church, or YOU.

The problem is that the culture is drunk off its keester.

It is drunk on humanism and relativism. It is suffering from its own over-excesses of pride and self-reliance. It has been blinded by pop-psychology and the feel-good gospels of Oprah and Dr. Phil. It lives in a time where people believe theology is as malleable as a lump of clay and that objective truth is an oxymoron. This society thinks nothing of murdering the unborn or the aged. It doesn’t think that sex is anything more than a recreational biological function. Many people bury the deeper ‘questions of life’ under layers of distraction.

The average “Joe” simply does not realize how much he is weaving across the center-line of his life until he leaves the road and finds himself wrapped around a tree. Yes, our culture is clearly, to continue the analogy, too drunk to drive.

The Catholic Church has an imperative to be the moral voice for a society that has lost its moorings. It is not “nosiness” that motivates us; it is Christ-like concern and compassion. It is not a desire for oppression that calls us to speak out. Quite the opposite, it is the desire to see the oppression of immorality lifted, so that the fullness of life Jesus promises in John 10 can be experienced.

The Catholic moral imperative is to be willing to look foolish for the sake of the Gospel. It is to speak out to an intoxicated culture so that it might improve and that lives may be saved (in this world and in the world to come). This is not a popular position, it will bring us jeers and insults and we will meet much resistance. But hasn’t it always been so for faithful Christians? I once heard a very wonderful and faithful friend say, “Courage begets courage”. May it be so with us!

The Questions

Newspapers and blogs are overflowing with questions: How this could happen to such a “spiritual” family? How can God be considered “good” or “loving” when He allows this type of thing to happen? Moments like these cause many of the questions we normally keep suppressed to show themselves. Our society normally removes itself from any meaningful discussion of suffering. But this tragic event should cause us to reflect for a moment on the Catholic response to suffering. What are some of the ways Catholics approach the mystery of suffering and how do we find meaning and hope in its midst?

The question of how a “good” God can allow such horrible things has haunted mankind for thousands of years. Although the most famous (and often misunderstood) is Job, the Bible is full of people who experience great tragedy in the midst of this life, even while serving God. Think not only of Job, but of Joseph who was sold into slavery by his jealous brothers. Think of the innocents slaughtered at the hands of Herod as he sought to kill the Christ child. Think of Stephen, the Church’s first martyr, stoned not for a crime but for his faith. Of course we need to look upon the cross and see the bruised and bloodied man upon it and reflect on the harsh truth that being a Christian does not shield one from suffering and pain. And yet we wonder. We ache for an answer. Why does this happen? Something within us knows that it shouldn’t.

Salvifici Doloris: A Response

Salvifici Doloris (The Christian Meaning of Suffering) by Pope John Paul II is one of the most helpful writings on suffering and the Christian. And as we grieve with the Chapman family, Salvifici Doloris can offer hope and strength as we face our own questions. One of the beautiful things of SD is how it affirms the very question of “Why?” We are not chastised for wondering, for struggling, for longing for meaning in the midst of suffering:

Whereas the existence of the world opens as it were the eyes of the human soul to the existence of God, to his wisdom, power and greatness, evil and suffering seem to obscure this image, sometimes in a radical way, especially in the daily drama of so many cases of undeserved suffering and of so many faults without proper punishment. So this circumstance shows — perhaps more than any other — the importance of the question of the meaning of suffering; it also shows how much care must be taken both in dealing with the question itself and with all possible answers to it (SD, 2, 9).

Job is the first order example of dealing with the question of suffering, particularly because of his innocence. The reader of Job is confronted early on with the paradox that this man is suffering and does not deserve it. One of the first and oldest explanations for pain is punishment. There is a part of us that understands the argument of justice. But that argument is not always applicable, right or helpful. Pain and suffering are not limited to the unrepentant and disobedient. Pope John Paul notes, “While it is true that suffering has a meaning as punishment, when it is connected with a fault, it is not true that all suffering is a consequence of a fault and has the nature of a punishment” (SD, 2, 11).

The hard truth is that Job really doesn’t answer the question. At the end of Job his suffering is not explained. His innocence is vindicated. The friends who wanted to condemn him are chastised. But God does not explain “why”. For Pope John Paul II, the why would come later; it would be revealed at the cross.

Begin with the Cross

So the reflection on our suffering does not begin with us, but with Christ. We are called to look upon the life, death, and yes, the suffering of Jesus if we are to deal with our own pain. Suffering, we must see, is not just a natural consequence of the cross, but the point of the cross. We are challenged to see that what actually achieves our salvation is His suffering.

Precisely by means of this suffering he must bring it about “that man should not perish, but have eternal life”. Precisely by means of his Cross he must strike at the roots of evil, planted in the history of man and in human souls. Precisely by means of his Cross he must accomplish the work of salvation (SD, 4, 16).

When we seek to understand our suffering we look at the Cross of Christ and consider that the cross “proves the truth of love through the truth of suffering” (SD, 4, 18). Pope John Paul continues,

Human suffering has reached its culmination in the Passion of Christ. And at the same time it has entered into a completely new dimension and a new order: it has been linked to love, to that love of which Christ spoke to Nicodemus, to that love which creates good, drawing it out by means of suffering, just as the supreme good of the Redemption of the world was drawn from the Cross of Christ, and from that Cross constantly takes its beginning (SD, 4, 18).

How does this help us with the question at hand, namely our own suffering?

Human Suffering Redeemed

It helps us by showing us not only that God shares in the suffering of humanity, but that by His own suffering He has redeemed our suffering. We understand that through the cross and suffering of Christ He participates in our suffering. But also, Pope John Paul II reminds us that through our suffering we participate in the suffering of Christ. This is not a new idea but one we see reflected in the words of Scripture:

We are afflicted in every way, but not constrained; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying about in the body the dying of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our body (2 Cor 4:7-11).

For as Christ’s sufferings overflow to us, so through Christ does our encouragement also overflow (2 Cor. 1:5).

I urge you therefore, brothers, by the mercies of God, to offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God, your spiritual worship (Rom 12:1).

Our suffering then is not meaningless, but overflowing with meaning as it is connected with the very suffering of Jesus. By the cross, we are able to become participants in the suffering of Christ and the experience of suffering is not only given dignity but power:

All human sufferings are capable of being infused with the same power of God manifested in Christ’s Cross. In such a concept, to suffer means to become particularly susceptible, particularly open, to the working of the salvific powers of God, offered to humanity in Christ (SD, 5, 23).

Power Replaces Hopelessness

God truly acts through our suffering, speaks through it, strengthens us through it, and displays His power through it. This is what He did through the cross. When we begin to view suffering in this way our trials and tragedies are rescued from the curse of meaninglessness; of not only being painful but hopeless. This always underlies our frustration and hurt. Yet here we see that God is at work through suffering, redeeming it, displaying His power in it. Has He not told us that His power is shown in our weakness? “My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness. I will rather boast most gladly of my weaknesses, in order that the power of Christ may dwell with me” (2 Cor 12:9).

In our suffering, and in our witness of the suffering of others, we certainly experience our own weaknesses. We know, in a very finite way, our need of God. In these moments we look and strain for the hand of God. The counsel of the saints through the ages is that when we search for God in the midst of suffering we will find Him. For He is not outside suffering, but within it. Constantly within the Gospels we see Jesus dealing with the suffering of others with words of compassion and miracles. So much of His earthly ministry was to alleviate suffering and redeem it for the Kingdom of God. Jesus promises His followers that suffering will come their way. If we understand suffering and its intricate connection to the cross, our experience of suffering, while no less painful, is redeemed. Jesus answers our pain from the experience of His own pain which is the ultimate display of His love. Love reaches out to us in the midst of pain.

The Gospel of suffering is being written unceasingly, and it speaks unceasingly with the words of this strange paradox: the springs of divine power gush forth precisely in the midst of human weakness (SD, VI, 27).

The Love of God

In the case of the Chapmans, we are left with no truly satisfactory answer to the question of “Why?” In Christlike compassion we should avoid clichés and superficial answers. Instead I believe our call is to “weep with those who weep” and like our Lord, enter into their suffering with our prayers. Savifici Doloris reminds us we should understand that the cross is the backdrop for all our suffering, including the Chapmans’. And it is through the cross and because of the cross that we can rest with certainty in the Love of God.

St. Paul liked the race imagery as well and often used it as metaphor for the Christian life. He says in 1 Corinthians, “Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one gets the prize? Run in such a way as to get the prize.” (1 Cor. 9:24) Paul’s encouragement and desire is for the Corinthians (and us) to run well and to run our best. This metaphor speaks of effort, consistency, and obedience. In fact this is exactly the problem with the Galatians. Using the race metaphor Paul says to them, “You were running a good race. Who cut in on you and kept you from obeying the truth?” (Gal. 5:7)

Nike has it right. So many things in life simply fall under the phrase, “Just do it!” Many of my greatest issues and challenges are caused not by what happens to me, but what I do to me! In regards to the spiritual life, so often I simply neglect to do that which I know I should do. When I become lazy about my spiritual life, my “race” suffers. I’m not running well. I’m not running my best.  When training for a marathon, if you take too long a break in training your running suffers. So it is in the spiritual life.

Authentic spirituality takes work, practice, obedience, good doses of humor and equal amounts of humility. It is a race. In many ways it is like a marathon; we’re in this for the long haul. The conditioning of our souls is what allows us to run well. Frequent Mass attendance, regular confession, reading Scripture, reading an edifying spiritual book, serving others — all of these are ways we “work out our salvation” (Phil 2:12). All of these are ways to increase our spiritual health and endurance and run the race.

Our boys are growing up. They’re only 6 and 4 right now, but I can already see it. New clothes are a regular occurrence and the tooth fairy has had to make several visits recently. They are able to express themselves better with their words and their interests are getting deeper and more meaningful. It is interesting to hear something profound from a six-year-old like, “I know God loves us Dad, but why does he allow tornadoes?” Don’t for a minute believe that we don’t have our share of spilled drinks, temper tantrums, and tears. But in the midst of all this, I can still see that they are growing.

Growing is what they are meant to do. If either one of them suddenly stopped growing it would be real cause for concern. Growing is normal, not growing is the exception. The same is true in regard to our spiritual life.

St. Paul’s words are very instructive for us. It is an incredible gift of the Scriptures that we have not only the words of the Apostles but also their prayers. In Colossians 1:10 we are given the prayer concerns of St. Paul. He says that his prayer is that this community would live their lives consistent with their faith, that they would bear fruit in their good works, and that they would grow in their knowledge of God.

To the Biblical writers, to grow in the “knowledge” of God was much more than simply spending time in study. They understood that the knowledge of God involves our head and heart, our hands and our feet, our words, beliefs, and deeds. Just as physical growth is not limited to simply the intellectual or the physical, so spiritual growth involves all of our spiritual life. And this is what we are built for, to grow.

The apostle knew this and he prayed the Colossian church would experience it. We pray for many things for our churches: for numbers, for balanced budgets, conflict resolution, a larger building etc. St. Paul knew that the root of everything, the most important thing, was growth. We are built for genuine, real and authentic growth and we are given the Sacraments to aid us on our way.

The Sacraments of initiation bring us into Christ. Regular confession and communion grow us up into Christ. They are great gifts, the nutrients we need for our spiritual growth. Along with prayer and study and service (good works) we can experience the growth we were made to experience.

With our boys there are periods where growth is more obvious and intentional. There are also times of regression or stubbornness. But my wife and I are here to help them grow into the people they are created to be.

Funny, but it seems God has given us a family for much the same thing.

It wasn't a direct influence mind you.  I didn't hear the voice of Bede or see visions of Padre Pio, but during my investigation of the Catholic Church I began to appreciate how the Church had produced these most powerful witnesses of the faith. 

It is interesting that in my former tradition (Episcopal) and other more traditional Protestant denominations, our churches were often named for a Catholic saint.  It is not uncommon to run across Episcopal Churches with names such as "St. Bede's", "St. Barnabas'", "St. Bartholomew's" or "St. Francis'", not to mention the most ironic name for a non-Catholic church, "St. Augustine's."  It finally dawned on me that the Anglican/Episcopal Church was not responsible for producing any of these saints — nor were many of these congregations interested in emulating the theology of their patrons.  

Jesus told his followers, "No good tree bears bad fruit, nor does a bad tree bear good fruit.  Each tree is recognized by its own fruit. People do not pick figs from thornbushes, or grapes from briers" (Luke 6:43-44).  This verse hit home for me and I began to consider and compare the fruit I saw being produced in my own denomination.  Were we producing saints?  As a church body (denomination) could we say that we were serving as a school for saintliness?  Sadly, the answer was no. 

If we look at just the 20th Century, we find quite a list of impressive figures given to the world by the Catholic Church.  What a witness the world was given by the lives of Mother Teresa, Pope John Paul II, Maximillian Kolbe, Josemaria Escriva, and Edith Stein among others. 

While I had known some very faithful Episcopalians, it was usually a bit of a pleasant surprise to find them.  There was always a sense that these people were going against the general direction of their own church.  They were sort of like flowers trying to grow in soil that isn't providing very well for them.  They may grow, but that growth and health will always be tempered by their environment. 

I realize Protestants are fond of pointing out that we're all saints — that by our relationship in Christ we should all be called "saints."  That is very comforting, but not very accurate.  It is using the term loosely to say the least.  I'm not a saint in the same sense that Padre Pio was.  Nor am I mature enough in my faith to think I've grown in holiness to the same degree as Mother Teresa.  The term "saint" should remind us of the ideal to which we are called — not offer blasé notions that we're already there.

Saints display "saintliness".  They display devotion and holiness that comes from a deep love for Christ and they inspire others to do the same.  Saints have often undergone great testing and trials and some even die for their faith.  The question that kept haunting me is, "Why do I see so few of these examples in my own denomination?"

I thought again of the Luke quote, that a bad tree doesn't bear good fruit.  The fruit that I saw being borne by the Catholic Church was much greater on the whole than that which I saw being produced anywhere else.  There are no blinders here.  I knew that it wasn't a perfect place and that there had been plenty of tragedies and problems in the Catholic Church.  But on the whole, never in the history of the Church has the world been left without Catholic saints.  The problems are aberrations; the normative fruit was a harvest of saints. 

I was forced to ask, "What kind of fruit seems normative in my denomination?"  My answer was not encouraging.

As I looked at the lives of the saints both recent and ancient, I began to consider the Catholic Church and her teachings more fully.  What produced such people Pope John Paul II, St. Francis, Blessed Josemaria Escriva, St. Augustine, and St. Teresa of Avila?  Whatever and wherever it was, I wanted to be a part of it.  In the end, this 'cloud of witnesses' helped lead me home.  While I am doubtful of my ability to attain their degree of saintliness, I am grateful to be planted in the same soil in which they are planted.  It's home.

1. The Relief of Resolution

Often the first thing you feel is relief.  You've finally made the decision!  There is a sense of the weight of indecision coming off your back, the hound of heaven has chased you down.  You have your own moment of standing in the presence of God and truly offering yourself again to Him.  There is a sense in which the "Yes" to convert is a great act of faith — you do not know where the path will lead you.  You're just convinced that this is the path you are meant to travel.  Now you are relieved to answer the call.

2.  Disappointment that not Everyone Shares Your Relief (though some will)

Once the news of your decision begins to spread, you will likely find that not everyone is as thrilled as you are.  Some will perhaps understand your "need for a change", but they will question the timing, direction and perhaps even the sanity of the decision you have made.  It can be disappointing.  You have spent considerable time and effort and prayer reaching this decision and you have experienced the relief of your own "fiat" — your own "yes" to God.  But for some people your decision will be strange or worse…which leads to #3.

3.  Anti-Catholic Sentiments

One well-intentioned person in my congregation heard of my family's decision to convert and said, "We're sorry to see you go.  We're even more sorry you're going to be Catholic."  In #2 your sanity may be questioned; here, in #3, among more anti-Catholic minds, your salvation is questioned.  Comments like, "How can you buy into a church that worships Mary?", "So now you're not going to share Communion with anyone else?", "Why would you submit to allow a priest to stand between you and God?" are common…and you may experience worse comments.

4. Distancing of Relationships

Following #3, you may find a distancing of relationships.  This can be rather painful, though not completely surprising.  In some ways, had you become a Methodist, Baptist, Lutheran or just about anything BUT Catholic, they could deal more positively with it.  In becoming Catholic you not only are embracing something very foreign to many people, you are also implicitly rejecting many of their beliefs.  You are rejecting the notions of the Reformation — things like private interpretation (the "Jesus and me" mentality), independent congregationalism, and the idea that all you need is "faith" (see Luke 6:46, James 2:20-24).  You are also rejecting "Doctrine by Democracy" — the modern idea that humans are able to vote amendments into the faith.  By stepping out, you are also stepping away.  And there may be no shortage of those who step away as well.  But with these there will also be some wonderful gifts…

5.  Excitement of a New Adventure

You will likely find a sense of adventure in this transition.  As God called Abram to leave behind all he knew in Haran to head to the land the Lord was providing, so you will sense that your conversion is a new adventure.  There's so much to learn and so much to experience that many people often sense that they have begun an exciting adventure with God.  For some the paralysis of indecision has stunted their spiritual life and now they discover a new land awaits them.

6. Deepening of the Spiritual Life

Therefore this new adventure will often lead to a deepening of the spiritual life.  This may manifest itself in different ways in various converts, but obedience has its rewards.  The obedience to the call of God often results in a newfound sense of God's presence and a real sense of God's approval.  It is not unusual for Bible study and the reading of spiritual books to nourish you like never before.  Mass begins to take on a new life (see #7).  You will begin to know the benefits and blessings of that "yes" to God. 

7.  Love of the Eucharist

It is not unusual to discover a deepening love for the Eucharist.  And this makes good sense.  You have discovered the true bread of heaven, you are now receiving the Lord in a new and wonderful and unique way.  Even though as an Episcopal Priest I had celebrated at many Eucharists, the feeling of receiving the Body and Blood of Christ as a Catholic was, and still is, completely different.  (My Episcopal friends look at me sideways when I say that — but it's true!)  The spiritual graces of the Sacrament are real and life-giving in a way I have never before experienced.  Love of the Eucharist, of the Lord's presence, will also be needed to sustain you through your transition (and on from there of course!)

8.  Love of the Church

Another common experience among converts is a deepening love of the Church.  As a Protestant, you generally see the Church, particularly the Catholic Church as an "institution".  For many people, that term has become negatively associated with power, oppression, domination, and restrictions.  As a convert, you may discover that this was and is a false idea of the Church.  Instead you may find a growing understanding of what it means that the Church is the "Bride of Christ".  You may realize how incredible it is to see this "institution" that has stood the test of time and maintained the faith and unflinchingly proclaimed it to the world.  You may come to a new appreciation of this great ship of faith and wonder, "Why didn't I see this before?"

9.  Continued Sense of Relief

As many of these things come to pass, there will be times of stress, confusion, and questions.  Yet, there will most likely be a continued abiding sense of relief and quiet confidence that yes, you have made the right decision.  There may be no lightening bolts, but the presence of the Lord will sustain you and continue to bless your resolution to be obedient.

10. A Steep Learning Curve

Finally, I think many converts experience a steep learning curve.  Even though Anglicanism has many similarities to Catholicism, I was (am) amazed at how much there is to learn.  The Mass takes some getting used to, the verbiage may take some repetition, the personalities of Catholic history may require some study.  There is much to learn for the convert.  But it is not without reward.  We have to take time to learn our way around our new home.  This is part of the adventure!

Not everyone will experience all these, but they are some of the things that I experienced (and continue to experience) as a part of my conversion.  The graces given by God to the obedient servant provide more than enough strength to meet these challenges.  No, it's not all "Alleluias" and signs of peace.  It might be helpful to be aware of some of the challenges you may face.  It also might be good for you to know you are not alone in facing your challenges. 

This passage from Sirach is a good one for all of us converts to bear in mind and cling to when facing our own twists and turns on the road Home to Rome: "My son, when you come to serve the LORD, prepare yourself for trials.  Be sincere of heart and steadfast, undisturbed in time of adversity.  Cling to him, forsake him not; thus will your future be great.  Accept whatever befalls you, in crushing misfortune be patient; For in fire gold is tested, and worthy men in the crucible of humiliation.  Trust God and he will help you; make straight your ways and hope in him."  Sirach 2:1-6, NAB

In an oversexed and under-loved world, there is still a hunger for real love.  There is still an innate desire to be loved and accepted in the long term.  There is also, I believe, an innate desire to commit to something or someone — to have something worth living for.  This does not mean that everyone should be married.  Not at all.  But I am suggesting that everyone is hungry for love and will fill that void with many things and yet remain empty. 

With Christmas still fresh on our minds, do we dare believe that the Incarnation can speak to this universal human need?  Our God has come to us, as one of us, to be with us.  Why?  Because of love.

I once heard it said that the cross shouldn't be viewed as simply a theological necessity but as an act of great love by our Lord.  The same could be said about the Incarnation.  It's more than a theological truth, it is a practical reality.  Our Lord loves us.  He loves us beyond our own capacity to show or even experience love.  As much as I love my wife and children, as powerful as I think that is, it pales to nothingness when placed beside the love God has for each of us. 

There is still a hunger for real, authentic love.  We often look for it in our relationships with one another.  We sometimes look high and low, desperately hoping to be noticed by someone.  While we hope and pray for real love, our Lord is waiting for us to understand that love has come — He has come.

The truth of the Incarnation is not that we sought love and found it.  The truth of the incarnation is that Love sought us and found us. 

But are we?

The line from the hymn Joy to the World rings in my ear and captures my thoughts, "Let every heart prepare him room."  While the house is ready for Christmas, it seems the larger question is, "Is my heart ready for Christmas?"

The season of Advent calls us to prepare not just our home, but our hearts.  We're asked to consider this question once more, "Who are we waiting for?"  Listen to some excerpts from the Sunday Mass readings of Advent:

            "Prepare the way of the Lord, make straight his paths."

            "They will see the glory of the LORD, the splendor of our God."

            "Say to those whose hearts are frightened: Be strong, fear not!  Here is your God, he comes with vindication; with divine recompense he comes to save you."

            "You too must be patient.  Make your hearts firm, because the coming of the Lord is at hand."

            "Therefore the Lord himself will give you this sign: the virgin shall conceive, and bear a son, and shall name him Emmanuel"

            "For it is through the Holy Spirit that this child has been conceived in her.  She will bear a son and you are to name him Jesus, because he will save his people from their sins."

            "Brothers and sisters: You know the time; it is the hour now for you to awake from sleep.  For our salvation is nearer now than when we first believed."

It is hard for those of us familiar with the Christmas story to re-grasp every year the utter power of this event.  But if we listen through the advertising assault of sales and credit lines, the sappy T.V. movies, and calls to sit in Santa's lap, we hear the voices of the prophets begging us to prepare.  We hear the voices of St. Paul and others reminding us that we need to wake from our sleep.  They all call us to prepare because God Himself is coming to us.  Can we have ears to hear and eyes to see the power, grace and love of the Incarnation?  1 John says it so very well:

"This is how God showed his love among us: He sent his one and only Son into the world that we might live through him." (1 John 4:9)

It's time to re-focus.  What we are waiting for, really? 

Our house is ready for guests, for presents, and even for Santa.  But I pray that in the remaining days of Advent I will hear the voices that call me to prepare my heart.  Is my heart cleaned (Advent is a very appropriate time for Confession), is my mind focused, my soul fed by regular Eucharist?  Am I really ready for the coming of my King, my Lord, my Savior?  Am I ready to receive such an extravagant display of God's love? 

Ready or not, He is coming.

"May every heart prepare him room.  And heaven and nature sing…and heaven…"

But learning to "be" is a hard lesson.  It means that I learn to be where I am, how I am, and in the moment I am in.  It is that great lesson of contentment that St. Paul outlines in Philippians 4, "For I have learned, in whatever state I am, to be content" (Phil 4:11).  We are taught not to be content and certainly not to simply "be".  Our culture drives us toward dissatisfaction:  "How can you drive that old car, don't you need this new one?"  "You can't be satisfied with last year's clothes can you?"  "Your spouse really doesn't measure up the way he/she used to."  "You don't look good enough"  "You aren't wealthy enough."  These messages and others come at us in a million different ways.  They encourage us not to "be" but to "get".   

But "being" matters.  We are what we are right now, in this moment.  And God is in this moment with me.  Through the incarnation He chooses to be where I am, with me as I am, exactly in this moment I am in.  But if I cannot "be" I will miss my Lord.  If I lose this moment in my hurried pace, I lose this moment and all its spiritual potential.  I lose the message, hope, and power of the incarnation.

Sometimes it is good to just stop.  It is good to resist the culture that calls me to run at a blinding pace.  It is good to stop and be.  It is good to remember that God is right here, right now.  And whatever mood I am in, whatever pressures I face, whatever frustrations I have do not change God's presence with or love for me.

Where do we see this most clearly?  At Mass.  There God comes to us all again, to feed, renew, and strengthen.  Sometimes my attitude is lousy.  Sometimes I'm frustrated at the kids (sometimes they're frustrated at me).  Sometimes my wife and I are just exhausted from the week and we drag ourselves into the pew and pray for some peace.  And when we go forward and reach up for our Lord, He comes.  He comes and rests in our hands and enters us again, just as we are.  The challenge is learning to "be" in both daily life and on Sundays.  The challenge is learning to see each moment as filled with God's presence and with great potential.  I'm not there yet.  But the more we learn to be, the more we will "become" in Christ.