Not My Time

In The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis, professional devil Screwtape provides encouragement and advice to his "dear nephew" and junior tempter Wormwood. Wormwood has been assigned to a new Christian, to separate him from God ("the Enemy") and put him back on the path to ruin. The book is amazing amalgam of insight and cynical humor: 

• "My dear Wormwood, the contemptuous way in which you spoke of gluttony as a means of catching souls, in your last letter, shows only your ignorance. One of the great achievements of the last hundred years has been to deaden the human conscience on that subject, so that by now you will hardly find a sermon preached or a conscience troubled about it in the whole length and breadth of Europe." 

I recently picked up a copy of the book at a garage sale and decided to read it again (I think the last time was in college) because I "borrowed" the idea from Lewis for the final paper for my Old Testament Class: "The Top Ten Ways to Lose the Promised Land." I based it on the Prophets and the various ways they admonished the Israelites and wrote it as if it were Satanic advice. It was a fun project!


Lewis has a section in the book where Screwtape is advising Wormwood how to create in his subject feelings of personal injury, based on the sense that a legitimate claim (what we would call our "rights") has been denied. The example he gives is time:

• "Now you will have noticed that nothing throws him into a passion so easily as to find a tract of time which he reckoned on having at his own disposal unexpectedly taken from him. It is the unexpected visitor (when he looked forward to a quiet evening), or the friend's talkative wife (turning up when he looked forward to a tete-a-tete with the friend), that throws him out of gear... They anger him because he regards his time as his own and feels that it is being stolen. You must therefore zealously guard in his mind the curious assumption 'My time is my own.'... The assumption which you want him to go on making is so absurd that, if once it is questioned, even we cannot find a shred of argument in its defense. The man can neither make, nor retain, one moment of time; it all comes to him by pure gift.... He is also, in theory, committed to a total service of the Enemy; and if the Enemy appeared to him in bodily form and demanded that total service for even one day, he would not refuse. He would be greatly relieved if that one day involved nothing harder than listening to the conversation of a foolish woman and he would be relieved almost to the pitch of disappointment if for one half-hour in that day the Enemy said, 'Now you may go and amuse yourself.'"

When I read that I realized with a pang how often I assume my time belongs to ME. My life is heavily scheduled with work and school and family, so when I find some free "tracts of time" I covet them and consider them my own. It is easy for me to deeply resent any interruption of these by the demands of other people, especially people who just want (or need) to chit-chat when I just want to do whatever I want to do. Often it's not even because I have something I really need to do, or anything important. I just want to have that time to "amuse myself."

I confess that I am hungry for free time, and not a little jealous of those who are retired and have more unstructured time than I do. But Lewis rightly points out that no one's time is their own - none of us created it, and as Christians it ALL belongs to God. It does me good to remember that every moment of every day is a gift, and the people who make demands on my time (even little demands, like an extra fifteen minutes after church to talk about inconsequential things when I am ready to go home) give me opportunities to share God's grace and demonstrate the truth of my commitment in "total service" to Christ. 

Hungry for Church

Today we visited with some friends who provide crisis care for children. An infant recently was placed with them who has been diagnosed with “failure to thrive.” 

Remember the international scandal about orphanages in Romania, which were so short-staffed that infants were rarely cuddled but instead just lay in their cribs all day, getting only a diaper change and a quick feeding? Those babies failed to thrive - they were listless, expressionless, and never smiled. Many died. That’s the result of extreme neglect - babies with no human love actually lose their will to live.

We stood in our friends’ garage (they were having a garage sale) and mourned for this little one, currently hospitalized. And then we discussed the mundane things of life, the garage sale, growing mint, new pets, running errands. It felt so odd to me - not far is away is a child being coaxed to fight for her own life, and we’re discussing garage sales.  But that’s the way life is, full of contrasts that coexist.

I thought about that (the both-and of life) when I came across yet another Internet article by someone who seems to think the world is an either-or place. He claims that at one time in Christianity the church was all about “the institution” but now it is all about “the experience.” But I believe these are not opposing concepts; they not only have always existed together but support and complement each other.

The church is a great mystery, one of the many beautiful mysteries of our Christian faith. Because it is a mystery, scholars, mystics and theologians have used multiple metaphors to explain and describe it. Christians throughout the ages have struggled to live it, to give it expression in the world. The church is a body, an organic entity, a unity of diverse parts. It is an expression of divine action. She is the Bride of Christ, a woman, often faithless yet always being wooed back to God. The church is the pilgrim people of God, individuals on a journey of faith in the company of others. It is herald, servant, sacrament. It is a table, a place where the faithful gather to offer their lives and receive the bread of angels.

I am hungry for church. I need the institution and the doctrines so I will be challenged and comforted, have my soul lifted and my thinking deepened. I need the experience of church, for only there do I get to participate in the glorious mystery of the Eucharist! I need the church for my journey of faith, to learn and struggle and grow in the company of flawed human beings, despite the fact that they often do not get it right, just as I often do not. 

St. Gabriel Church, Toronto

I am hungry for worship in the presence of my family and friends as well as those fellow travelers who are still strangers to me. I am hungry for beauty, for the handiwork of artists and musicians who create structures and liturgies that lead me into reverence and honor for our Creator and Saviour. 

I want to be a both-and Christian, to have the courage to live my faith in the world and to embrace the church in all its manifestations. For me church is about experience and institutions, fellowship within structures, hierarchy in the service of community. Yet living in the both-and of church and personal faith is a continual challenge and there is much I have yet to learn.

A Fish Who Floats

We have six fish. We were not going to name them, because if you name anything then you feel bad if it dies (that's my theory, anyway, and I hate feeling bad when a fish dies). But hubby prevailed, and we named the first five after the Deutero-canonical books: Sirach, Tobit, Judith, Baruch, and Big Mac (I Maccabees). The second summer these five spent outdoors in a fountain hubby built, two more appeared. We named them Little Mac (II Maccabees) and Wisdom. When we brought them indoors for the winter, Wisdom got "ick" and died (could be a sad commentary on modern life, but I'm not going there).

Our fish watching TV - really (Mac is in the center)

One of our fish, Big Mac, is quirky. Okay, strange. He started out bright orange, but then after a year lost all his color, so now he's kind of a sickly white. Some time ago hubby got a little worried (can you tell my husband is the fish person?) because Big Mac didn't seem quite right - he kept bobbing up to the top of the aquarium, as if he couldn't keep himself down in the water. But after keeping an eye on him for months, we have finally decided that he just likes it. He swims with the other fish to eat, and moves around just fine. But he likes to sleep - or rest, or whatever fish do - upside down at the top of the aquarium. It looks like he is dead, really, but then he'll move a little, or get into the jet stream of the filter and just bounce around. Weird fish.

I have some sympathy for this bland-colored, different fish. I wonder what the real-life consequences of being so different would be, if he (or she, we really don't know) was not in the safety of the aquarium. If the other fish were not forced to keep company with him, would they leave him alone? Would he be ostracized? Hubby is going to move them into the fountain again soon, and we are wondering if Big Mac will get picked off by a heron or something as he's floating on the surface. Or maybe he only floats indoors.

It is hard to be different. I feel it myself, some days than others. It depends a great deal on the context: am I with people who love me no matter what? Or am I in a crowd of strangers and they all sound smarter, act cooler and seem more together than I am? Am I surrounded by people who share my spiritual passion and understand my journey or am I with people who are uncomfortable just hearing the word "Catholic" spoken out loud?

I suspect that everybody feels different sometimes. We are so diverse as humans that the only way to not ever feel different would be to never move outside a safe circle of friends and relatives. And I suppose some people want to and are able to do that. I have read that some people move overseas and then built cultural enclaves in gated communities so they never have to encounter the host culture. Other people avoid engaging in conversations that might reveal opposing points of view. What's the fun in that?

Human diversity is a marvelous gift of God's creation, even if it causes us to struggle sometimes. But the struggle is part of the gift, because it helps us figure out who we are, who we want to be, and how we want to be to other people. We are all quirky, after all. Maybe even a little strange.

What We Really Want

Think for just a minute - think about what you want.
No, really - what is it that you want?


This was the question posed during the homily at the Easter Vigil when my sister and brother-in-law were received into the church two years ago. At the time (Fr. K gave us a few seconds to think) I thought about my other sister (the one in the hospital) and how I wanted her to be "fixed," to be whole again. And I thought about some of the things I wanted to accomplish in my life.


So did you think of something? Okay, good. 
Now here's the deal: that's not what you really want.


Yeah, I know, that's what I thought, too, when Fr. K. said that to us. What do you mean that's not what I really want? But he went on to say, "what you really want is perfection, for the world to be transformed, for everything to be in perfect order in the way God planned."


And he was right. When I looked deeper, past my immediate needs and wishes, I could see that those really are my truest desires. I don't just want my circumstances to be easier; I want the world to be completely different.


Therein lies the real thrill of Easter (and the point of his homily): Jesus was not resurrected to his "old" life. He did not get his body back the way it was; he did not just get his wounds fixed. He was resurrected to a new life, a perfect way of being. And - how great our joy! His death and resurrection mean that true transformation is possible. And that's what we all really want.

Clearer on the Concepts

All during Lent I refrained from using disposable coffee cups. I usually buy coffee 3-5 times per week, so over the course of six weeks I figure I saved about 30 cups from going into a landfill somewhere. Seems like a good thing to me! So I decided to continue the practice post-Lent (which of course is part of the point).

At Caribou you save 50 cents for bringing in a reusable mug; at Dunn Brothers it's 25 cents; Starbucks is only 10 (come on, big S!). The other day I was in the mood for an egg biscuit at McDonald's (I know, I know), so I thought I would bring my mug in and see how it went. Sure, no problem, the (very) young man said. Before I could say anything else, he grabbed a disposable cup, filled it with coffee, poured it in my mug, and tossed the disposable. "There you go!" A classic case of being unclear on the concept.

As I continue to deepen my understanding of the historical, liturgical, ecclesiological, and theological richness of the Christian faith, sometimes I feel like a kid in a candy store, gazing wide-eyed and open-mouthed at all the wonders. At other times I feel more like a bull in a china shop, clumsy and ill-suited to navigate around the treasures. But most of the time I experience this journey as a gradual growth in clarity on the concepts.

Today is the octave of Easter - one of three feasts which is celebrated for eight days (Christmas and Pentecost are the others). My schedule was so busy (and I am so accustomed from my upbringing to only celebrating Easter on Easter Sunday) that I did not have or make much opportunity last week to celebrate. But - wonderfully - there's always next year, now that I am getting clearer on the concept. 

The "eight days" idea is actually pretty cool - eight days to observe, to reflect, to rejoice. I mean, if it's an important event, what's the rush? Modern western culture is always in a hurry. I remember being so amazed, when we visited B&J in South Africa, that the South Africans (the whites, anyway) take hours over their evening meals. I doubt ours is ever longer than half an hour. 

But the eighth day is also a "first day" - Sunday, first day of the week. There is an overlap that makes that day both an ending and a beginning. This is the kind of rich conceptual element in which I take so much pleasure! Jesus said "it is finished!" on the sixth day (Friday), and rested on the seventh (just as God finished his work of creation on the sixth day and rested on the seventh). On the first day (Sunday) Jesus rose from the dead, but it also was an eighth day, because the resurrection marked the end of death forever. The following Sunday (the eighth day, today!) Jesus appeared to his disciples and ended their waiting and wondering. But it also is a first day, because He did something new: he breathed on them, gave them the Holy Spirit and the power to forgive and retain sins (John 20:19-23).

Every Sunday we rest; every Sunday we are renewed and restored to begin again. The last and first day. What a concept!