Where is Your Joy?

" What has happened to all of your joy?" [Galatians 4: 15]

                                    JOY

Joy is in short supply today. Maybe it has become unfashionable, uncool.

We want to remain straight-faced, unflappable, unreadable. Joy is not self-contained. It spills over, it is gloriously messy.

We are so very busy. We are driven to fill each moment with busyness. We don't want to give up our addiction to productivity for one moment. But relentless busyness is the enemy of Joy.

We are keyed up, wired to devices-- our smart phones, our laptops, the Internet, tablets, instant messages on Twitter, the intermittent lure of "Likes" on Facebook. Media has made us more advanced, more precise. But the media is "becoming" us. We are heading for eyeglasses that allow us to "see" the Internet by voice activation. If we "become" media, we become more like machines. But inescapable mechanization kills Joy. Because Joy is so very human.

Joy is in the real world, not in the virtual world. Joy is in Nature. Joy is in face-to-face contact. Have we killed the real world? Have we killed human contact? Have we killed Joy?

The early Christians were so joyous over the Risen Christ, that others thought they were actually drunk. Maybe they WERE drunk. Drunk with Joy!

Easter gives us the very real promise of Joy. Easter is the grandest, "Yes, but . . .", that the world has ever seen.

Easter confers the Joy of  becoming alive again.

I almost drowned when I was four. Yes. BUT, my mother's arms lifted me up out of that suffocating water and I lived.

In my early twenties, I almost died a violent death at the hands of an attacker. Yes. BUT, I prayed to God to live-- and the attacker stopped trying to kill me.

I can dwell in the realm of death and repeat to myself for my entire life, that I almost died. I can dwell forever in that Dark Place.

OR, I can turn my hopeful face to the Light of my Redemptions. I can live in the Realm of possibilities and hope.

I used to think that I was responsible for creating my own Joy. I do not think that is possible. We cannot manufacture Joy. But we can allow Joy to find us.

Joy resides in such tiny moments, that if we are too busy, or preoccupied, or overwhelmed, we will miss it.

Joy is fleeting, evanescent, ephemeral. I have found Joy in a butterfly that flitted past me. Everyone else was too busy to notice. But I saw it. And it was as if God had winked at me.

I have found Joy in prayer. When I pray and God answers me, He is speaking to ME! Out of all the billions of people in the world, He took time to notice me. What Joy, to feel God in my life!

I have found Joy in simply being with loved ones. No agenda, no itinerary, no productivity goals. Being with the ones whom I love, has invited in laughter, hugs, and peace.

I have found Joy in being in the present. Not dwelling in my ugly past, or worrying about the future.

I find Joy when I cease fighting my life. My life-- ugly, complicated, unruly-- simply IS. Jesus did not fight His life. He did not waste His life trying to defend Himself from his detractors. He simply WAS. The Serenity Prayer says: "Taking, as Jesus did, this sinful world as it is, not as I would have it." Acceptance brings Joy.

I have described my life as "My Palm Sunday Life". [ March 24, 2013]. It has been a walk towards things I must do.  But those are things that I dreaded. Why can't our lives be more like, "My Easter Life"?  Have we banished Joy? Have we outlawed Joy?

Where is YOUR Joy?

[Related Posting, "Easter Joy", April 23, 2011.]

(c) Spiritual Devotional 2013. All Rights Reserved.



To really see Joy, I have to slow down. I have to go outside.

Stations Of The Cross

Today is Good Friday.

It is the day on which Jesus was executed.

The women weeping and wailing, and the agony of Mary, constituted His funeral.

I find it astonishing what effect there is when we tell the Truth, simply and plainly.

We are surrounded today by media-- advertisements everywhere, on the supermarket cart, in the backseat of a taxicab, on the Internet, even in certain restrooms, in airports, on Face Book; media streaming in the doctor's office, public service announcements in elevators, in malls.

Everywhere, we are bombarded by spin and commentary. The media claims to provide valuable information. In the end, media only confuses and obfuscates.

Here is the plain Truth about Good Friday. Here are the captions to the Stations of the Cross:

1) Jesus is condemned to death.

2) Jesus carries His cross.

3) Jesus Falls Under the cross.

4) Jesus encounters His mother.

5) Simon helps Jesus carry His cross.

6) Veronica wipes the face of Jesus.

7) Jesus falls the second time.

8) Jesus meets the women of Jerusalem.

9) Jesus falls the third time.

10) Jesus is stripped of His clothing.

11) Jesus is nailed to the cross.

12) Jesus dies on the cross.

13) Jesus is taken down from the cross.

14) Jesus is placed in the tomb.



STARK; CHILLING; RELENTLESS.

Could this "will of the mob", to crucify Jesus, happen again? Sadly, I do believe so.

[Related Posting, "The Replication of  Evil", Nov. 8, 2012.  Recommended reading, "Ordinary Men", by Christopher Browning. Related visuals, "Lenten Meditations, Feb. 27, 2013].

(c) Spiritual Devotional 2013. All Rights Reserved.

Holy Thursday

"  Jesus knew that His time had come to leave this world and return to the Father. The evening meal was being served, and the devil had already prompted Judas Iscariot to betray Jesus. Jesus knew that the Father had put all things under His power, abd that He had come from God, and was returning to God. He got up from the meal, took off his outer clothing, and wrapped a towel around His waist. After that, He poured water into a basin and began to wash his disciples' feet, drying them with the towel wrapped around Him. He came to Simon Peter, who said, 'No, You shall never wash my feet.' Jesus answered, "Unless I wash you, you have no part with me.' " [ John 13: 1-8].

I remember asking my pastor about five years ago, what was this business about Jesus washing His disciples' feet? Shouldn't it be the opposite? Shouldn't WE kneel down and reverence Jesus?

By kneeling to wash his disciples' feet, Jesus took the form of a slave!

To my fascination and, almost horror, I found out that on Holy Thursday, many parishes reenact the washing of the feet.

I had the exact same reaction as Simon Peter: I could NEVER allow Jesus to wash my feet!

My friends, there are so many barriers to our Faith and I think that I have lived them all!! ---

Innocence, which in my case, came from being a mere child and believing that Faith can be found only in church.

Physical barriers: When my family stopped taking me to church, I gave up on my Faith. I thought they had taken my Faith away, and that, with my church being clear across town, I had no way to get to church to find it again.

Over-confidence: when I was finally able to break free from my faith-less, abusive family, I guess I thought that everything would be okay from then on; so, why did I NEED God?

Doubt: I began to half-believe what my family said, that there is no God, and that going to church is a "waste of time and money".

Fear: When I finally began to make a serious effort to investigate and nurture my Faith, I hid my crucifix, my Bible and Catechism books upstairs in my house, so no one in my extended family could see them. After all the Catholic-hating rhetoric growing up, I thought that I was doing something wrong, trying to further my Faith life.

Exhaustion: I became tired of fighting for my Faith. "This is too hard!", I told God.

But the worst barrier for me was the last one that came before my Conversion: feelings of worthlessness.

From my abusive childhood, (which goes back to a time when I was pre-verbal), I have this awful tape that goes through my head: " Ugly"; " Guilty"; "Worthless".

Pick a week, and one of these themes is no doubt going through my head, in an endless, psychic Mobius strip. A faithful friend says to me, "Why do you allow the Dark Side to keep repeating these lies about you? Because they ARE lies!"

The Truth is, we are all children of God and we are all worthy to receive God's Grace. I have finally realized that I will NEVER reap the Promise of Jesus, or of God, if I can never feel worthy enough to approach Jesus and allow Him to cleanse me. This is what Jesus means when He says, 'Then you can never have a part with me.'

Every year, on Holy Thursday, instead of cringeing, I am going to ask myself, "How ready am I NOW to approach Jesus and allow Him to heal me?"

And, if I can allow Jesus to heal me, what a gift! For then, I will be strong enough to go forth and to heal others!

[Related Posting, "Ready For God", Nov.8, 2011]

(c) Spiritual Devotional 2013. All Rights Reserved.

My Palm Sunday Life

" Christ Jesus, though He was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God something to be grasped, [ reached, achieved.]  Rather, He emptied Himself, taking the form of a slave, coming in human likeness; and humbled Himself , becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross." [Philippians 2: 6-11].

It is Palm Sunday. In church, at Mass, we grasp palm fronds by the handsful, the way that the disciples and the crowds did, as Jesus marched to His certain death upon the cross. We walk solemnly into the church, in a funereal parade, following the pastor, and the altar server lifting high the Cruficix.

Every Palm Sunday, I feel this sickened pit of dread in my stomach. I know where we are going. Everyone knows where we are going. We do not want to go there. But our heavy steps take us there anyway.

This is what Jesus did for us-- as God in human form, as teacher, as friend. He walked solemnly, with few words, to His death.

We are all called to "die to self", on this Palm Sunday, and on every day . . . .

And what does this really mean?

I "died to self" in my childhood home. As abuse upon abuse piled on, I became Nothing, so that no one could find me; and so, no one could persecute me. I ate little and became a whisp. I took a vow of silence, so that my words could not be held against me. I slept little, so that I could remain on watch. I showed no emotion, so that no one could believe that they had gotten under my skin.

I did not rebel. I " gave my back to those who struck me. My face I did not shield from buffets. I set my face like flint". [ Isaiah 50: 4-7].

Many, many years later, when my father died abruptly, I took my mother back. Despite all the ugly things that had gone on, I cared for her in her last years. She had rejected me, mocked me and abandoned me. I did not WANT to take her back. But I also did not want to become the one who rejects and abandons in turn. So I took her back anyway.

There are some things that we do out of extreme Love, even though we do NOT -- with every nerve of our being -- want to do them.

Even while I cared for my mother, I was caring for my best friend, who had become seriously ill with cancer. She had called me after her diagnosis and asked me to take over for awhile. My heart sank in dread. I could not imagine managing things for her. It was a huge task. How would I even know what to do? But she told me that she trusted me! As much as I simply wanted to sink down and spend my days crying, I rose up and I got to work. This was a Palm Sunday kind of dread, but I did it anyway.

Whether we realize it or not, it is Palm Sunday every day for us as Christians.  Perhaps you have not died to self in such a dramatic way as I did. But every day, we are asked to do things we do not want to do, in the name of Love. Every day, we are called to walk Christ's path to Gesthemane, that leads to the Cross. Every day, we are swallowed up and spit out of the whale, like Jonah, and sent to the opposite shore, to Ninevah, to preach to those who will not listen to Faith!

How to "die to self" and therefore, become more Christ-like? Start small. Start with the everyday:


I do not WANT to awake at 6:30 a.m. every day to ensure my son eats a good breakfast and to get him off to school. But I do it anyway and I do it with Love.

I do not WANT to run to the market right before it closes, to buy milk or bread, when I did not realize earlier that we had run short. I want to slam the money down at the clerk, because of how expensive food is these days. But I go to the market anyway, and I even smile at the clerk.

I do not WANT to make dinner every night, but I do it anyway, because time spent breaking bread with my family is so very precious.

Dying to Self means loving deeply, loving from the heart, loving the way Christ did-- totally and unconditionally, for US!

If we focus on the feelings of dread, life becomes a chore. If we focus on the Love, life becomes a Joy!

(c) Spiritual Devotional 2013. All Rights Reserved.

War Is Not a Game

" [My job, firing air to surface missiles] is a joy for me, because I'm one of those people who loves playing Play Station and X Box, so with my thumbs, I like to think I'm probably quite useful. If there's people trying to do bad stuff to our guys then, we'll take them out of the game, I suppose. Take a life to save a life." --Prince of Wales, Harry, who fires Apache Hellfire missiles, rockets and 30 mm guns in Afghanistan, against the Taliban.

" [Prince Harry] doesn't have the brain to know that there is a war here." -- Taliban spokesman in Afghanistan.

Oh, the lure of  glowing fire from our deadly weapons. This fascination with weapons is a barely disguised desire for unbridled power.

I grew up in a war zone. It was a Silent War within my own family, marked by parental alcoholism, cruelty, abuse and neglect. This War was the only thing I ever knew. I WAS the battlefield, and I bore the scars from the endless War: bruises and black eyes from physical abuse, medical neglect, verbal abuse ( being called ugly every day, and a Failure), failure to thrive because of an uncertain supply of food, abandonment even in a life and death situation.

I hate War. I do not care about what St. Augustine said about a " Just War". If he even ever said it.  I will not argue politics, or terrorism, or diplomacy here. These are not within the realm of my expertise, nor my purview. In refusing to take sides here, I do not believe that I am relinquishing any power of rhetoric: Jesus was apolitical, yet, He was the Prince of Peace.

But when someone as high-profile as Prince Harry (aka Captain of Wales) claims that War is just like a video game, I cringe in horror. And I will speak the Truth about War.

The first War that I have known, that ever held the promise of a "clean war" was Operation Desert Storm in Iraq in January, 1991. I watched television footage of the invasion (euphemistically called an "Operation"). All I saw was black and white video of a bomb strike, surgically taking out a building. No muss, no blood, no feeling of actual human beings being hurt or killed. The decimation of humans with the touch of a button, high above the scene of war, makes it all too easy to kill.

But the belief in a "clean war", an "easy war", is a Myth.  

Are you aghast when I say that it does not matter who "wins" a War? Arguably, my family "won"-- yes, they succeeded in breaking me. I can heal, somewhat, but I will always be fractured. Yet, my family, my cruel abusers, did not "win" either. Who wants to know them?

No, there are no winners in War. I tell you, BOTH sides lose.

Journalist Russ Hoyle, former senior editor, who has written for the New York Daily News, Time and the New Republic Magazine and now, The Daily Beast, recently spent three weeks in Afghanistan. He reports that Afghan clerics actually expect an outbreak of civil war in Afghanistan in 2014, when the United States withdraws. So, who is the "winner" here?

Consider as well, the very real scars of War. I know these all too well: the nightmares, the flashbacks, the hyper-vigilance, where you feel like you always have to have your back against the wall and a clear exit strategy; the fundamental distrust of people because even insiders can maim you; the black hole of depression; the fear that you cannot get too close to even good people for fear that you will only lose them; the panic attacks that come, without warning, that sense of suffocation when you encounter a sound or smell or sight that takes you back to the War Zone; that awful, constant feeling of loss and guilt over things you never could have prevented anyway; a gnawing inability to forgive oneself or nuture oneself, because the feelings of worthlessness are inescapable; feelings of isolation because no one could possibly understand what you have been through or accept your deeply defective Self; feelings of dismay and betrayal when someone tells you that you are "doing great".

And, now that winning in Afghanistan is so very uncertain, the United States is allowing women into direct combat. I am all for empowering women, but I do not call this progress.

Dr. Donna Washington, a professor of medicine at UCLA, has found in a study that 53% of homeless women veterans also suffered military sexual abuse. Many female veterans who suffered M.S.T. have already escaped from years of abuse and domestic violence at home. A former female Army Reserve officer says, " It just pulls the skin off you." [New York Times, Feb. 28, 2012].

It is not just the military personnel who suffer from casualties or death. In the War on Terror, fewer than 5,000 U.S. military personel have died. But about 135,000 local citizens have died. Do we not mourn them, because they are invisible? And if we say, well, 5,000 U.S. deaths are only a bit over the total number of persons who died on 9/11-- are we seeing soldiers as pieces on a chess board?  Or as human beings with souls, with families, with living, breathing dreams?

The next time that you see the violence of War, I hope that you do the human thing, and cry. And I hope that you pray with all your soul for a more peaceful world.

(c) Spiritual Devotional 2013. All Rights Reserved.

Casting the First Stone

Jesus went to the Mount of Olives. Then the scribes and the Pharisees brought a woman who had been caught in adultery and made her stand in the middle. They said to Him, “Teacher, this woman was caught in the very act of committing adultery. Now in the law, Moses commanded us to stone such women. So what do you say?” They said this to test Him, so that they could have some charge to bring against Him. Jesus bent down and began to write on the ground with His finger. But when they continued asking Him, he straightened up and said to them, “Let the one among you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her.” Again, He bent down and wrote on the ground. And in response, they went away one by one, beginning with the elders. So He was left alone with the woman before Him. Then Jesus straightened up and said to her, “Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?” She replied, “No one, sir.” Then Jesus said, “Neither do I condemn you.
Go, and from now on do not sin any more.” [John 8: 1-11].

Many years ago, I was working in a bank, in a big downtown scryscraper.  In the office was a temporary worker. Let's call her Yanana.

She had emigrated from China at the age of thirty. Her husband had come before her to America, and he had found work and a place to live. Then her husband had sent for her.

Yanana had arrived on a plane, with her young daughter at her side. She brought all the possessions that she could carry, in one suitcase.

In this office, the employees said that she was not American. They said that she spoke with an accent. They said that she wrote English poorly. They said that she should learn English. They said that she made mathematical errors in her work. They said that she did not understand instructions.

Each criticism was like a tiny stone thrown her way. Yanana was unaware of these strikes against her. But they poisoned the workplace. Yanana was isolated and without friends.

I listened to this small swell of pebbles, but this small tide soon became  an avalanche. I tried my best to keep my head lowered, and my mind busy with my own work.

But after some time of  enduring this litany, day upon day,  I could stand it no longer.

Remember that, when I was ten, I had stopped speaking. I had given up on my own power to stand up to anyone. When I had started working part- time in college, it was painful to even answer the phone, let alone to go into the boss's office to discuss my work. So often at meetings, I had to make myself  say just one thing.

When Yanana went out to lunch one day, I stood up among the cubicles. I was shaking and my voice was not steady. But, I said in a clear voice, "How would YOU like to pack up everything you owned, bring your tiny daughter on a plane and move to China? How would YOU like to work at a bank, handling large sums of money for clients, and do this all in Chinese?"

There was dead silence.

The worst of the critics paused. She said, " Wow! I never thought of it that way. . . ."

No one ever criticized Yanana again.

I became friends with Yanana. At Thanksgiving time, we discussed her holiday menu. She decided to roast a turkey, but stuff it with rice. At Easter, I gave her my best cheesecake recipe.

The truth was, I so admired her. Yanana was beautiful. She was a martial arts master. She made her own clothes. She was a calligraphy artist. She could cook gourmet meals. And it was her boss who was making errors and blaming Yanana, because it was easier to blame the temporary immigrant worker, than to admit her own errors.

This is why the scribes and Pharisees had to walk away. They were blaming the adulterous woman, but were sinners themselves!

How many hours a day do we spend in criticizing and judging others? I challenge everyone to watch the news each day, and discern how much of what passes for news is actually "judgment of sin".

I agree that we cannot forgive, or make the world better, if we do not discern what went wrong in the first place.

But, as Jesus did, we need to speak up when those who are not perfect themselves, are condemning others.  This is why Jesus says, "I do not condemn you. Now go, and from now on, sin no longer." Jesus does not accept the woman's sin. But he defends her from certain death at the hands of sinners.

There is to no profit to staying in condemnation forever. If we spin our wheels in blame and condemnation, then we can never advance, or heal.

Lord, I pray that I may accept my mistakes, receive the Lord's forgiveness, then pick myself up and try harder the next time.

[Related Postings, " Judge Not", July 18, 2011]

(c) Spiritual Devotional 2013. All Rights Reserved.

The Prodigal Son

" Jesus told this parable: ' There was a man who had two sons, and the younger son said to his father, 'Father, give me the share of your estate that should come to me.' After a few days, the younger son collected all his belongings and set off to a distant country where he squandered his inheritance on a life of dissipation. When he had freely spent everything, a severe famine struck that country, and he found himself in dire need. Coming to his senses, he got up and went back to his father. His father caught sight of him and was filled with compassion. He ran to his son, embraced him and kissed him. His son said to him, 'I no longer deserve to be called your son.' But his father ordered his servants,
'Quickly, bring the finest robe and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. Take the fattened calf and slaughter it. Then let us celebrate with a feast.'

Now the older son became angry and refused to enter the house. His father came out and pleaded with him. He said to his father in reply, 'Look, all these years I served you and not once did I disobey your orders; yet, you never gave me even a young goat to feast on with my friends. But when your son returns, who swallowed up your property with prostitutes, for him, you slaughter the fatted calf.' His father said to him, ' My son, you are here with me always; everything I have is yours. But now, we must celebrate and rejoice, because your brother was dead and has come to life again; he was lost and has been found.' " [ Luke 15].

Every few years, this Scripture comes up again in the cycle of Gospel Readings. The first few times I read this, I thought that this parable must be wrong!! I was angry. I thought that somehow this story must be a mistake!

In the culture of that time, as a son asking for his inheritance today, was the equivalent of saying to one's father, "You are dead to me."

So then, HOW could the older son, who had stayed faithful and obedient to his father all of his life, be treated this way?  Shouldn't it be the opposite?

OR does my angry refusal to accept this story speak volumes about my hardness of heart toward my own family. . . .

It always took everything I had to be respectful to the parents I had been born to; the parents who never said, "I love you", who neglected to treat my serious lung disease, who sometimes did not feed me, who abandoned me in a far way city after I had almost died in a violent crime.

And so, I was as loving as I could be while I lived in that house. Or, at times, to protect myself, I stayed out of the way.

Even Jesus said that, if you are not welcome in one village, to pack your sandals and go to another village. [Luke 9]. So, one day when I was old enough for university, I simply left. This is as it should be. We are never called to love to the point of accepting abuse.

But then, many years after I had left home, my father died abruptly. The brother, who had been extremely harsh on me as well, called me and, with sad emotion in his voice, told me, "Dad did not make it. You'd better get down here [home.]' "

All the cruel years melted away in that moment. My father was lost and gone! I got in the car and drove to my parents' home.

Forgiveness is what the story of the Prodigal Son is all about. Forgiveness is a funny thing.

To even go home, I knew that I had to forgive, but I was trying to "contain" my forgiveness, to make it conditional:

I will forgive if my transgressors are dead and gone, like my own parents are, because everything is in the past now and can no longer touch me.

I will forgive only because my mother is frail and overwhelmed and no longer has the strength to hurt me.

But do not ask me to forgive if the transgressor is my brother, who seemed to get everything he wanted, when all I did was labor my whole life, to nuture my parents.

I do like to tell the story of how all the years melted away the day my father suddenly died and how I ran home to take care of my mother until the day she died.

I talk a lot less about the forgiveness I need to cultivate towards my brother. . . .

I want it to count that I never hated him. In reality, it was more like, I was afraid of him.

I do not want to admit that if he showed up at my door today unexpectedly, I might not let him in.

I don't want to talk about all those holidays when I said 'Merry Christmas', threw a gift at him that I did not want to buy, then ate at his table and barely spoke to him. What did HE do, except grow up in that same painful, traumatizing house?

I hate to even mention all the family treasures that I coveted-- no, fought over and believed were owed to me-- for the lifetime of cruelty and abuse that I endured.

I once asked my pastor if there is anything that is unforgiveable? How I wanted the answer to be yes, for all the severe abuse committed against me. The pastor paused and said, "Hmmm." Then, he said, "Umm. No . . . ."

I am still trying to piece together all of the lifelong abuse. Memories come back in fragmentary pieces: feelings of terror, flashes of cruelty in nightmares or in waking images. I tell myself that I cannot forgive yet, if I do not know all the details of what was done against me. Please, God, give me more time!

I had to think long and hard about what the pastor said. It hated to think it, but true forgiveness cannot be conditional.  Conditional forgivess is like bargaining with God. But God --who loves us totally-- wants our total love.

One day, I called my brother and apologized about my feelings of blame against him, for all of the damage wrought on me. I had already done a lot of work towards forgiving my parents. Why couldn't I soften my heart towards him?

My brother paused. I sort of held my breath. He apologized heartily for what he had ever done to hurt me. He finally said, "That's what I like about this family. We can be brutally honest and still love each other." I breathed a sigh of relief.

He freely says, "I love you" to me now. I am not ready for that yet. I cannot say it back. I still have work to do on forgiving.

Our feelings of forgiveness are a journey. Forgiveness is a long walk that will end in us gaining far more than we would ever lose. Forgiveness is not defeat, it is the victory of Love.

I want those feelings of forgiveness to grow inside me. I do not want hate to eat me up inside "like a bitter seed." [Hebrews 12.]  This is not what I survived for, after that severe life-long abuse.

With a hard heart inside me, I can never fulfill the plan that God has for me. I can never have space in my soul to tap into my gifts, or to find the love that I need to continue on.

And, if my brother-- who was so harsh to me-- can let go and love; but I, who was never abusive, vow to never let go of my hard feelings for him -- then who is the sinner here?

Forgiveness-- because I owe it to myself; because I owe it to God.

[Hate= Murder, February 17, 2011; "Love Your Enemies", February 21, 2012].

(c) Spiritual Devotional 2013. All Rights Reserved.