Day of Rest

I'm watching Judgment at Nuremberg while I rest from housecleaning. I've never seen this movie start to finish. Actually, there are many movies I haven't seen start to finish. I get antsy.

Today is my day off. I fantasize about taking my day off and just relaxing all day. But that's not really fun to me. I wish it was, but it's not. So my husband Eric and I cleaned. By the way, Eric can relax all day, though he rarely gets the chance. Usually I start cleaning and he joins in, out of guilt. Today he started the cleaning after I said we should clean. I was probably content to find something else to occupy my time since I didn't start the cleaning jag, but dust and laundry was piling up, so what are you going to do?

The command that we rest one day a week is, of course, Scriptural (Genesis 2.2). Sunday, however, is a day of great joy for me but not really one of rest. I come home on Sunday evening exhausted. I'm finally learning not to plan an elaborate meal on Sunday night. Generally now it's pasta, which my family would eat hourly if permitted to do so.

So, now that I'm done cleaning, I'll try to finish watching my movie and actually relax. Yet I have to buy my coat for Project Thanksgiving. Oh good, something else productive to do. Perhaps I'll get half way through the movie this time.

At least my floors are clean.

Lies My Catholic Mother Told Me

"Lies My Catholic Mother Told Me" was the name of the informational session held at Nativity a few weeks ago after all Masses, and again after one Mass today.  Let me start with a very necessary statement:  my Catholic mother told me no lies. (Well, with one notable exception: that one of my favorite meals as a child, which my mother called "cornish game hen," was actually rabbit. That is a true story, and no, I'm still not over it).

The title "Lies My Catholic Mother Told Me" was an attention grabber with a nugget of truth in it.  We have all heard myths (if not lies) from friends and family members about the Catholic Church and what it actually teaches on the subjects of marriage, divorce and annulments. In response to this, the Nativity staff worked to provide some small measure of information and pastoral care for people who (incorrectly) believe that there is no mercy in the Church for people who have been divorced or are remarried, and who perhaps have been the recipient of a lack of mercy from individual Catholics, or worse, their own family members.

As Director of Membership, my job, at it's most basic level, is to help people in their search for a church home, and to serve seekers as they come to Nativity to worship, grow and eventually serve. That can be a tall task when people have been told by other Catholics, even clergy, that they are unwelcome in the Catholic Church. I heard no fewer than four stories this weekend that showed how unmerciful "church people" can actually be. How sad, and how utterly opposed to what Christ meant his church to be.

My take-away from this experience is that I need to work harder to discern the issues that affect people's hearts and may serve to keep people away from church instead of draw them into the mercy of Christ. I wonder what Letter Paul would write to us, the modern Christian "church people," if he was here to observe our practices and our words as they related to welcoming people (or not) in the doors of our places of worship.

It's a great rhetorical question to ask myself, to check myself, in this great job that I have. Perhaps the question might be not only, "What Would Jesus Do?" but also, "What Would Paul Write?"

Don't Hate

"I hate money."

I used to say that all the time. I hated that it was necessary. I hated that I typically had none. When I had it, I hated that I mishandled it. I thought this position, the view that  money was something to treat with great distain, was noble. It meant I wasn't materialistic, right?

Actually, I was so materialistic that I constantly dwelt on my financial status, or lack of. I didn't like being poor (who does?)  After law school, I wanted that all to change. I spent my legal career in private practice. At first, I made a meager living and worried about how to pay the bills. When I started to make a decent living, I worried it wasn't enough. When I started to make a nice living, I felt guilty about what I had and yet still managed to worry if it was enough. (By the way, that phrase, "making a living," is strange. It directly ties money to life. There is something wrong with that statement and the culture from which it developed. Money ≠ Life).

By my mid-30s, I had some money. Not millions, but some. I could do things I couldn't do before. That was nice. I had gone from having very little to having more than enough. But it turns out that money doesn't buy happiness ("Awe, Kathleen, that's it? That's your deep theological point for this posting? You should have studied harder").

Everyone knows that platitude, but few people actually believe it. I actually believe it now. I believed it when I finally acknowledged the obvious: every dime I make, every thing I own, it was never mine to begin with. It all belongs to God.

This should make sense to anyone who even marginally acknowledges the existence of God. If God created me, then he is the one who gifted me with whatever talent I have that allows me to earn a wage. Therefore, the fruits are his.

The ironic part is that I have never had a more secure feeling in my life than when I finally acknowledged that my money is not my money, but God's. It's actually not all that hard to live like it's his money, either. He has never asked me to give it all up, every dollar and every thing (he did do that to a few people in Scripture, but he did that for specific reasons, sometimes seemingly because he saw how much they loved money and possessions). He never asked me to stop having fun. He just asked me to act like it was his money when I made decisions about that money.

This weekend, we are starting a new five-week series at Nativity, Forecast, about faith, finances and the future. What if, during this time of reflection about your finances, you actually suspended your disbelief in, or your distain for, the idea that your money and possessions really belong to God?

You have nothing to lose (not even your money). Just suspend your disbelief or distain, and be open every day to the suggestion that your money is not yours, but God's. Just listen to the message each week. Just read the Message Guide. Just take it in. For five weeks.

After that, if your heart hasn't changed, go back to the old way. The way that left me waking up in the middle night worrying about how to pay the rent, how to pay for college, how to get a higher paying job, how to get any job.

You always have a choice.

A Musical Lift

It's Sunday night, and my family is asleep. I am so tired on Sundays, but often have trouble winding down on Sunday nights. So the glow of my computer often keeps me company until I force myself to go to bed.

I am listening to my new iTunes playlist, which consists of every version of "God of This City" that I could find (four versions, to be exact). Al Walsh and the Nativity band were practicing this song today in between Masses; it will be debuted at Nativity next week during the new Forecast series. I heard it for the first time today, and came home to supplement my music library with this song. However, my playlist needs Al and the Band's version. Because it's the best. Just wait to you hear it during Mass. You will be blown away.

Nativity is very blessed to have the deep talent and authentic voices of the Band as a part of our worship. Hearing them practice today rejuvenated me before noon Mass, when the caffeine was wearing off and the yawn domino effect was setting in. They don't just pump up the congregation and lead worship in musical form during Mass. They keep me going during the marathon that is Sunday. It's a long day for the staff, and for some, it's a 12 or more hour event, on the heels of Saturday events and Mass. It helps us keep serving when we can enjoy their music during Mass, and continue leaning on that worship experience after the music stops.

I'm not one for gushing. But I must say, many thanks, Al, Chris, Andrew and the rest of the Nativity Band. You guys are a real gift.