God is Not a Grinch

In my first post, I wrote about how the teens in my youth groups might have just as much (if not more) to teach me than I have for them. Sure, I wrote about it…. and then totally forgot about it. Oops. Whether I was ready for it or not, the kids gave me a pretty clear reminder of just how much I have to learn during our last middle school youth group meeting.

Our lesson for the night was "Full, Active, Conscious," and focused on how well we do (or don't) participate in the Mass. I had planned the games, lessons, videos, discussion questions, and prayer. Everything was ready to go, and there was no reason not to expect an "easy" youth group meeting. The subject wasn't too juicy so as to stir up incessantly tangential questions, but the materials made it engaging enough to keep interest. This one was in the bag… or so I thought.

Too bad the kids weren't having any of it. Middle schoolers often have more energy than their awkward little bodies can contain, and they've been a little off-the-walls more than once before. But tonight's group was a brand new breed of caffeinated hamsters.

At first, the chaos was containable. Just a few side conversations and flinging popcorn. NBD. But, like the singing Whos down in Whoville, the noise grew. And grew. Every kid was speaking out of turn. I took away the snacks, I threatened to call parents, I made them wait in awkward silence until everyone had stopped speaking. Nope. Nada. Even the videos, which normally captivated their attention without fail, well, they failed. Whenever the internet connection broke and the screen froze, the kids would channel LMFAO and sing, "Every day I'm buffering!" and insanity would ensue (even during our closing prayer). Even moments where I thought I had their attention were broken by some kid calling out, "Oh, man! Who let it rip?!?"

Yep. That was my failed attempt to teach kids about participating in the Mass. Whether they intended to or not, however, these lovable but hyperactive kids taught me much more than I could have taught them. As I stood before the group feeling confused and frustrated, I couldn't help wondering if perhaps this is how God feels when we fail to pay attention to Him.

How many times have I gotten completely and utterly distracted during the Mass? Um, more than I'd ever want anyone to count. Instead of listening to the Word of God, I think about lunch. Or that cute pair of shoes across the aisle. Instead of "being still" (Psalm 46:10) during the Liturgy of the Eucharist, I dwell on my own fears and anxieties, ignoring the outpouring of divine love right before my eyes. I'm that middle schooler who absolutely cannot (or will not) sit still and listen with a silent heart. Thankfully, God is infinitely more patient than I am.

I highly doubt these kids intended to teach me about God's love through their face-palmingly bad behavior. They're smart, but I seriously hope they aren't that clever. More importantly, it isn't just in their human failings that they've led me to Christ, but also through their sincerity of heart.

Completely spent of all sanity and patience, I made the three worst-behaved boys stay late so I could reprimand their behavior. Gently but firmly, I made it clear that their distractions weren't fair to the group. One kid refused to look in my eyes and kept his hands buried in his pockets with a defiant stance. Another kept his eyes locked in mine, clearly trying to show responsibility for his actions. The third looked like he could have cried (Oops… didn't realize I could be that scary!). With that, my heart melted. Seriously, I felt like the old cartoon Grinch, whose heart is stretched to break the scale.

No matter how frustrated I'd been, I just couldn't stay mad at this freckle-faced 7th grade boy, or the other two. He offered no more than a simple and quiet, but sincere apology… and all was completely forgiven and forgotten.

"Draw near to God and He will draw near to you… 

Humble yourselves in the sight of the Lord, and He will lift you up" 
(James 4:8, 10).

In that one moment, this young man taught me the beauty of God's love. We can't earn His forgiveness; all God wants of us is to simply and sincerely ask for it, just as this mature, young man had ("Rend your hearts and not your garments" Joel 2:13), and He will lift us up.

No matter our sins or distractions, whether they're stinking up the youth room or worse, God stands ready and willing to forgive us completely. Except, unlike me, He doesn't get all angry and Grinch-like in the meantime :-)

The Last-Minute God

They say that the last minute is the most efficient minute. In college, I'd often realized just how true this statement was at about 3:45 am while writing the concluding paragraph for my Theology papers. Somehow, my reflections on St. Augustine's sermons just got more to the point when I was short on time and high on coffee.

Thankfully, I've since learned the value of a full night's sleep and those all-nighters are long gone. But that doesn't mean that I don't stretch that "last minute" down to the very nano second. Even when I've planned and prepared for youth ministry events to the best of my ability, something almost always goes wrong.

That was today.

I had everything completely organized and taken care of for our Confirmation class session. The catechists' guides, candidate's handouts, and closing prayer preparations were triple-checked, in their places, and ready to go. We even had a talented guest speaker coming in, so I didn't have to worry about teaching. This should have been one of the easiest sessions of the entire year. 
"Should have been" are the key words here.

Our parish hosted a women's group event on the previous Friday night, which meant I had to go in a little earlier than usual to be sure that the room was presentable. How bad could it be? Just a couple tables and chairs scattered here and there, right? As soon as that was taken care of, I'd swing by one of our parishioners' homes to pick up a foosball table that she was donating, and everything would be done.com

Um, yeah. That didn't happen.

I arrived later than I'd planned, partly because of being stuck behind a freight train. When I finally got there, the room was a mess. Half of the chairs we needed were gone, tables were scattered everywhere, and our audio/visual equipment was completely unplugged (there are about 20 wires and 433 buttons on that stupid thing). When I went toward the back hallway to turn the lights on, I found it locked. As it would figure, that's just about the one door my key does not open.

That's okay... we can just have class in the dark, right?

Sure. Too bad this hallway not only housed all of the light switches for the entire parish center, but also all of our prayer materials, Bibles, catechist's books, and candidates' journals. Basically, everything we needed for class. That's when 3:45 a.m. Lindsay-in-a-panic took over. Funny how one, stupid little key had the potential to ruin our entire class session (except it really wasn't funny).

I ran to the office and called every staff member who might know where a key to this hallway was. I finally got a hold of one of our maintenance engineers. After I explained the situation, he paused for a moment before finally letting out a slow and drawn out, "Oooooooh...... sh-t." 

Yep. My thoughts, too. His first suggestion didn't work, and time was slipping. "Well, you can try sneaking behind the projector and sliding over the old altar and through the curtains to get into the hallway..." Bingo.

Not gonna lie, I felt a little like a secret agent barreling through hidden doors and sneaking around in the dark... and a little sacrilegious sliding across an old altar in jeans and sneakers, but I made it. Hah! Take THAT, Women's Group (as if they locked the doors on purpose)!

I hauled tables and moved chairs across the room in a near sprint while the minutes drained. With the room still only half ready, I hopped in the car and sped out of the parking lot to go pick up the foosball table. While dashing out the door, I remember thinking, "Okay, breathe. Things aren't that bad; it's not like I'll get stuck behind another freight train." But a few minutes later, that's exactly where I was: stuck yet again behind another stupid freight train (except 'stupid' wasn't the word I used).

It was in this stressed-out, cursing, sweating, miserable moment that I finally remembered I had to trust God. It was as if everything was going frustratingly and coincidentally wrong just to remind me that God can fix anything, and cares even about our most mundane and un-heroic crosses. Even more importantly, God is with us even when we are the verge of going full-on basket case and prayer is the furthest thing from our minds. 

We read in 2 Corinthians 12:9, "He said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness.' So I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may dwell in me." More often than not, the "last minute" before any youth ministry project is always filled with some sort of crisis, whether it's not having enough luggage space for our summer mission trip, not having enough drivers for a service event, or misplacing notes for a presentation. Nothing ever goes as smoothly as planned.

I probably made this face for 75%
of our summer work trip.

But, as St. Therese reminds us, "Everything is a grace." The chaotic, face-palming, why-did-I-take-this-job moments remind me that I am not in control of my job; God is. And that's exactly how it must be. As soon as I think I have everything down to a science and can run youth ministry with my eyes closed (not that I've ever felt that way), that's just what happens: my eyes become closed to recognizing my own, constant need for His love and grace. I think I can handle it all on my own, and then one lost, little key threatens to undo everything. 

More importantly, youth ministry is not supposed to be neat and tidy. It's supposed to be messy because, well, people are messy. One parent is angry because our Confirmation program conflicts with her son's basketball schedule. Some middle schooler distracts the entire youth group discussion on the Blessed Mother when he asks, "What's a womb?" A teen comes forward to attend the mission trip after all plans are finalized. It is these last-minute, are-you-kidding-me moments that teach me to not get so wrapped up in my own plans that I forget to love the Jesus who is hiding in the very person before me. It is in these moments that I remember to trust Him, to accept my many shortcomings, and allow Him to be strong where I am weak. After all, despite all of my spazzing, everything has always worked out for the good (Romans 8:28).

It's also in these moments that I think God enjoys a good chuckle. Seriously, two freight trains? That last one was just for kicks. 

The Other Side of the Counter

A couple times each year, our youth group volunteers at the Holy Family Soup Kitchen. Even though the site is only a quick fifteen-mile-trip up the road, the differences between our picturesque suburban town and poverty-stricken Waukegan would make you think you had crossed a state line. In Lake Forest, you simply don't see homeless people. They just aren't there. Occasionally, a few will come into our parish office seeking charitable donations, but that's it. Homelessness virtually does not exist in our little "bubble."

Our trips to the soup kitchen are usually pretty predictable. A couple kids, often looking very tired from a full school day, pile into my car after meeting outside the parish center. I try to force small talk throughout the twenty-minute drive and rely on K-Love to fill the silent gaps. But, when we finally arrive and begin serving, the Holy Spirit rolls up its sleeves and shakes us all from our "bubble lifestyle." It is very humbling to witness the transformation in these teens, who often arrive looking incredibly nervous, but are soon engaging in kind exchanges and conversations with our guests and gladly accepting tasks that they would never want to do in their own homes. The two hours pass very quickly, and as we drive back to the parish, the teens initiate their own conversations about giving thanks, giving back, and recognizing the "big picture." The change that happens in this brief time span is remarkable, and I'm blessed to be able to witness it.

However, I always take this blessing for granted. When those Thursday evenings roll around and I'm worn out from a busy week, I never want to go to the soup kitchen. Instead, I want to go to my home and curl up on my couch and watch my favorite TV shows in my slippers (do you see a pattern here?). Thank God our teens and guests break my selfish attitude and remind me of the beauty of compassion, generosity, and simplicity of heart. During one of our trips this past May, one such teen took these fruits of the Spirit to a whole new level.

As we were driving back to the parish after another successful trip, I asked the teens what they thought about the experience. Without missing a beat, one of the boys shared how the experience really hit home as he said, "That could have been me on the other side of the counter."

At seventeen, this young man has already been in and out of rehab, and is working very hard to stay sober. As he interacted with the homeless men, women, and children coming through the kitchen doors,  he must have recognized how devastating untreated addictions can become, and he saw where his life might lead. He looked into the eyes of the poor, downtrodden, and forgotten, and saw himself.

We are taught to see Christ in the poor and remember His words, "Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least these who are members of my family, you did it to me" (Matthew 25:40). But, how many of us would want to see ourselves in the poor? Even if I look them in the eyes and speak with words of compassion, I still mentally distance myself from them. I assume that their poverty is caused by their own faulty judgments and life decisions, and that such would never happen to me. However, placing mental blocks between myself and the poor isn't at all what Jesus wants me to do. I can't credit myself for any of the things I have. I was simply lucky to have been born into a family that values faith, good education, good values, and personal health. I did nothing to earn that, and could just have easily been born in a slum. So, why do I carry an attitude of self-righteousness when I encounter the very Creator who has given me these blessings, present in the homeless man across the counter?

For this teen, all ego, pride, and vanity have been stripped away. The only thing between him and the man he is serving is the countertop. No excuses, judgment, or fear. He knows that in serving this man, he may as well have been serving himself, and he isn't afraid to accept that reality. The older man he is serving has economic poverty (and perhaps, many spiritual gifts, too), while he has raw spiritual poverty. These two brothers in Christ, one from an affluent suburb and the other without an address, are sharing their poverty without judgment or reservation. Truly, "Theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven" (Matthew 5:3).

In the end, it won't matter which side of the counter we were on, anyway. The only thing that will really matter is whether we loved the person who stood on the other side, and whether we were humble and gracious enough to see not only Christ in their eyes, but ourselves, too.

Last Supper by Fritz Eichenberg

The Assumption and Ashton Kutcher

During my senior year in college, I was an RA in an all-women's dormitory. On my weekly Duty Nights, I had to "make rounds" throughout the building each hour to make sure that the girls were safe and acting in accordance with the famously strict duLac standards of conduct.

I also had to check every bathroom for vomit.

I'm not kidding, and I did not live in an Animal House-esque party dorm. I had to check every stall and shower for vomit because cases of anorexia and bulimia were frighteningly high throughout all of the women's dorms on campus.

As we all know, this epidemic starts well before college. During one of our youth group meetings this past year, the teens had the opportunity to write down their fears and post them on a wooden cross as a part of a prayer service. After the kids left, I secretly gathered their prayers so I could pray over them myself. My heart sank while reading some of their fears, and it broke when I opened a note that read, "...That I will never amount to anything. That I'm not pretty and skinny enough."

Teenagers are taught to hate their bodies. In every advertisement and commercial, boys and girls are consistently reminded that they are not pretty/skinny/muscular/tall enough. Sometimes, the spirit-killing messages come from their own parents, and unsurprisingly, from other kids at school. It's repeated over and over and over again until the idea of being made in the image and likeness of God is drowned out, or worse, a truth that applies to some and not others. The girl who wrote this note is beautiful inside and out, but she's been trained to believe she isn't pretty or skinny enough, and will therefore never amount to anything. She isn't even in high school yet.

Teenagers are taught to hate their bodies, so they learn to hurt their bodies. They starve, purge, over-exercise, cut, intoxicate, hide, and over-expose their bodies in a vain attempt to reclaim the inherent dignity that they wrongly think has been stolen from them.

But, as Ashton Kutcher says in his acceptance speech at the Teen Choice Awards, "It's a lie," and he  argues that being sexy comes from your personality; from being smart, thoughtful, and generous. He boldly proclaims that, "Everything else is crap. I promise you. It's just crap that people try to sell to you to make you feel like less, so don't buy it."

He's right. This idea that the image of God should conform to the standards of Hollywood, that beauty only comes in one mold, is absolute garbage. It's a lie that the devil feeds us to make us forget whose image and likeness we bear, and to make us so focused on how we look that we bypass all of the opportunities to do something great with our lives. It's Satan's billion-dollar industry, and we're buying into it.

But once again, Mary strikes at his head.

And wins.

It is the woman who is poor and lowly, not the one on the cover of Israel Weekly, who is "full of grace" (Luke 1:28). God's grace is so alive in her, and she herself is so wholly submitted to it, that it literally carries her, body and soul, into Heaven, where she is "exalted by the Lord as Queen over all things, so that she might be the more fully conformed to her Son, the Lord of lords and conqueror of sin and death" (Lumen Gentium 59). Pageant crowns can't hold a candle to that kind of beauty.

Mary was truly filled with grace from the moment of her conception and she humbly knew exactly who she was: "a handmaid of the Lord," a fruit of His creation. She identified herself by her creator, not her dress size or bench number. His love for her was everything she needed to know about herself and her place in the universe, and look how far it took her. She is now the Queen of Heaven and Earth, simply because she wholly submitted herself to the love of God.

If we truly knew who we are, if we fully believed that we are sons and daughters made in the image and likeness of God, then eating disorders, diet pills, cutting, and all of the horrible things that we do to our bodies simply wouldn't exist. They just wouldn't make sense. We would see vanity, insecurity, and the "you're too fat" culture for what it truly is: crap.

But, we are not preserved from the stain of original sin, and so are deceived and cooperate with the lie. We are not full of grace... yet.

The assumption of Mary tells us (among many things) that God loves all of us: our souls and our bodies. The parts of us that Hollywood says are not "good enough" are His image on earth. Our bodies are not just fleshy, temporary shells, but the handwork of the Lord, destined to be raised on the last day and to be glorified in Heaven for all eternity (CCC 989). The scars and emotional damage from years of insecurity will be wiped away (Revelation 21:4), and like Mary, we will see ourselves for who we truly are: Beloved sons and daughters of God.

Out of the Mouths of Babes: Modesty

During my second year of Lay Ministry at a Catholic Parish in New Hampshire, we brought our 8th and 9th grade students to one of Jason Evert's presentations on dating, chastity, and God's plan for love. As you can imagine, the kids were thrilled at the prospect of cramming into the wooden pews of St. Joseph's Cathedral and listening to some "sex talk" on a Saturday night. Oh, and their parents were driving them to/from the event.
Awk. Ward.

For the few students who were unable to attend the mandatory event, we asked them to write a brief reflection on chastity using Evert's website. Yep. Those poor kids thought they had dodged a major bullet, but now they had to write about it. This was either one of my best or meanest Youth Ministry tactics ever. Mean or otherwise, it worked. The majority of the kids took a positive message away from the experience, and one young lady resolved to make her new boyfriend present to her a list of fifty reasons detailing why he liked her and how he would respect her before she'd proceed with the relationship. You freaking go, girl! I'd like to see the Queen B pull a move that "fierce."

Recently, I came across an article, "Problems with Modesty Doctrine" (http://unwrinkling.com/modesty-part-i-problems/), which explains why the idea of modesty can be misogynistic and needs rethinking. The author offers many intriguing insights into the matter, but I would like to counter with one of the responses a student wrote in her reflection paper: "I feel like most girls just don't understand that your boobs go in your shirt and your butt should stay in your shorts."

Well, there you have it, folks. You can rationalize your choice in clothing (or lack thereof) all you want, but shoddy defenses can't hold a candle to common sense. Dressing modestly affirms the inherent dignity in every woman by showing the world that she is not just a collection of body parts, but a human being created in the image and likeness of God. I should clarify what I mean by 'modesty.' I am not suggesting that women everywhere take a cue from The Office's Angela Martin (unless, I guess, you prefer colonial style). Anyone who has ever watched the Discovery Channel knows that standards differ among cultures, and what is considered appropriate to some might cause scandal to others. But, every woman knows in her heart when she is not dressed in a way that reflects her dignity; in a way that commands others to focus on her intelligence, talents, personality, and heart. The Catechism of the Catholic Church affirms, "Modesty protects the intimate center of the person. It means refusing to unveil what should remain hidden... It guides how one looks at others and behaves toward them in conformity with the dignity of their persons and their solidarity" (CCC 2521). There is inherent dignity within each and every person, one that transcends fashion trends, hot profile pictures, and cheap pick-up lines at a bar.

Like every other woman, I'm worth more than a man's passing attention, and I don't need it in order to feel satisfied. As I'm typing this, Access Hollywood is applauding Robin Thicke's "Blurred Lines" for being "such a great song." Um, excuse me? Since when is some guy singing, "You're an animal, baby, it's in your nature. Just let me liberate you" considered great? I'm not an animal, and I certainly don't need you to "liberate me." Seriously, any guy who dared to say those words to my face had better brace himself for the smackdown of the century. If lyrics such as these are climbing the charts, then what does this say about how our society honors women?

It has been said that sin constantly needs to justify itself, and it's true. I have never had to think twice about serving at a soup kitchen, but I agonized about overspending on Coach sunglasses in light of global poverty. We are naturally ordered to choose what is good and just (CCC 1776). When we have to defend ourselves from our own conscience, there's a solid chance that we aren't on the right track. Not to say that all moral decisions are as simple as night and day, but, as my student rightly observes, getting dressed should not be that complicated (seriously, the fact that we are complaining about what we wear when the majority of the global population can barely afford any clothes at all, or when most of our clothes were made in sweatshops, is ridiculous). When we ask ourselves, "Is this too short?", our hearts already know the answer, no matter how much we tug and pull.

According to the article at hand, the Modesty Doctrine is flawed because it proposes that women "are responsible for 'helping' their brothers in Christ to not think lustfully about them, mainly by dressing in a way that doesn't cause the men who see them to have lustful or sexual thoughts about them." I'm sorry, but since when is taking responsibility for others problematic? We take responsibility for the safety of others by not getting behind the wheel after slamming a Sake Bomb. We take responsibility for the care of others by donating our time and energy to charitable resources. We simply can't deny the fact that our words and actions impact those around us. What's mine affects what's yours. Sure, a woman could argue that it's her body and her clothes, and she'll coordinate them as she darn well wants. Okay, then. It's my mouth. I'll swear as frequently and loudly as I please. If you don't like it, you can just cover your ears. Do we really want to encourage such an "all about me" society?

I think the reason why so many are frustrated by this definition of modesty is because they think it implies that men's inclinations, thoughts, and actions are completely at the mercy of women's fashion. This implication is wrongful. It degrades men by suggesting that their willpower and moral behavior are no stronger than the fabric of women's clothing (or again, lack thereof), and it encourages the idea that women cannot make a decision as basic as a choice in clothing without men's approval.

But, this implication simply isn't true. Modesty is not about women's subservient place in society and men's uncontrollable behavior. Rather, it's an invitation to work together toward the common good and dignity of all. I remember attending my own youth group's discussion on chastity when I was a high school student, and how all of the girls bemoaned the way guys stared at their chests. As soon as one girl mentioned it, the entire room joined in a chorus of complaints and frustration. No one found it flattering or empowering. However, echoing the cut-and-dry advice from our New Hampshire teen, if you don't want men gazing at your body, don't dress in a way that entices them. Done.com.

The Duchess of Cambridge proves,
without saying a word,
that modesty can be stunningly beautiful.

Yes, it would be ideal if men had so much self-control that they could avert their gaze in any circumstance (unfortunately, there are too many sleaze balls who'd never even try). But, as anyone trying to navigate slowed traffic at a roadside accident can testify, keeping your eyes on your own business is easier said than done. This is where we can embrace the opportunity to work together, rather than just look out for Number One. Jesus clearly says, "You've heard that it was said, 'You shall not commit adultery,' but I say to you that everyone who looks at a woman with lust has already committed adultery with her in his heart" (Matthew 5:27-28). Ladies, what is more important: dressing however you want, or leading our brothers in Christ toward what is good and holy? Are you up to the task of accepting responsibility for the eternal good of others, or is looking "hot" your number one priority?

Blessed John Paul II writes in Mulieris Dignitatem, "The hour is coming, in fact has come, when the vocation of women is being acknowledged in its fullness, the hour in which women acquire in the world an influence, an affect and a power never hitherto achieved. That is why, at this moment when the human race is undergoing so deep a transformation, women imbued with a spirit of the Gospel can do so much to aid humanity in not falling." Women have power, power so inherent that it manifests itself even in the way we dress. Some might argue that they aren't dressing for men's attention, but merely to "express themselves." However, your power is intended for a greater expression than how you look. Express yourself through your words and actions. Paint. Write. Learn. Volunteer. Give to the world something that wasn't there until you showed up. After all, I've yet to find an obituary that reads, "She really knew how to rock that midriff." Force the world to notice what you do, not how you look.

St. Therese of Lisieux spent her life doing small things with great love, and found that to be her pathway to Heaven. You won't achieve fame or applause for choosing a more covering top in place of a skimpy one. No one will even notice (which is sort of the point), and you sure as heck won't save the world. But, if you choose to dress in a way that reflects your dignity as a child of God, this small sacrifice is transformed by great love. It will change the way you love yourself, the love you demand from others, and the way you give love, too. Women imbued with a Spirit of the Gospel can, indeed, do much to aid humanity, well before we even start the day.

On a side note, one of our students wrote in his reflection, "Being a Christian means you follow God's rules, and God's rules say you should be chastised until you are married." Not framing that is one of my bigger regrets in life.

Offer it Up, Shmoffer it Up?

As my godfather says, "Life is a s--t sandwich and every day is just another bite" (pardon our French). Not exactly the most pious spiritual advice, but he's got a point: sometimes life just stinks and there's nothing you can do to change it. Boy Meets World's Eric Matthews advises his brother, "Life's tough. Get a helmet."

Okay, Cory. You wear your helmet 24/7 and let me know how it works out for you.

As Catholics, we often rely on the old fall-back, "Offer it up." Too often, however, what we're really implying by this is Get over it. There are bigger problems in the world. It's not so bad.
#ThingsJesusNeverSaid.

So, what do we really mean by "offer it up"? Sure, a healthy does of reality can help us to keep things in perspective, and not all problems are, in fact, real problems. But sometimes, my godfather is dead-on. Life is tough and there's nothing we can do about it.

Or, can we?

When the Israelites turned to Jesus for help, He never said, "You think that's bad? Wait until you see my cross!" No, "When He saw the crowds, he had compassion for them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd" (Matthew 9:36). He never told us to just "walk it off," but rather, "Take up your cross and follow me" (Matthew 16:24). This is where we learn to offer it up, not give it up.

Sure, there are times when we'd all rather pull an Andy Bernard and pout, "I can SO just sit here and cry!" But, that just left him humiliated on national television. Instead, we can take the challenge head-on and conquer it with stronger, bolder love. In the Garden of Gethsemane, Jesus might have wanted to give up His cross when He prayed, "Father, if it be possible, let this chalice pass from me." But instead, He offered it up: "Nevertheless, not as I will, but as thou wilt" (Matthew 26:39). He chose to rise above fear, and make the greater sacrifice for love. That's offering it up: choosing to rise above our sorrow by acting with courage and charity, when it'd be easier to stay angry, depressed, or isolated. Love must be stronger than fear.

Of course, choosing love over misery is easier said than done, and of course, none of us will do it as seamlessly as Jesus did (except Mary). But, the good news is that it isn't an all-or-nothing shot. Even if we succumb to a few curse words, angry text messages, or full-blown arguments, we can still dust ourselves off and get back on track to love. After all, do we really think we can make a mess so big that even God can't fix it? Psh. No one is that clever.

Every Friday morning, I encounter the greatest missionaries of love at Misericordia, a residential community for adults with developmental disabilities. There, I spend a few hours in their "Graceful Living" program, where elderly residents improve their fine-motor skills by doing simple puzzles, organizing beads, and practicing their handwriting. No matter how often I go there, I'm still baffled by it all. Their company is like a mirror for my soul, because it reveals just how much energy I waste worrying about myself: What are my social plans for the weekend? What if I don't meet that deadline for work? When will I be done with student loans, apartments, and dating, and finally get my life together?

These men and women don't worry about such questions because they can't. Their physical and mental limitations mean that they will never live independently. They will never get married, buy a home, or have children. Instead, many of them have to work very hard to do the simple, everyday tasks that I never give thanks for, such as walking, speaking, or using the restroom. I'm frustrated because I can't control the "big things" in life; they're at peace with not being able to control even their own bodies.

They may be the ones with the disabilities, but I'm the one hindered to love because I'm so worried about myself.

In C.S. Lewis' Screwtape Letters, the devil, Screwtape, plots to make men concern themselves with the future so as to pull their souls further and further away from God. He explains, "Nearly all vices are rooted in the future. Gratitude looks to the past and love to the present; fear, avarice, lust, and ambition look ahead." When we worry about the future, we forget to practice good virtues now, and are therefore more easily swayed by temptation. All of the worries I carry with me into Misericordia concern my future. The residents I'm surrounded by? They're contented by each other's company and the present moment. They're completely focused on loving one another, while I have to try very hard to break my bonds of fear and selfishness. If anyone could have a right to anger or self-pity, they could. But, rather than ignoring or being conquered by their disabilities, they choose love.

So, when faced with anger, loss, or anxiety, we offer it up. We don't pretend that pain shouldn't matter, nor do we delude ourselves with blissful ignorance. We look our cross square in the eye, and pray for the grace to let our love be stronger than its nails. Screwtape warns his pupil against this danger when he writes that if the man "is aware that horrors may be in store for him and is praying for the virtues, wherewith to meet them, and meanwhile concerning himself with the Present because there, and there alone, all duty, all grace, all knowledge, and all pleasure dwell, his state is very undesirable and should be attacked at once." Focusing on how we can practice virtue at each passing moment, rather than being consumed by endless worries, is love's best plan of attack.

Choosing love over loss, forgiveness over anger, and courage over comfort does not come easily. In the eyes of the world, it's unfathomable and maybe even unwise. America was shocked in 2006 when the Nickel Mines Amish community chose to forgive Charles Roberts after he shot ten little girls in their schoolhouse, killing five. The grieving families attended his funeral, consoled his wife and sons, and even set up a charity for his family. Some spectators were inspired by these acts of forgiveness, while others criticized them for being psychologically unhealthy and even compliant with evil.

Love is supposed to shock and awe. As Needtobreathe sings, love is supposed to "Give us time to beat the system, make us find what we've been missing in a world, I know, that's burning to the ground." Lives that should have been "mercifully" aborted are filled with purpose and fulfillment. Unspeakable and unapologetic acts are forgiven. The Son of God suffers and dies at the hands of His children so that they can join Him in Heaven. In all of these things, suffering is offered up to make more room for love.

Every cross, big and small, can be transformed by love and stretch our hearts to be more like Christ's.  We acknowledge that it hurts. We admit that we're angry. But, instead of hiding behind a helmet of fear and pride, we accept His crown of thorns and act with love. In the words of Blessed Theresa of Calcutta, "I have found the great paradox, that if you love until it hurts, there can be no more hurt, only more love."

Love is tough. Get a cross.

The Lord Himself will Fight for You

"The Lord Himself will fight for you, you have only to keep still" (Exodus 14:14).

How many of us actually believe this? It seems like a sweet, little Bible passage that would look cute on a coffee mug or a wall hanging; a nice thought to get us through the day. Who would actually dare keep still in the midst of fear and anxiety, and let God do all of the fighting?

On our youth group mission trip, God all but forced me to keep still while He fought for me. It wasn't pretty, and I wrestled with Him the whole way through.

Guess who won.

I was leading our youth group on a mission trip to the Appalachian mountains, where we would help restore dilapidated homes. As nervous as I was for the responsibilities of the trip, I was looking forward to a renewal in my own faith, which was starting to get a little dry and crusty. A week at Catholic Heart Work Camp - filled with praise and worship, sacraments, service, and simple living  - seemed like it would be just enough to jumpstart my prayer life.

I'd give God a little of my freedom and comfort, and in return, He'd give me deeper faith, hope, and love. Done.com.

God had other plans.

"Break my heart for what breaks Yours" (Psalm 28:7). For whatever reason (chalk it up to the Holy Spirit), this verse had been echoing in my heart for weeks. Seriously, yuck. No one wants a broken heart. How about "stretch my heart," or "strengthen my heart"? That sounds much nicer. How does that sound, God?

Nope. Break my heart. And that's exactly what happened. On the first day of the trip, I realized that my relationship with my boyfriend was ending without any explanation or forewarning. I was angry, scared, and heartbroken. Why was this happening? Why now? I had been working on this trip for months, but now all I wanted to do was go home. How was I going to make it through the week, let alone minister to all of the teens? Harmful memories from previous breakups flooded my mind (Satan was really having a field day with this one), and I just wanted to give up.

I didn't think there was anything God could do to fix it. I would just be heartbroken, go through the motions, and expect nothing more. For the sake of the teens, I had to "keep still" despite what was going on in my personal life. No calling him or letting my emotions get the better of me. The kiddos had to come first. So, I got the latter half of the verse right. One for two. But, I absolutely did not believe that God was fighting for me.

Thankfully, God still had other plans.

In the grand scheme of things, a breakup is hardly a blip on the radar. I knew that I'd eventually move forward, and that years ahead I probably wouldn't even remember his name. No matter how big or little our cross may be, however, we've all been there. At some point or another, we've all felt so hurt, angry, and/or confused that it tempted us to doubt where God was in our lives. Was He just sitting there, or would He actually do something about it?

God promised to Jacob, "I am with you; I will protect you wherever you go" (Genesis 28:10). I forced myself to trust these words (even though I wanted God to do a heck of a lot more than simply be with me). Like Jacob in the week's Old Testament readings, I wrestled with God throughout the entire trip. I had prepared to give Him only my sleeping, eating, and personal hygiene habits, but He wanted my plans, hopes, fears, and trust. This was so not what I had expected. Never mind, God. I'll stick with spiritual dryness, thank You very much.

I didn't want to give in. I wanted to hold on to my own plans. I kept wrestling, hoping God would give me what I wanted, while knowing deep down that His plans are always better. My stubbornness revealed an ugly fact: God was not the Lord of my life. I was. Rather than have His will be done, I just wanted Him to bless mine. If this was going to change, I had to pry my hands open, let God take from them what was unholy, and fill them with what He truly wanted me to have. I had to let Him fight for me. Psh. Way easier said than done.

God did fight for me. Through prayer, sacraments, and friendship, He gave me the strength to be joyful and concentrate my energy on the teens. Despite the temptation toward self-pity and clenched fists, Love was winning.

On the third day of the trip (hint, hint: notice anything significant about this number?), Catholic Heart Work Camp offered a spiritual activity for the teens, in which they could open up about whatever crosses they were carrying and ask adult leaders to pray over them. Like the other adult leaders, I sat on the gym floor with a candle, said a prayer to the Holy Spirit, and waited for a teen to approach.

To my surprise, a young man who did not want to go on the trip, barely cracked a smile, and seemed to be getting nothing out of the experience sat down before me. His eyes were already blotchy and his mouth was quivering. In an instant, the floodgates opened wide. He poured out all of the hurt and hopelessness he felt in his family life. His stories nearly made me cry. There was nothing I could say to fix it. Truth be told, it might never get better. As I knew all too well from my own, little cross, we can't change how others act or treat us, and God loves our free will too much to control us like puppets.

When he finished talking about his family, I asked if there was anything else troubling him.

The floodgates opened again.

And again.

Here was a kid carrying some serious crosses without any understanding as to why it was happening to him, or how it would ever get any better. I talked with Him about God's love, the power of the cross, and how He is always, always with us. However, nothing I could say to this young man would matter unless he chose to believe it.

By the end of the trip, this kid was laughing harder, louder, and longer than anyone else at any given moment. If that's not proof of God fighting for us, I don't know what is.

Do you believe God is fighting for you? Even if nothing changes and things don't turn out the way you want, even if they get worse, do you know that God is fighting for you?

God fought for me, for my good, while I was fighting against me. He wasn't fighting out of anger, but as a loving Father who would stop at nothing to provide the very best for me. He knows what is best for our lives, and His plans far exceed any that we could imagine. As one of the CHWC speakers paraphrased St. Catherine of Siena, "If you don't follow God's will, you will be bored." If He let me win this fight, my life would turn out to be pretty boring. Or worse.

We see only what is here and now, and what we imagine for the future is often overshadowed by our fears. God sees eternity. He knows where you are now, He knows exactly how it is all going to turn out, and He's there every step of the way. Trust that and lean on it. Resist the urge to control and understand every little detail of your life, and let God do the fighting.

After all, who do you think will win: you, or God?

Or better yet, who do you want to win: you, or God?

Jacob and the Angel, Rembrandt

"Did you not know that I must be in my Father's House?"

When I declared myself a double major in English and Theology at Notre Dame, I used to explain my seemingly useless choice by saying, "Well, I don't plan on doing anything with Theology. It's just for fun."

Ha. Ha. Ha. Good one, God.

Now, six years and a Master of Arts Degree in Theology later (and a shelf full of coffee-stained and overly-highlighted books to prove it), I am eating my words. I work full-time as a Parish Youth Minister and try to lead middle and high school-aged kiddos to Jesus. It has been my dream job since I was their age, but there's a lot of hair-pulling and face-palming in the daily grind.

Go ahead. Ask me how St. Cyril of Alexandria defended Mary as the Theotokos at the Council of Ephesus. Ask me about how St. Marc Antony became a body building machine by hibernating in a cave. Ask me all about the Theology of the Body. It'll be the first time I've actually been able to use any of this knowledge (which cost me six years of sanity).

Instead, I spend the majority of my efforts talking to youngsters about why Selena Gomez's latest hit is likely not the best song to listen to, or trying (and often failing) to be patient with parents who still don't understand why we can't "do" Confirmation in the eighth grade when it's "easier." All of the Theological knowledge I demonstrated during my comprehensive exams? It's still just sitting on the bookshelf.

Then, when I least expect it, the kids all but 'throw the book at me.'

One night, the sixth grade boy who showed up to youth group wearing shutter shades and calling himself 'swagalicious' asked how God can be both Father and Son. Wait, what? Weren't we talking about Mary?

I had written plenty of papers on Trinitarian Theology. I had read (okay, skimmed) plenty of books on the subject and darn it, I knew my Catechism. But, in that one moment, I blanked. Not my finest catechetical moment.

Months later, when I asked the same kids why Jesus would choose to be sacramentally present to us as bread (I mean, He's the Son of God; He could have picked anything!), their responses included....

Because you need bread to survive.

Because it is humble.

Because every culture knows how to make it.

Because even the poor can have it.

Wow guys, way to steal all my material. Thanks. As much as I like to think I know my Theology, these kids have serious game.

I had never really been too inspired by the mystery of the finding of the child Jesus in the temple. Don't get me wrong, it's holy and all, but it always seemed a little too straight-forward to be mysterious. Little Jesus got lost. Mary and Joseph freaked. Three days later, they found Him discussing Theology in the temple and schooling all the elders. Should we be all that surprised? After all, He is divine.

Lately, my own youth group kids have made me wonder how I would have responded if I were one of the elders. I worked hard for my Masters (most days), and if some little ragamuffin from Nowheresville, Israel rendered it totally useless, you can bet someone in the Notre Dame Theology Department would be getting an earful.

But, this is exactly what I need to be open to. Jesus said, "Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of Heaven belongs to such as these" (Matthew 19:14). If I view my ministry solely as what I have to offer them, it'll become nothing more than a platform for my ego. The Kingdom of Heaven already belongs to these Spongebob-watching youngsters. Theoretically, my work here is done.

Sort of.

Perhaps, I can try to offer them a deeper understanding of our life in Christ as set forth in the Catechism of the Catholic Church, but they're the ones who aren't afraid to stir the pot and ask why it matters. They're the ones whose hands shoot up in the air with questions and comments as soon as I start speaking. If anyone can best teach parrhesia, or the abiding, child-like trust in our Heavenly Father, it's them. They're the ones in whom Christ resides, calling each of us to place our trust in our Him, rather than in our accomplishments. After all, Mother Angelica once said, "It doesn't matter how many letters are at the end of your name (JD, PhD). What only matters are the two at the beginning of your name: St."

Truly, if I am going to try to help these kiddos grow into sainthood, then I have to let them do the same work in me. The Kingdom of Heaven belongs to them. They are already in their Father's House. The only question is, will I have the humility to listen to them and let them lead me there?