So... What Do You, Like, Do All Day?

While still only a few months into my current youth ministry job, I was at a Christmas party when a well-intentioned guy offered some not-so-well-thought-out comments regarding my choice in profession: "So, is that, like, a real job, or did you just sign up for it?" He then followed-up with, "I always wondered what my youth minister did all day... probably played dodge ball, I guess."

Yep. I simply walked over to the youth ministry table after Mass one day, signed up for a full-time job, and now play dodge ball all day while the kids are in school. That sounds legit (except, according to my freshmen, the correct term these days is "legiteral").

Lots of good-hearted parishioners, youth ministry parents, and friends unknowingly join in the chorus of well-intentioned put-downs:

"So, do you get the summers off?"

"It must be nice to have such a relaxing job."

"This is nice, but what's your real job?"

"That's so nice that the church pays you to do this!"

Um, sure. It's nice of your employer to pay you, too.

What can I do, other than smile and nod? They mean well and have no idea they've equated the long hours and hair-pulling days to a simple cake-walk to the tune of "Amazing Grace." For all they know, maybe I do just sit in my cubicle all day and strum "Kumbaya" on my guitar, just waiting for some kid to come walking through the doors and start sharing all of life's bigger problems (like, the time her best friend said her new haircut looked funny so now she doesn't know who to trust ever again and her little brother is being so annoying and mom won't let her drive so life's just totally unfair).

"You know who else hit a rough patch? Jesus; He was dead."
Thanks a lot, Reverend Tim Tom.

Therein lies the temptation to take ourselves too seriously and forget that part of working in youth ministry is essentially being a kid again (like the time I spent an entire afternoon filling up two hundred water balloons; I'm pretty sure no one on Wall Street has that responsibility). What other job allows you to stay up all night binging on candy, wear a sloppy t-shirt and get paint in your hair, and keep a bottomless stash of Gummi Worms?

Of course, that's not how the day-to-day office hours are spent. Those aren't quite revisited childhood: planning for youth group meetings and Confirmation class; organizing retreats, mission trips, and lock-ins; balancing canon law; calming frustrated parents; and many other mundane tasks. But, without these long, tiresome, and sometimes even miserable office hours, the water balloons, paint, and Gummi Bear moments wouldn't happen.

But, youth ministry can't stop at water balloons, house paint, and Gummi Bears. That'd be pretty fruitless. If it doesn't point the teens to Christ Himself, then it's all for nothing and I'd might as well just sit around playing dodge ball all day, every day. The childish antics are meant to hopefully inspire a child-like faith and a heroic virtue that turns today's young teenagers into our newest and brightest young saints spreading the Good News with the gift of their lives. 

"Jesus, help me to simplify my life by learning what you want me to be,
and then becoming that person."
-St. Therese of Lisieux

Forgiving the Impossible

In my junior year of college, a few friends from my high school youth group and I travelled to Jacksonville, Florida to help start a Kairos retreat program for juniors and seniors. Looking back now, this experience was one of the first signs that my heart was called to serve the Church in youth ministry. At the time, however, I was grateful simply to give unto these teenagers what had been given unto me years ago. When, as a high school student, I participated in my own Kairos retreats, it revolutionized my Catholic faith and deepened my prayer life beyond anything I ever could have imagined. Had I not attended this retreat, I'm not sure where my personal faith would be today, and I almost certainly wouldn't have continued down the road that led to youth ministry. Kairos opened my eyes to recognizing God's presence in all things, and I couldn't wait to share this gift with our Florida teenagers.

The four-day retreat was filled with sharing many personal testimonies, receiving affirmation letters from home, and finding peace through small group and one-on-one discussions. By day three, the teenagers were deeply immersed in the retreat and started opening up about the various crosses they each were carrying. We could see the work of God in each of their hearts as even the most obstinate young men and women were starting to see Christ's presence. For some of them, the victory was found in learning to accept that, perhaps, He does exist after all.

On the evening of the third day, the teenagers were invited to participate in one-on-one discussions with us leaders. We were each scattered throughout a large room, seated with small candles and waiting for the retreatants to approach us. After waiting for a few moments, a sweet girl from my own small group and her friend came and sat down before me. After a few friendly exchanges, she grew serious and shared with me that there was something she was deeply struggling with. When I asked what was going on, she responded with words that left me speechless:

"A few guys from high school raped me, and I'm having a hard time forgiving them."

What on earth do you say to that? How do you possibly address the horrors of what she had to endure, while also answering her seemingly impossible question? How do you help a sixteen year-old girl forgive multiple guys who raped her?

There are no words to give in response. There is no easy solution, because no one should ever have to grapple with such pain. And yet, here she was with a genuine desire to forgive these despicable guys for their unforgiveable act.

She had to face them every day at school. She never received an apology. No justice was ever served. And yet, she wanted to forgive them.

“To love means loving the unlovable.

To forgive means pardoning the unpardonable.

Faith means believing the unbelievable.

Hope means hoping when everything seems hopeless.”

-G. K. Chesterton

At sixteen years old, this young woman had more faith and courage than anyone I'd ever met. Even the Theology Professors at Notre Dame couldn't hold a candle to her.

Trusting in the guidance of the Holy Spirit, I spoke with her about the mere fact that she had the will to forgive was already incomprehensibly saint-like. We spoke at length about God's peace and healing, about the grace in having true friends like the one at her side, and about the strength and courage her heart already held. Being that this experience happened almost ten years ago, I can't recall exactly what was said, but I do remember being absolutely amazed by the peace and courage she possessed. Not even an unapologetic, careless group of men guilty of one of the worst crimes against humanity could take away her faith, hope, and love. She was not allowing herself to be held captive to their crime.

Many would say that this young woman is wrong in choosing to forgive; that she should stay angry for the sake of her own mental health. I'm sure many would fault my words spoken in that conversation and written here in this blog. How can you forgive something so horrifying? How can you forgive someone who isn't even the least bit sorry? Isn't this just adding more guilt, shame, and burden upon the victim? Is it denying them the outburst and vengeance they deserve, and may even need for their own healing? How can we possibly encourage a rape victim to forgive her perpetrators?

The answer is simple. We forgive because we are forgiven, and because forgiveness is the only way that leads to peace. The Amish community in Nickel Mines, PA figured this out in 2006 when Charles Roberts entered the elementary school and shot ten young girls, killing five and then himself. How could the parents and community members forgive such evil? How could they console his horrified widow, attend his funeral, and even refuse to speak angrily about him?

Forgiving doesn't mean conceding that what happened is okay (if it were, there would be nothing to forgive). It doesn't mean forgetting, either (Jesus never said anything of the sort in Scripture, nor did He simply 'forget' about the whole crucifixion thing). It simply means giving up your right to be angry. Someone has done something wrong, terrible, even evil unto you, but you choose not to let the anger rule and destroy your heart. We pursue justice, we hold the guilty party accountable for their actions, but we do not hold ourselves hostage to anger, hatred, and darkness. To do so would only give the sin a deeper, longer-lasting grip over us. Who then, would truly lose in the end? Those who forgive are they who care more for peace, joy, and accepting the beauty of life, rather than losing it in an ugly sea of dark thoughts, bitter emotions, and vengeful daydreams.

But, lest we think that forgiveness is all about making Number One happy, we need to look no further than the cross to know where the heart of mercy rests. Jesus makes the justice of forgiveness pretty clear in The Parable of the Unforgiving Servant in Matthew 18:21-35:

"I canceled all that debt of yours because you begged me to.
Shouldn’t you have had mercy on your fellow servant just as I had on you?"

If Jesus could forgive us after we betrayed, mocked, beat, stripped, and murdered Him; if He could forgive us even in the midst of these atrocities, crying out, "Father, forgive them, for they know now what they do" (Luke 23:34), then what possible exemption could we declare for ourselves?

May we all learn from the holy strength of this young woman and learn to forgive others, even when it seems impossible and the world would justify us for staying trapped in our anger. Indeed, the Resurrection of Christ and the faith of this sweet girl prove that, "Nothing is impossible with God" (Luke 1:37).

"Bless the Lord, Oh, my Soul."

"My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord,

my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,

for he has looked with favor on his lowly servant.

From this day all generations will call me blessed:

the Almighty has done great things for me, and holy is his Name"

(Luke 1:46).

Our Lady of the Streets

Mary's soul proclaimed the greatness of the Lord. From the depths, from the very core of her being, a voice resounded to praise God and rejoice in His Holy Name. This was neither a momentary spiritual high, nor passing excitement over the Good News of the Annunciation; this was the fundamental recognition that eternal salvation had, by means of God's grace, entered into the world through her own body.

My kids didn't realize it, but on this past summer's mission trip to Williamson, West Virginia, they incarnated Mary's Magnificat. It wasn't just by their words and actions that they brought the love of Christ into to the world; something had clearly stirred deep within their souls, leaving an unmistakable sign of the presence of the Lord.

The mission trip was not unlike any other church trip: teens from a rather affluent area travelled ten hours by van to spend a week serving an Appalachian community. Our teens welcomed the opportunity to step outside of the North Shore "bubble" and into a coal-mining town hidden in the mountains where the McCoys and Hatfields once feuded, and were eager to meet the other teens who would be joining us from a Lutheran Church in Minnesota.

As soon as the trip began, the teens began bonding with one another over Fazoli's pit stops, goofy car games, and group chats. When the work projects started, they dove right in without complaint or hesitation. These young people were eager to give unto others, and were thirsting for something to shake them from their daily lives.

Well, that "something" came during the closing worship service of the very first night. The site leaders picked up their guitars and projected song lyrics onto a screen, while teens from the Lutheran group put their arms around each other and swayed back and forth, singing every word to every song. 

Our group, on the other hand, stood in place with their arms crossed and nervous glances that begged, "Do we really have to do this?" As hard as they tried to guess the lyrics, anyone could see that they were incredibly uncomfortable. Then again, with lyrics such as, "Heaven meets Earth in a sloppy, wet kiss," who could blame them?

As the end of the week approached, one of the site leaders shared with me that our last night's worship service would involve a foot washing ceremony, in which the youth ministers and leaders would wash their teens' feet.

Oh, boy.

As he explained how it would be such a moving service, during which almost everyone would cry, all I could think of was how miserably awkward our teens would feel. Our parish can hardly get enough adults to participate in our Holy Thursday Mass' foot washing ceremony! If these kids could just barely get past kumbaya-swaying to cheesy praise and worship songs, how in the heck would they let me (or anyone else) wash their feet? Yikes.

As always, the kids proved me wrong. As soon as the lights dimmed and my fellow chaperones and I began washing our teens' feet, tears started flowing. Not superficial, forced tears; real, flowing, almost-bawling tears from just about every teen in our group. Later that night, the tears continued to flow as the teens shared how the trip changed them. Kids whose parents were under financial strain realized just how blessed they truly were. Some found friendships they never expected to make. Others who weren't too sold on the whole "Jesus thing" had found their faith. The friendship, compassion, and love pouring out in our small group was unlike anything I'd ever witnessed.

The kids didn't just have fun, or "check off" their service requirement for the following year. They may have come on the trip for various reasons (one fessed up that his dad forced him on the trip for service credit), but what they found was a metanoia, or profound change of heart. Like Mary, what they experienced reverberated deep into their souls. Indeed, Christ had truly come into them, and flowed out through their hands and into the world.

As amazed as I might have been by my teens, I was still well-aware of the fact that they aren't perfect. They totally vandalized the other church's vans with car markers and had unsuccessfully planned to sneak out well past "lights out" on the final night of the trip. Little buggers. Even more, once the pressure of academics and athletics sets in with the new school year, it will only get harder for them to remember the immense blessings they received on this trip. As much as I'd like to imagine that every one of these kids will stay close to Jesus for the rest of their lives, I realize that it's highly unlikely they'll all trod in the footprints of Blessed Teresa of Calcutta (I'm not that naïve).

Regardless of how zealously they continue to practice the faith and good works that they each learned on the mission trip , one thing remains: for one week of their teenaged lives, Christ came into their hearts with an unmistakable, abundance of grace.

"For I have set you an example,

that you also should do as I have done to you" (John 13:15).

What to Do When You Feel Like the Worst Youth Minister Ever.

These middle schoolers are going to be the death of me. But, that's actually a really good thing. 

Without fail, the kids at middle school youth group are almost always bad difficult. Some are patient and prayerful, while a select handful who can't keep their mouths shut seem hell-bent on ruining the night for everyone. Normally, I can deal with it. They're young. They have too much energy to contain. I'd rather they be too loud than too quiet. I have a bottle of wine waiting at home.

Today, however, was a different story. Today, I was already stressed out well before they arrived, which meant there was even less patience for them to test. The whole hour-and-a-half-long meeting felt more like six, and was loud, frustrating, and miserable for pretty much the whole time. At least for me. 

The night was themed on the qualities that make a person inspirational, and began with the kids dividing into small groups and drawing their own heroes on posters. One group drew Spanish Jesus (complete with a lawnmower. Yep. Wasn't too pleased with that one). Another drew the Pope (but decided he should have green teeth). Another group drew Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Slayer. And the fourth group drew me. When I saw this, I'd imagined that this would be the turning point of the night. My heart would melt, I'd suddenly remember how sweet and innocent the kids were, and the rest of the youth group meeting would be filled with the peace and joy of the Holy Spirit. 

Nope. Not at all. That gratitude lasted for a minute before it was back to kids talking out of turn, throwing food, and leaving trash everywhere. Actually, that would have been manageable. Instead, they also compared the Pope's vestments to a KKK robe and whispered mischievous jokes when they thought I wasn't looking. By the end of the night, there'd been far too many "I'll wait until everyone's quiets," staring kids down (who am I kidding? They aren't the least bit scared of me), and sending the least-behaved one out into the hall.

The worst part, though, wasn't how the kids acted. They're middle schoolers. They're supposed to be hyper and immature. That's practically a sign of healthy, normal development. The worst part was how bad I was at hiding my impatience. The "nicer" kids actually started to feel sorry for me as they begged their peers to be quiet, and our closing prayer was rushed and dry. I left feeling like the worst youth minister ever. 

Thankfully, there's grace.

While the kids were working on their "Heroes Posters" earlier in the night, I opened my Bible in the hope of finding some source of ministerial inspiration. I actually didn't believe I'd find anything helpful. It just seemed like… I don't know… Whatever... Something to do. Without paying much attention, I "accidentally" flipped right to 2 Corinthians 4: "Integrity in Ministry." Huh. What was it that St. John Paul II said? "There are no coincidences"? Without much thought, I began to read:

"Therefore since we have this ministry through the mercy shown us, we are not discouraged. Rather, we have renounced shameful, hidden things; not acting deceitfully or falsifying the word of God, but by the open declaration of the truth we commend ourselves to everyone's conscience in the sight of God….For we do not preach ourselves but Jesus Christ as Lord, and ourselves as your slaves for the sake of Jesus. For God who said, 'Let light shine out of darkness,' has shone in our hearts to bring to light the knowledge of the glory of God on the face of [Jesus] Christ. But we hold this treasure in earthen vessels, that the surpassing power may be of God and not from us. We are afflicted in every way, but not constrained; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying about in the body of the dying Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our body. For we who live are being constantly given up to death for the sake of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may be manifested in our mortal flesh… Therefore, we are not discouraged; rather, although our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this momentary light affliction is producing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to what is seen but to what is unseen; for what is seen is transitory, but what is unseen is eternal"

 (2 Corinthians 4:1-18). 

Oh. So, ministry is supposed to feel like this. We're supposed to be "in the body of the dying Jesus," not the resurrected one. I'm supposed to want to pull my hair out on a pretty much daily basis. Christians are supposed to feel "constantly given up to death." After all, didn't Jesus tell us to take up our daily cross (Luke 9:23) for the sake of eternal life, and didn't He also promise to give us daily bread to sustain us on the way (Matthew 6:11)?

I always knew youth ministry wouldn't be easy. Well, I thought I knew that. As I was walking out to my car (okay, huffing), I realized that what I really thought was that the job would be hard… for a little while. I'd imagined that while the first year would be one up-hill road, the whole rest of the journey would be an easy ride off into the sunset. Because, I mean, that's how ministry worked out for Jesus, right?

I'd also always nodded along when people said that ministerial work was just planting seeds even without witnessing the bloom. Sure, that might be true… for some people. Of course, I'll get to see the blooms because I'm just that special, right? Who the heck doesn't want  to see their hard work pay off? Oh, wait… you mean these kids aren't here to satisfy my ego? Oops. 

The full realization of my complete denial and arrogance was all up in my face like a hyperactive twelve year-old, and I couldn't ignore it. 

So, it turns out I'm impatient and tend to think the normal ministry rules don't apply to me. Oops. This lesson learned could just be a major bummer: your dream job is going to be miserable and that's that. But as St. Paul says, "Although our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day." This job is not easy, nor is it always fun (then again, whose is?). For every kid who talks about how much they love Mary (music to my ears), another one complains about bad snacks. But, it's absolutely worth it. Without a doubt, I'd sign up for it all over again. The outer self might be wasting away under stress and difficult kids (hey, I'm no picnic for God, either!), but the inner self is being renewed daily through the silent, steady, forward-moving flow of the Holy Spirit. Somehow or other, the job gets (mostly) done while the ego is slowly purified and emotional highs are replaced with real joy.

So, what does it mean when you feel like your ministry is a completely and utterly shambled mess? 

It means keep going.

One, Holy, Smelly, and Apostolic Church

From April 24 – May 4, I joined a group of twelve young adults from the Archdiocese of Chicago on a pilgrimage to Rome for the canonizations of John Paul II and John XXIII. The experience was incredible and gave each of us memories that we will always cherish. Having personally seen Pope John Paul II in the Vatican Square back in the spring of 2004, the canonization was especially meaningful.

For over a year, I had been eagerly anticipating this trip. I couldn't wait to celebrate the life of one of my favorite saints (not to slight John XXIII!), and apparently, I wasn't the only one who felt this way. Over eight hundred thousand people gathered in St. Peter’s Square to witness this monumental event in Church history.

Eight hundred thousand.

That’s a lot of people… People who knock you over with their over-sized backpacks. People who tragically forget to put on deodorant. People who talk just a little (read: way) too loudly on their cellphones during the Mass. People who get so pushy that you think they're trying to cop a feel. This historical, holy, and sacramental moment would have been just perfect... if only it weren't for all the people. 

While standing among these crowds during the canonization Mass, it was a constant temptation to forget Jesus’ call to love one another (because of course, it's not like I was annoying anyone else, right?). But as frustrating as the person next to me might have been, one thought kept crossing my mind: all of these hundreds of thousands of people belong to the same Catholic Church. We might have been speaking different languages, but we all knew exactly when to join hands and pray the Lord’s Prayer. We all shook hands and exchanged the Sign of Peace with different words, but the same message. We all bowed in prayer during the Consecration. Every single person in that massive crowd was completely unique and entirely unrepeatable, but we all worshipped our one Lord in the same way.

Looking throughout the crowds, we saw people of every age and country. One banner displayed the Japanese flag with the words, “You are our Pope.” A little boy sat on his father’s shoulders and waved the Polish flag (by the way, don’t mess with little, old, Polish ladies. They mean business). Whole families gathered from every continent to celebrate the lives of two men who lived and died years ago. What other celebrity could draw crowds stretching for over half a mile? Who else could gather people from every corner of the globe?

Jesus told His disciples to “Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you. And remember, I am with you always, until the end of time” (Matthew 28:19-20). Despite all odds and persecutions, these twelve poor and uneducated men did it. Somehow, they got the message out so loudly and clearly that 2,000 years later, eight hundred thousand of the faithful would voluntarily stand in a miserable crowd to celebrate two of our eternally-living brothers. What other worldly empire has achieved such a feat?

So, why make such a big deal about our universal Church? Is this just a bragging right, or something more? Being part of a universal Church means many things. It reminds us that every human being on this earth (Catholic or non-) is a child of God, and therefore deserving of love, respect, and dignity. It reminds us that despite our many differences, we are all redeemed by the one cross of Christ, and nourished by His one Eucharistic body. It reminds us that we ourselves make up that one Body.

Until this pilgrimage, I had never really appreciated St. Paul’s words, “Come to him, a living stone, though rejected by mortals yet chosen and precious in God’s sight, and  like living stones, let yourselves be built into a spiritual house, to be a holy priesthood, to offer spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ” (1 Peter 2:4-5). We are all called to be living stones just like Jesus. You and I are the Church. What we say, do, give, and pray builds her up as a mighty fortress. Every single person in St. Peter’s Square on that day is a living stone building up Christ’s Church.

Are you being a “living stone”? Is your faith moving you to take action, to care for the poor and forgotten, to forgive the unforgiveable, and to choose Jesus instead of money and fame? Is Jesus’ light shining a little brighter because of you? Truly, each and every one of these stones is “precious in God’s sight." St. John Paul the Great once said that he didn't like the word 'crowd' because it was too anonymous. Instead, he preferred 'multitude.' Well, if you gather enough of these living stones, no matter how small, you'll get a multitude that is literally bursting through the Vatican Walls and making the whole world take notice.

Just 800,000 of our closest friends at St. Peter's Square for the Canonization Mass.

Cars and Confessionals

After months of snow and sleet, two rounds of a polar vortex, and street parking in mounds of slush, salt, and dirt, my car was looking pretty darn nasty. Her (yes, my car is a "she") pretty sage color was now a dull and splotchy shade of grey and her windows were so streaky that they looked like someone had been finger painting on them. Actually, she didn't just look nasty; she freaking was nasty. Anyone who lightly brushed up against her was left with white dirt streaks on their clothes, and the insides were worse: dirt, salt, spilled coffee, and much more made riding in her feel like sitting in a garbage can. Seriously, she needed a major makeover. 


When I first bought my car four years ago, I was annoyingly paranoid about keeping her in perfect shape. I parked in the way back of parking lots to prevent scratching, and suspiciously eyed anyone who dared eat or drink in her. She was my "baby," and I was going to keep her in near perfect shape for as long as I could. Seeing the sorry sight she was now would have made me hurl. Actually, I probably would have scrubbed, vacuumed, and wiped down every nook and cranny in a semi-OCD trance. I should probably mention that I have never been a "car person." If it weren't for my dad's advice, I'd have just picked out whatever was prettiest and not given a moment's thought to however many cylinder engines it was… whatever that means.


I've heard that the winter time is the most important time to get your car washed for good long-term maintenance, but I kept putting it off. If I wasn't short on cash, I was just too lazy. Or, I'd settle for the excuse that it was just going to snow again anyway, so why bother? Might as well wait until the springtime, right? Even then, April showers would have provided at least another month's worth of further excuses. 


Aren't these the same excuses we use to put off receiving the Sacrament of Reconciliation? I'm too busy. The Church's schedule doesn't work with mine. I don't like that priest. Why bother if I'm going to just repeat the same sins again? Then, there are the deeper reasons that hold us hostage from the sacrament: being too ashamed of the gravity of sin, fearing judgment and condemnation, or feeling so spiritually "numb" that we don't even realize how desperately we need God's love and mercy. 


On February 19th, Pope Francis called all the faithful to "be courageous and go to Confession" (http://www.ncregister.com/daily-news/pope-francis-be-courageous-and-go-to-confession/#ixzz2u6CkhXx8). The idea of sitting down before a priest and pouring out all of the sins we don't want to admit even unto ourselves is intimidating, but only because we are so ransomed by shame that we ignore the merciful love that God is just waiting to flood into our souls. If we truly realized how much God loves us and wants to heal us, confession wouldn't require that much courage. Indeed, 

"For as you return to the Lord, your kindred and your children will find compassion with their captors, and return to this land. For the Lord your God is gracious and merciful, and will not turn away his face from you, if you return to him." (2 Chronicles 30:9). 

The Lord is gracious and merciful, not hot-tempered and begrudging, so why do we turn away from Him? Naturally, no one wants to acknowledge their sins and shortcomings. However, Pope Francis again reminds us that this is not only normal, but even healthy. “Even embarrassment is good. It’s healthy to have a bit of shame. ... It does us good, because it makes us more humble.” There'd be something wrong if we weren't ashamed of our sins; that embarrassment is the sign of a healthy conscience. The only problem is forgetting that God's merciful, all-embracing arms are will wrap themselves around us no matter how dirty we are.


On our Confirmation retreat, we welcomed our freshmen to receive the Sacrament of Reconciliation, and almost all of our 57 teens accepted the invitation. For some of them, this was their second reconciliation ever. At first, no one wanted to go. Our four priests waited alone in their confessionals, while the teens sat hunched over in their pews and waited for someone else to go first. After two or three teens mustered up the courage, the rest followed shortly and formed lines stretching all the way down the pews. Once receiving the gift of God's grace, they exhibited all of the signs Pope Francis noted of the freshly-forgiven: "free, great, beautiful, forgiven, clean, [and] happy."


Yes, we are going to commit the same sins again, just like my car will inevitably get dirtied up again. But, it's precisely then that we most need to go to Reconciliation to receive the sanctifying grace that will strengthen us to resist those recurring temptations and sins… those recurring "thorns in our flesh" (2 Corinthians 12:7). Indeed, "the regular confession of our venial sins helps us form our conscience, fight against evil tendencies, let ourselves be healed by Christ and progress in the life of the Spirit. By receiving more frequently through this sacrament the gift of the Father's mercy, we are spurred to be merciful as he is merciful" (CCC 1458). Plain and simple, the more mercy you receive, the more mercy you can give (Matthew 6:14).


So, I finally got my car washed, and she looks awesome. Like, brand new, let's-take-a-roadtrip awesome. Even still, the way the sun glimmers on her is nothing compared to the divine love glimmering in our souls, the divine love and peace that is waiting there for each and every one of us. After all, soap suds only clean the surface; grace fills the soul.

 

May today there be peace within. 

May you trust God that you are exactly where you are meant to be. 

May you not forget the infinite possibilities that are born of faith. 

May you use those gifts that you have received, and pass on the love that has been given to you. 

May you be content knowing you are a child of God. 

Let this presence settle into your bones, and allow your soul the freedom to sing, dance, praise and love. 

It is there for each and every one of us.

-St. Therese of Lisieux

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.