Monthly Archives: September 2016

Friday Thoughts: On the Cutting Edge of Boredom

vincent-van-gogh-the-stone-bench-in-the-garden-at-saint-paul-hospital-1889

Vincent van Gogh, “The Stone Bench in the Garden of Saint-Paul Hospital” (1889)

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There is so much “excitement” in the world.

Politics. Sports. Entertainment.

Even in the simple act of kids going back to school there is so much hoopla.

We can’t just do things simply. Everything has to be planned, announced, delved into, broadcast into something “grand”, “life-changing”, “utterly profound.”

But the more we need to insist that something is the case, the less in reality it usually is. For excitement, like authority, is something that by its very nature announces itself—and it decreases in direct proportion to the need to have it proclaimed.

In other words, just because we make “a big deal” about everything doesn’t mean it is. In fact, it is normally quite the opposite.

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I remember when a child’s birthday party was composed of eight or ten kids sitting around a kitchen table, wearing silly pointy hats, and eating a Duncan Hines cake made the day before by a stay-home mom.

Even catechism lessons seemed a whole lot more straight forward, and effective. For me they took place around that same kitchen table, with those same neighborhood friends, and were taught by that same mom who baked the birthday cake. Now, catechists are expected to act like game-show hosts. And preachers? We’ll they’re expected to be downright celebrities.

Well, there is an answer to all this triviality: The Bench. Whether it’s in the park, in front of your house, or even under one of those little bus-stop canopies on the side of the road.

Sit. Listen. Do nothing. Especially when you are tempted by “boredom”. For that’s exactly what boredom is, a temptation. A temptation to deny the existence of God. For if we are conscious of God’s presence we can never be bored. Every nook and cranny of every “meaningless” daily act and encounter has profound, truly profound significance, if we are conscious of God’s omnipresence and His perfect will.

Sit there peacefully, resting quietly on the cutting edge of boredom. You never know how much good God might do through you: what poor widow you may accompany, what orphan you might help find a home, what angel you may entertain, what authentic prayer you might offer up—now that God and not self-image is in control.

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Truth flips things on their head. I think it is Saint Bernard who says something along these lines: If we really think about how radical a call the Christian life is, as compared to the way the rest of the world lives, we realize it’s almost the equivalent of us walking down the street on our hands.

If it isn’t Saint Bernard that I’m paraphrasing, well then it is one of God’s other saints, and that is all that matters. For in God’s Kingdom the only credit that is given comes from and returns to God, and God alone. All wisdom is His.

And there it is, there is the crux of it: We have become obsessed with being “original”, with being “special”, with being “one-of-a-kind”—which of course we all are, tremendously so in fact—that is until we stop and think about it, or even worse, try to achieve it through our own means.

Trying to be “original” is the end of all originality. Wanting to be “special” is the death of a truly special purpose.

Pure existence on the other hand can only result in true originality—and it is always special, no matter what Tom, Dick, or Harry it is taking place within.

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When a human being is existing as God wills, the result is dynamic, truly exciting. And God never wills for us to believe and act as if we are God and He is not.

Put to death once and for all the need to self-promote, to self-proclaim, to self-worship.

Sit on a bench instead. Be still. Exist. You just may be surprised how cool you really are.


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—Howard Hain

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Morning Thoughts: Take Five


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Jesus departed to the mountain to pray, and he spent the night in prayer to God.

—Luke 6:12


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The Tuesday after Labor Day.

On your mark, get set, go!

The whole world is off and running, once again.

Take a few minutes this morning.

A few more minutes before you go.

Spend them with the Lord.

Let us truly spend them together:

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Our Father,

Who art in heaven,

hallowed by Thy name;

Thy kingdom come,

Thy will be done

on earth as it is in heaven.

Give us this day

our daily bread,

and forgive us our trespasses,

as we forgive those

who trespass against us;

and lead us not into temptation,

but deliver us from evil.

Amen.

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Let us begin correctly.

In faith. With hope. Immersed in love.

Truly grateful. Truly humble. Sincerely serving.

For the kingdom, the power, and the glory are truly God’s, now and for ever.

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And he came down with them and stood on a stretch of level ground.

Everyone in the crowd sought to touch him because power came forth from him and healed them all.

—Luke 6:17, 19


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—Howard Hain

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23rd Sunday C: Going to School

Audio homily here:

The kids will be going to school after Labor Day; their older brothers and sisters are probably in colleges and graduate schools already. It’s a new school year at places of learning throughout the country.

What about us who aren’t going to school? Do we learn too? If we believe that learning is life long, then we’re still going to school, the school of life. In our first reading from the Book of Wisdom we’re reminded how little we know, despite what we might sometimes think. “Scarce do we guess the things of earth and what is without our grasp we find with difficulty.” We have to be life-long learners.

We’re fragile learners, we have to keep at it, so we go to the School of Everyday.

One of the psalms says: “Teach us to number our days aright that we may gain wisdom of heart.” Our days are our school, the prayer says, so how can we go about numbering our days aright that we may gain wisdom of heart?

Well, could I suggest a way ? It may sound so simple I’m afraid to suggest it. Why not follow our church calendar? Why not use it as our school?

Most of us get church calendars around New Year’s Day. That have the seasons and feast days of Jesus and his saints. Maybe we hang them up in the kitchen and look at them occasionally, but the calendar provides great hints for learning and living day by day.

She’s not on our calendar yet, but she will be. This Sunday Mother Teresa will be canonized, that dynamic little nun who went to the world’s poorest places to take care of the poor, the sick and the dying. The wisdom we learn from her is that we’re all called to be more generous with the poor of this world and those around us. She teaches us something we easily forget. She’ll be on our calendar next year.

The saints in our calendar show us that God has raised up wonderful people through the ages and God’s still works, even in our time, with us. The saints are not just people of the past to admire or pray to, they challenge us to go beyond ourselves and imitate them in our time, and they tell us we can do it.

Look at the saints and feast days coming up this month in September. There’s St. John Chrysostom, September 13th. He complained that people of his time didn’t know much about the church’s calendar: “Many people today just about know the names of the feasts we celebrate in church. They know hardly anything about where we come from and what it means… What a shame.” He challenges us to remember and not forget the teachers of faith we have.

September has a parade of interesting saints, like Gregory the Great, September 3rd, the pope who lived when the Roman world was falling apart. He didn’t fall apart. He believed it was to do something and he reached out to the ends of the world of his time. He sent missionaries out to faraway England and northern Europe. In a world falling apart, he tells us don’t give up, be courageous. There are still things to be done. St. Peter Claver, September 9th, worked among the black slaves in Colombia, South America. He reminds us not to forget there’s still slavery in our world. Don’t forget it: let’s try to get rid of it.

Saints Cornelius and Cyprian, September 16, early Chistian martyrs, remind us that people died for the faith we believe in. It’s that important. September 26th , St. Vincent De Paul was inspired by God to take care of the poor in France. He started a whole movement in the church of people who looked after the poor. St. Matthew, the tax collector, September 28th. Jesus called him to be one of his apostles. Others looked down on him. But God didn’t look down on him, nor does he look down on us. St. Jerome. September 30th was a saint who loved the bible and constantly studied it. That’s something we should do too. Most of our calendars give us a list of the scriptures we’re reading in church. So why not read them with the church day by day. That would be a wonderful way to keep learning.

September 14th we celebrate the Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross. It’s like a Holy Week in September. We need to be lifted up by the mysteries of Jesus continually. He died and he rose again. We die and rise again with him. September 15 we remember the sorrows of the Mary. Every month we have at least one feast of Mary, this month, September, we have two. We remember her birth on September 8. She is our companion as we follow her son. She can help us understand him and do whatever he tells us.

On September 1st this year, Pope Francis asked the church to remember creation, and the care of creation that each of us is called to give. He wants us to join Christians of the eastern church who also remember the duties we have to the created world, so endangered because of our abuse.

Our calendar is like a school book that lays out lessons we need to learn throughout the year, day by day, and so as programs for religious formation begin in our schools and parishes this month, don’t forget the church calendar. It’s your school, a good teacher and, you know, like any good teacher, it knows we are forgetful listeners. It’ll be back again next year.

Friday Thoughts: Young Mother Sewing

Mary Cassatt Young Mother Sewing 1900 Met

Mary Cassatt, “Young Mother Sewing”, 1900 (The Met)


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A living faith works. It is always active, especially when we are docile to the Spirit.

When we walk by faith we see, we hear, we speak what God intends, especially when we are blind to the cares and anxieties of the world.

Small children are wonderfully active, superbly passive, and at times they seem completely blind, fantastically blind. They are alive. They see. They hear. They speak. They watch. They feel.

Mother Church calls all of us home, even when she is silent. She is always at work. She watches us even when her eyes are busy with the business of the day.

She sews. We just need to obey. To trust. To allow ourselves the freedom to lay across her lap.

In the short description upon the little museum card hanging beneath the painting shown above, God has planted great instruction. The work is by American impressionist Mary Cassatt.

According to the card, about the year 1890 “Cassatt redirected her art toward women caring for children and children alone—themes that reflected her affection for her nieces and nephews and the prevailing cultural interest in child rearing.” And then, after informing us that for this particular painting Cassatt “enlisted two unrelated models to enact the roles of mother and child”, the card completes its little catechesis by blessing us with a precious little anecdote and quote:

Louisine Havemeyer, who purchased it in 1901, remarked on its truthfulness: “Look at that little child that has just thrown herself against her mother’s knee, regardless of the result and oblivious to the fact that she could disturb ‘her mamma.’ And she is quite right, she does not disturb her mother. Mamma simply draws back a bit and continues to sew.”

God are we blessed. So blessed to have such a mother. All of us. Maybe give her a call today. Better yet, perhaps even stop by. She’d love that. She’d love to see your face. You’re always on her mind and in her heart. She lives in the closest church you can find, any building that truly houses her Son.

If she seems a little occupied with the “cooking and cleaning”, with all “the business of life”, don’t let that stop you or cut your visit short. No, throw yourself against your “mother’s knee regardless of the result and oblivious to the fact” that you could disturb your “mamma.”

 It most certainly does not.

“Mamma simply draws back a bit and continues to sew.”

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—Howard Hain

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http://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/10425

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