We've stretched out the intervals in our blogging. It's not for want of love for Christ and His Church, it's not even the volume of work this time of year for me, or for all the wonderful events in Roz' life.
I don't have much to say here right now. I spent an intense time of prayer a few days ago that almost scared me, because I'd been begging the Lord to make my love more real for Him, so that I didn't slough (sluff?) Him off amidst the business of my life, no more than I'd ignore a loved one in my house or at least in my life just because I was busy. And He gave me some time where I understood that our relationship can withstand fourteen pending deadlines at work....
So the rhythm of a relationship is there: I get distracted and I turn again to Him. Thank God for the blogworld, always there to inspire me, or to irritate me, or to make me look up an answer, to provoke me to think. And thank God for Sundays, when we are required to pay Him a little attention. Without that anchor coming around once a week, I don't know how many Christians keep their feet on the path, on the Way. I'm lucky; I can go to near-daily Mass, which is a little cycle of love and life. The bigger weekly cycle of Love and life is absolutely essential to a Christian life.
I heard a preacher this morning on the radio, a very well-spoken man of some unspecific Protestant affiliation, urge his congregation to weekly church attendance or "some other form of worship." Those weasel words right in the middle of his otherwise well-done sermon jarred me: why open the door to sinful people (me included) to define what "some other form of worship" is? Before you know it, the three-wood's in your hand, and you're "worshiping God" on the golf course.
This morning, I will go to a much later Mass at a different church, because I am sponsoring an adult friend of mine for Confirmation, so we're going to his church at times for the special times of his reception of the Sacrament. That brings up the downside of rhythm: the Scrutinies occur over three Sundays. That's three Sundays I'm away from my own church, not at my normal crack'o'dawn Mass with my normal friends and our normal coffee afterwards. I am not comfortable at this other church, I'm uncomfortable with waiting until nearly noon for Mass, I'm out of my holy rut and I don't like it one bit.
How dare I? It's Jesus Christ in all His Glory, witnessed among our frail and unskilled and sinful efforts at answering His invitation to join Him at the Last Supper, at Calvary, at the empty tomb, at the mount of Ascent. Remembering that is a humbling and enriching experience: it's not my showing up at my appointed time in my appointed way that makes Him present. I should probably take this lesson and occasionally deliberately go to another Mass (aargh! the dreaded children's choir Mass! the too-white folk-rock (but still sincere) Mass! the Spanish Mass! I can even go to a Vietnamese Mass without travelling too far, but I would probably be a little conspicuous, not being Asian...)
I hope your Lent is a blessed stretch of your spirit and heart.
Blunting Caesar’s Sword
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