September 2014 - Kathryn Anne Casey

Thinking about ambition.

Thinking about ambition. I grow eager to move on to the next thing once I feel the challenge of the present has been met. I may still have room to grow, but I no longer feel stressed or challenged by the present circumstances. What is the next thing? I shared feelings with my mom like this when I was a senior in high school. That was the first time she seemed to fully understand. She was just the same. Ready to move on, to a new field or up in the present one, but on…anywhere…on. I would experience this again and again. What is the next thing? Ever ready for diversity. Missionary work, college, Minnesota winters, marriage, full time work, Virginia, graduate school, a baby in graduate school, one baby, two baby, three babies under age four, low income. What is the next thing? What challenge can come next?

I’ve compartmentalized my life. Here is my work, my professional life. I’m looking for networking, for opportunities. I want to progress, want to do more, want to be more. I’ve honed my skills, ready for the next challenge. But I can’t. I’m stuck.

I’m stuck because I have three little miracles under three feet running amok in my beautiful home. The youngest does not yet run, she merely reaches, but she’s definitely on her way, ready for the next challenge. I’m stuck because I am living the greatest call imaginable. We came together and made little people in the overflow of our love and they have to be raised, reared, taught the ways of the Lord and civilized society.

I’m stuck and I compartmentalized. But I was wrong to do that. If I feel like I’ve overcome the difficult, stressful part of my wonderfully important job, isn’t that a blessing? Because the constant challenges of parenting tell me I have not yet overcome that battle.

So some things will have to wait for now. If I can see my life as a whole, integrated, the waiting will not be so difficult. I get up, get dressed for work, dress little people before work, go to work, meet with clients, come home, nurse a baby, put a toddler down for nap, eat something delicious prepared by my debonair husband (actually, geeky-awkward-amazing husband), go back to work. I stop at home before going to meetings in order to nurse the baby. I work only two days a week and I will not work back-to-back days.

My life is one. My vocation is one. I do not need to separate them into two separate lives and think one is utterly challenging and I’m failing, and feel “what’s next” in the other. If I see it as one, there is enough for me to apply myself. I can love those children better. Good gracious, I could start cooking again. That’s challenge enough.

“Therefore do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Let the day’s own trouble be sufficient for the day.” Matthew 6:34

Challenge enough.

The Christian Mission

Since this devastating persecution of Christians and other non-radical-Islamic-terrorist/thinking persons began in the summer I’ve been posting a number is articles from Elizabeth Scalia, The Anchoress at Patheos.com. I’ve never gotten a comment on these articles. Perhaps it is because the topic is too gruesome or upsetting, perhaps it is because clicking a “like” button just isn’t the right thing to do, perhaps because people don’t want to think about it, like contemplating death.

I just don’t know the reason. More recently, I posted this:

“Is anyone hearing about the slaughter/exile of our Christian brothers and sisters in Iraq and Syria from the pulpit? I feel like I’ve only heard about it twice and today the message was we should be more concerned with what’s happening here at home, which while that is important, with everyone plugged into their own personalized digital world, it seems like a little global awareness of our fellow man could be a good thing for us.”

Only one person responded. She wrote “I heard about it once.”

Next she posted this on my page as food for thought and I thought it was very good. To summarize: the internet floods us with news from the minute to the magnitude, from what happens in my no-stop-light hometown to New York to Nigeria to the Kardash ians. We can become so passionate of what’s happening over there that we fail to feel for what is happening here. Live locally he says. Do not be telescope Christians, as Peter Kreft says, with only our sights and sighs set on what happens far from neighbor. Here is my response:

“I agree with what he says. I really do. I think we can live too much of our lives on the internet. However (if I could italicize that word I would) I think no matter where we hear about ISIS, internet/newspaper/pulpit, the awful thing is that as Christians are we suffering for our brothers and sisters? Do we hurt knowing the reality that they are dying in the name of Christ? Being exiled or sold as slaves? We should hurt for our fellow man, our local fellow man, we can’t bleed for every cause, but God help us, can we tear away from the leisure and entertainment to care that a massive persecution is taking place? Those places are relevant to us. The Church, the place of the ancient Church is relevant to us. We are one Body and all that jazz. Christ is being crucified, and nobody is talking about it (or so it seems). This is not the same thing as Cardinal Dolan or Fulton Sheen’s cause or celebrity gossip. It’s not even the same as Israel and Gaza. They are Christians! They are our people, our heritage. I heard more about the movie on the Mexican persecution than this one. Are they not just as much our people as the people who lived during through the Cristeros war are our people or the people of those whose families or are themselves from Mexico? We share the same Blood in Holy Communion. They are our people! And so my brother and my sister are being killed because they are in my family. Yes, there are people dying here, people on drugs, people committing suicide, and I care, I really really do, but this strange silence about ISIS…”

The author here makes some great point on a similar path as mine. She says “We must stand witness to these our brothers and sisters in Christ who are suffering and dying for Him. We must. It is our charge, our call and duty. It is our vocation before God. We must write about them and develop a literature for them as the Jews did for those who died in the Holocaust. Because this is another holocaust. It is the holocaust of Christians in an entire region of the world.”

So why the silence? What if it is because the question that arises is, what can I do about it? And quickly the devil answers, nothing!

Today I read this, Ephesians 3:13-21: Brethren: I pray you not to faint at my tribulations for you, which are for your glory.

If we are remotely alert to what is happening in Iraq and Syria, we should not be overcome. We should not held in fear for the fate of non-Muslims or Sunni Muslims or moderate thinking Muslims here in the US. We should not lose sleep. Our thoughts should not be consumed.

For this cause I bow my knees to the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, of whom all paternity in heaven and earth is named, that He would grant you, according to the riches of His glory, to be strengthened by His Spirit with might unto the inward man.

We must pray for them. In all we do, we must pray for those suffering. Yes, those for suffering locally and those suffering in far off lands. We are called to pray for the innocent. Pray for strength, pray for endurance, pray for an end to this terrible, horrific thing.

That Christ may dwell by faith in your hearts; that being rooted and founded in charity, you may be able to comprehend with all the saints, what is the breadth and length, and height, and depth. To know also the charity of Christ, which surpasseth all knowledge; that you may be filled unto all the fullness of God.

In this old translation, these words sound so lofty. The Christians he writes to are shocked at his suffering, they are overcome and he tells them not to. He says to use the scandal of his sufferings to deepen their prayer, their faith, to find strength in what he endures. When we hear about someone enduring, somehow, it gives us to the strength to endure more. When we hear about them starving, we can be thankful for this meal we have. When I am home with my children I experience an acute awareness of their existence. They are always on my mind because I must be mindful of them for their well being. I can carry an awareness of my brothers and sisters in the Middle East in this way, praying for them, allowing it to deepen my gratitude and my charity towards my neighbor. Each man on the stret is Christ to us. If I want to help those suffering there, I can help those suffering here and offer that sacrifice as a prayer for the safety and survival of those persecuted.

Now to Him who is able to do all things more abundantly than we desire or understand, according to the power that worketh in us: to Him be glory in the Church, and in Christ Jesus, unto all generations, world without end. Amen.

And it will not be in vain…

Why not preach about that?

She stood waiting for battle.

On facebook, I see this concept “Throwback Thursday.” In the spirit of that I shall post the beginning of a story I wrote 10 years ago, which is sort of a story all in itself. I apologize for any typographical errors. I wrote it a long time ago.

She stood waiting for battle. The sky was clear and it was hot: the kind of hot that absorbs a person and inebriates them. She stood looking out into the distance. She was ready. Images flashed into her mind: images of glory, of pain, of suffering, of relief, of victory. It did not seem possible to have all of them, but she knew that it was. Before setting out, she glanced to her King. He had thousands of warriors, or soldiers, and yet, as she looked at him, he stood tall and everyone around her seemed to disappear as he looked back at her. “He loves me,” she thought. She knew it was true. She had proof. She looked down at her armor and remembered the occasions he gave each piece to her. Nothing she got on her own. She was not even there because of her own efforts but because of his love and desire to shower his gifts on her.

It did seem strange that a King would give to her whom he loves a place in battle. Others explained to her that he should desire to keep her safe always, set apart and away from the fighting.

There always seemed to be a war going on. She thought to herself: “He wants me to be with him, by his side.” We are far apart now because the battle is about to start. Part of the readiness is that moment beforehand when you stand with some distance. Every thing must be sure, he said, we must test it first.

She remembered the moments when he stood there in front of her, looking at her with love and he fitted the armor on her. She felt so much warmth.

She had to explain to others why she was there. Well, in all honesty, she had to explain to herself. It was perhaps harder to understand the actual battles. Times of preparation were wonderful. They spent many moments together. With all his love and nobility, she felt noble and dignified in his presence.

The explanation: he wanted her near him. His love was so strong that following him into battle was sure of victory, sure because of his promise to her. Those words echoed deeply in the caverns of her heart. “If you fall, I will be there. If you feel your arms growing heavy from the sword look to me, I will rush to you and hold up your arms and we will fight together. I want you by my side. I love you. I want you to love me. I want you to love the purpose that I am fighting for. I know it seems like the war never stops, but we have a cause.” He held her hands and spoke so strongly and passionately, longing for her to have faith in his Words.

The risk seemed so great. He reassured her:

“I know the enemy. I know his soldiers and his weapons. I know his strategy, his plan. I know he is no match for us. He cannot hold you. He may push, but we will push back. It may seem like we are at a standstill, but we will be standing. We shall not fall.”

It was in this moment -looking out at the battle- that she questioned, that she feared. In all the preparation, she was only in love. Love alone drove her and she promised all her heart to her King. She said she desired to give him a gift, whatever she could. He asked first for her love. Then when he had it and was sure that it would remain, and she knew it could and would remain, he asked her to fight for him, for his glorious cause.

Of course she would. She would then serve him and love him and help him. What more does love want but to be needed? He could win on his own without his soldiers, but he desired her help and he asked her. Her mind was looking back –no; he did not even ask her- he waited for her to ask to join him.

It was thrilling. They would prepare and it would get difficult. He would stop everything and hold her for a moment until she felt safe and at ease. It was only a few days ago that she asked to stop preparing. She just wanted to feel his love. “Not for always,” she told him, “only a little while, please?” He answered her right away and her heart was filled with his love so fully. Every time she looked at him or spoke to him, he rushed to overwhelm her with love. At the times when she did not look or did not speak he was very secretly giving his love to her. When a couple days had passed, she thanked him and told him she was ready to prepare again, and so they began.

Training was not only for the battles but also for the lifetime afterwards that they would have together. It had been six years already since they fell in love. She already knew him longer than others placed in her life. He asked her not to think about that. He asked her to serve those around her, who served him. He asked that she become lower and lower.

Others complained to her about that. Well, in that same honesty, she complained about it and he explained to her that he honored her and raised her up each moment they were together, but in regards to others, he wanted her to truly love the others who loved him, because they loved him. He wanted her to understand that while they trained and were in battle that his love belonged to her not in a privileged way that put her above others. The times when she struggled to understand that she was no better; that others were beautiful and amazing and should be awed, he gave her an example. He served and made himself a servant.

To serve is to rule.

His every motive was love. For all eternity he was asking her to love her brothers and sisters. “you want them here after the battle. You want to serve them now. Pour yourself out and serve them while you have many things to do. It will show them that you love them and it will show me that you love not only them, but that you really love me.” He said it slowly. Her heart burned to serve because she loved him.

She felt like she was in the shade, but the sun beat down. What long moments they were. Such little battles took place. It was hard to tell what this would be like. She laughed to herself as she remembered the times she was so full of zeal to serve him that she ran headlong into battle. She fell, and not before too long. He smiled, looked at her with love and picked her up. She had tripped over her own feet while running.

“Look to me. I’ll teach you how to fight.”

She remembered all the times she stood there ready for battle and as she stood there and the enemy grew closer, she was overcome with fear and ran. She ran recklessly. He kept his promise. He ran to her, wrapped his arms around her and held her while she lay on the ground shaking and crying. At times she did not even acknowledge his presence, but he was there. Sooner or later, she would see him and they would go back to preparation.

She did remember their very beginning. What a martyr she was! Why, a day without him was equivalent to the battles before her now. She shook her head at her ridiculousness. She felt everything so honestly then, so passionately, but she was never ready. He asked many things of her, but had made it so easy.

Here she was. She was not running. She only waited. It was pain enough. But she looked at him and saw him looking at her. There was the distance, but she could see victory not too far off. He was with her. She was scared and she had to remind herself of all these things. But because she loved him, she would fight for him.

“Lord, I am ready for battle, and I will not rest till I rest in you.”

Beatus Autumnum

Fall is here! At least it is at the Casey House. After some years in Minnesota and Virgina, Autumn has easily become my favorite season. Unable to enjoy the rich array of colors in nature (because I live in Central California) I do what I can to bring the spirit in doors.

For us it begins with this painting, Halloween Ride, by a Virginia local artist, Pat Palermino. We purchased it at the Farmers Market in Alexandria Virginia, a favorite Saturday tradition while we lived there.

Because of a problem with ants, we began eating outside. This allowed me to really dress up the dining table without the clutter of a high chair, booster seat, and endless crumbs and spills. Start with a fall colored table cloth from TJ Maxx, ceramic lidded pumpkin soup bowls from Kellers (like Williams-Sonoma but local),

follow with a $5 set of six brass-like candlesticks from Goodwill,

dark brown tapers from Hobby Lobby and some other goodies collected over time.

and you’ve got something magical.

For the mantle, sprinkle some fall magic with a faux crow, little home-grown, pumpkins, more soup bowls, and a plate we purchased a few years back at Pier 1:

Now for the crown. This project was inspired by Pottery Barns “Happy Halloween” banner. I took some orange burlap-esque (ha, that phrase looks like burlesque) fabric, cut them into equal size rectangles, and sewed a black border around each rectangle. Since they are a loose weave fabric they would have eventually unraveled into nothing without that step. Next my husband spent a lengthy amount of time determining the correct conjugation for the phrase “Happy Autumn” in Latin. We considered different phrases, “Happy Halloween,” “We eat children here” but decided Happy Autumn captured the spirit of the decorations, would have great longetivity than something purely related to Halloween, is not creepy like eating children, and sounded the best in Latin. The Latin is a nod to our Catholic heritage and because, darn it, things sound neat in Latin. So here it is:

Some more lovely pumpkins made it into the house…

And lastly I made my wreath!

Beatus Autumnum!

Comfort, give comfort to my people.

What is the function of mass? Depending on what generation of Catholic you are (if you are Catholic) the answer to this question will vary.

Some say the function of the mass is evangelization or to build community. The importance is to reach out to others, to make the mass accessible to others. This will shape the direction of the physical components of mass, the smells and bells if you will. There will be an emphasis on cultural fitness of particular properties of the mass.

Some express that mass is primarily the vehicle through which we receive our Lord in Holy Eucharist. Mass is how Jesus comes to us. Confessions will be offered more readily so that there are no obstacles to receiving our Lord in Holy Communion.

In The Spirit of the Liturgy, by Cardinal Ratizinger, we read the mass is what we give to God. It is our duty. As such one attends closely to the rubrics developed through tradition regarding how those smells and bells should be used and ordered.

The mass is also the un-bloody representation of Christ’s crucifixion. Here the mass becomes solace to the suffering. What of the weary Christians in Iraq, fleeing for their lives from the ISIS? They reach the church, crowded, ill, hungry, thirsty. Perhaps they walk farther in looking for a little space to lay down and sleep, longing for a sense of safety. They hear the priest saying mass. Wandering over, they sit, they pray, they offer their hearts, their longing, their anger, their gratitude that they are alive, their desperate prayers for those left behind. The smell of incense lifts their hearts, reminds them that some things are the same now as they were when they had homes. My God, why have you forsaken me? Father forgive them, they know not what they do. Into your hands, o Lord, I commend my spirit.

The mass is all these things and more. This wedding feast of the Lamb cannot be separated and divided up in the function and benefits we receive. I believe it is primarily what we give to God. But what if I believe that because of where I stand culturally? It is the last thought, that mass as a place of comfort for Mary and John on Calvary, that makes me consider that God uses the mass to bring us to him from wherever on the path we may be, personally, communally and culturally.

Yet what we believe we need is not always what we truly need. Of late, I have pursued a conversation on what I believe to be an over-emphasis on the welcoming aspect in liturgical music. In an effort to make mass welcoming, and make the music accessible for those who do not read music, over time sacred music in many local parishes has been dumbed down. The popular mass setting used in this diocese is remarkably similar to the theme of My Little Pony. There seems to be a pathological fear of changing the mass setting because then people won’t know how to sing the ordinaries (as if no one could memorize the words without the music or as if the churches were in chaos before 2011 when our bishop requested the parishes use one of these three settings to help limit confusion with the new translation for parishioners).

What if, here in the American Roman Catholic Church, we do not need the emphasis to be welcoming? What the emphasis on welcoming is really a guise for comfort. Is the concern more that people should feel comfortable?

A growing generation of Catholics seem to long more for truth and the other-worldliness of the mass. Mass takes us from the mundane into Heaven. Here we see the truth. Here is clarity, not the mess of marketing and technology outside the church. We long for architecture that forces us to whisper, because it just seems too sacred (and too ambient) not to. American culture and progress seems, to me, obsessed with comfort. We avoid suffering at all costs. I think perhaps the over-emphasis on making people feel welcome, comfortable, at the expense of art, music, and architecture, at the expense of what we give to God, is a product of the American emphasis on comfort.

In Gothic times the churches were built to make the individual feel small, to direct his eyes to Heaven. I believe the newer generation of Catholics are looking for this. We need this. Here in America, we don’t need more comfort or more gratification. We need to be reminded we are sinners, that we are the pinnacle of creation and image God himself, but that we are terribly ungrateful sinners in need of his mercy. We need to be opened to the greater Church, the suffering Church, the longing Church. We are not home yet. It might help us to be reminded of that.

If we focus on the mass as pointing us to heaven rather than making us feel at home here in our church buildings, people will actually feel more at home. For all our choices and comforts, we are less secure, more depressed more anxious. The call of technology places us in a constant state of the “now,” of trends, of progress. Yet we are all the more unable to focus on the details, we are distracted. It’s difficult to meditate with the hum of technology all around us. We need a place we can step away from it all.

We must be careful to avoid the errors of thinking that comes from our cultural or personal weaknesses. The same can be applied to an overemphasis on outreach, on rubrics, on so many things, but I chose to address this issue of comfort because it seems ubiquitous here in America.

One final thought: as Americans, there is also a particular benefit to owing something to Someone, because we’ve been told for so long that all that matters is what we want and the virtue of rugged individualism, but that is a post for another day.