Catholic Herald

Due to our extended family living out of town, we decided to have my son Peter’s baptism over Labor Day weekend.  He was due August 15, so it seemed like no problem. Until days went by after the due date, and then a whole week. I started to worry that he would miss his own big day! Finally, we induced at Due Date +9, and he was baptized just over a week after being born.  This worked out very well for me, as everyone took pity and handled all of the party details.

Two and a half months later I had much more to be grateful for than being excused from  cooking and cleaning for my guests. As Peter lay in a pediatric ICU crib, I was profoundly thankful that he had already been baptized. Not to say we could not have performed the simple ritual ourselves, or had one of the priests who visited us do the honors — we had plenty of warning that things were serious in the days before his death. What we were happy for was that if his life was to be very short, he had lived almost all of it as a child of God, full of sanctifying grace.

Baptism matters. It today’s culture it is tempting to view it only as a simple rite of passage, like sending birth announcements or having 3 month photos taken. Baptism, like all sacraments, would blow our minds if we could see past the visible symbols to the spiritual realities.  The fact is that baptism makes us God’s children.

Consider this analogy. We are in the process of adopting our youngest daughter. This experience has made me think a lot about our relationship to God, since we are all his adopted sons and daughters through baptism. Take for example my little girl, born in some maternity care unit to some woman whom I have never met. Do I have any claim to her at that point? No. Am I responsible to pay her medical bills, or to wake up at 3 a.m. to feed her or to raid the clearance rack at Carter’s for an adorable pink sleeper for her? No. At that point she is not my child. In justice, I owe her none of those things.

Once my daughter was placed in my care, however, what would have previously been gratuitous generosity instantly became a duty. I now owe this stranger’s baby those late night feedings, burping and diaper changes. I owe her this because she is no longer a stranger’s baby. She is now my daughter.
This is the heart of baptism. Due to the unfortunate entry of sin into the world, we are now born strangers to God. He does not owe us anything. Of course he showers us with all kinds of blessings anyway, like an earth that supports our needs and the very fact that we still exist. He even provides actual graces to the unbaptized that can lead to conversion. Once we are baptized, God the philanthropist does the unimaginable — he binds himself to us as our Father. He takes us into his very family and cares for us tenderly as his own children. The graces are now permanent parts of our souls (provided we don’t drive them out through mortal sin), and extra helpings are promised through the sacraments.
On hearing of our new baby, many have commented that she is so lucky to have us as parents. This is a very well-intentioned sentiment, designed to complement our parenting. But a quick and sincere rebuttal always rises swiftly in my heart: No, we are the lucky ones! There is not a day that goes by when I do not return my baby’s adorable smiles when I do not feel like I won the lottery.  Granted, given the ratio of waiting couples to babies placed in domestic adoption, we really did win a sort of lottery.
I think this is insight into the heart of God the Father. He has sacrificed everything for us, down to the life of his only Son. He has patiently offered us everything, even when we coldly reject him. And yet, he does not hold those things over our heads. He just loves being our Dad. As we are raised out of the waters of baptism, he smiles on us as we do over our own kids — he delights in our every coo and smile. If he didn’t have a perfect timeless memory, he’d take a ton of pictures. He is crazy in love with us. We are his kids.

The current hospital trend in care of new moms and babies is for newborns to “room in” with their mamas. The idea is mother and child get used to one another from the get-go. All that said, there are still times when the nurses mysteriously enter the room and announce that they need to do something to the baby. The infants are whisked away and most moms don’t think much of it. After all, it’s a great opportunity for a soak in the over-sized bathtubs or perhaps steal a quick snooze.

I think they should be concerned. Not because I think the nurses are delivering some kind of nefarious secret vaccine or spitefully offering pacifiers to all the breastfed babies. I think parents should be aware of these secret times in the hospital nursery because this is when the babies themselves conspire and exchange secrets.

I imagine the new kid getting rolled in for his first bath. When the nurse walks away, the kid in the next bassinet, getting the pre-discharge workup, passes along the collective wisdom of all the newborns who have graced the inside of that nursery before. This is the advice I am convinced each newborn hears and the code they all swear to uphold.

Keep your parents on their toes. Literally.

These little people promise one another that they will spend a good portion of each day forcing their parents to remain on their feet bouncing or pacing with the precious bundle in arms. Even if the parent can provide the same motion while sitting, no substitute to actual standing will be accepted.

The “extra ounce” trick.

Bottle fed babies get their giggles by agreeing to continue their hunger cues just long enough after finishing their first bottle for parents to make a second. Of course, once offered seconds, babies drift instantly off to sleep after only a few sips. This trick is especially fun for kids whose parents are very bacteria-conscious and refuse to keep prepared formula for any period of time once it has come in contact with baby lips.

The dinner bell.

Nothing establishes a child’s new place in the family like the “dinner bell effect.” To practice this technique, babies instantly wake themselves from even the deepest sleep the minute the big people sit down to their own supper.

Keep ‘em guessing.

This is a fun game that babies love to play in their first few months. The baby thinks of a bizarre action or sound, and then begins to cry inconsolably. The parent has to guess what the key is to stopping the crying. Some baby favorites are running the vacuum or hairdryer, going for long rides in the car or hearing a specific 70’s disco song on loop. When the babies get together at daycare or play dates, they have a hoot recounting who could make mom and dad do the weirdest thing the longest.

The sound of silence.

Newborns realize that there is a very small window of time during which they will be praised and celebrated for burping or passing gass. In order to make the most out of this positive reinforcement, babies all agree, when in any public setting, to refrain from making loud body-function noises until the quietest possible moment. They get extra points for the most solemn moments during church services.

Diapers: It’s all in the timing.

The babies also pass along to one another great pleasure of pooping in a clean diaper.  They obtain bonus points for pooping in a diaper that has just been changed—especially during a midnight feeding. Of course, for boys, the big diaper trick is to prove to their new parents that friends were not kidding about the need to cover exposed parts during diaper changes.

Breathing as an art.

In order to help new parents stay alert even while baby is sleeping, newborns vow to switch up their breathing patterns. They will follow times of loud, labored-sounding breathing with sleep so still that they appear completely motionless. This produces the effect of parents bolting awake—in the first instance to see if baby is choking and in the second to see if the child is still alive.

As babies plump up and trade their startle reflex for more exciting tricks like rolling over and smiling, these tricks become old hat and they begin to fade from memory. But back in hospital nurseries around the country, the tradition of the Newborn Code is passed on to each new little bundle of joy. The phenomenon is cause enough to consider a home birth.

Recently, I was staying in another part of the country where there is a large population of traditional Jews.  It was interesting for me, while at the mall or playground, to see women with their heads covered, or with three quarter sleeves, skirts to their knees and flat shoes.  There were often young men in yamakas with long curls framing their faces. It seems, just by my ignorant observation, that there are various degrees of strictness in the dress codes. No matter the length of the skirts or the hair style, however, it is clear at first sight that such a man or woman is Jewish, and I deeply respect their discipline in keeping their ancestors’ customs.

In reading the Old Testament, it is easy to become wrapped up in books like Leviticus, where the laws seem to get kind of ridiculous. Later on, in the prophetic books, we moderns can find ourselves scratching our head as to why brave young men would go to their deaths rather than munch a mouthful of bacon. The Law of Moses was worth dying for not because pork harbored bacteria or because washing one’s hands before eating was good hygiene. Jews took the Law seriously because their laws made them different from all the other pagan nations. They were chosen by God to be set apart from the others, and their dress, customs and rituals were outward signs of this fact.

So, what about us? Why don’t we eat kosher and wear yamakas? Some chalk it up to the Old Testament vs. New Testament God thing. You know, the God of the Old Testament was a rules guy who liked to smite people for no reason. The New Testament God is a kind of hippie Jesus who tells us just to stay cool and not kill anybody. This, of course, is not the reason. God didn’t just wake up one day and decide it was time to ditch the rules he’d been enforcing for several thousand years. He is a God of reason and order. Why, then, do Christians not keep Jewish customs?

The earliest Christians dealt with that question in the Book of Acts. Both Jews and Gentiles were coming into the church, and the question arose: Do the Gentiles need to keep all the Jewish customs? This would have been a daunting task. Aside from the obvious question of circumcising adult men, the Law had become so complicated that it would have been like learning a whole new language and culture. It is revealed to Peter, of course, that the Gentiles only needed to refrain from the most offensive dietary practices and stay chaste in order to become Christian.

The reason the Christians didn’t need to become Jewish first, was that in Jesus, Judaism was now fulfilled. Israel was chosen to stand out in order to be an example to the whole world, the firstborn son of mankind.

I used to be very uncomfortable with the idea that God chose the Israelites. Come on, isn’t that a little unfair? Doesn’t God love all the people he created? Yes! Though salvation came through the Jews, it has now been opened up for all of us in Jesus. The scattering of the nations that took place at the Tower of Babel is undone at Pentecost. Christianity brings all nations together.

All that being said, what is the role of outward customs for us as Christians? Should people be able to tell we are Catholics by seeing us at the mall or the park? To answer this, I want to quote the letter to Diogetus, written about 125 AD. It states: For the Christians are distinguished from other men neither by country, nor language, nor the customs which they observe. For they neither inhabit cities of their own, nor employ a peculiar form of speech, nor lead a life which is marked out by any singularity… But, inhabiting Greek as well as barbarian cities, according as the lot of each of them has determined, and following the customs of the natives in respect to clothing, food and the rest of their ordinary conduct, they display to us their wonderful and confessedly striking method of life.

In other words, the Christian faithful (priests and religious aside — perhaps a topic for another column) are not called to any particular customs, dress or language that immediately identify us as such. Since God wants all people in the fold, Christianity, indeed Catholicism, is designed to exist beautifully and harmoniously with every single human culture.

Let’s not skip that very last line I quoted above, though. The whole point of the Christian “fitting in” with the culture is for him to stand out. There should be something different about us. But it should be found not on our dinner plates or our heads. It should be seen in how we live.

What do you do when you walk into a restaurant? Even a child as young as three could list the steps. Walk in. Get seated with menus. Server takes drink orders. Server takes entrée orders. Appetizers come, followed by salads and entrees. The server offers dessert. Then comes the check. It is so common a formula that even in other countries it doesn’t fluctuate much.

We don’t think much about it, but it’s a system that works. When we walk into a restaurant for the first time, we are free to take in the atmosphere and enjoy the food because we are not concerned with trying to guess what kind of food they have in the back or how we might go about eating some of it.

God created the universe in an order, and as the high point of that creation, we thrive on order. This is why we have things like traffic laws. There is a certain level of order that is necessary for things to actually get done. Yet in our society, there is kind of a general sense that certain conventions of etiquette are passé, or even harmful. While certain things can be filed under “trivial,” others are in place for good reasons.

A good example for differentiating the two is wedding planning. I got married in New Jersey, where people don sparkly, grown-up prom dresses to the reception, host lavish multi-course meals and generally go all out. As I was marrying a Midwesterner, certain items that seemed absolutely necessary to my family seemed ridiculous to my beloved and his family. We had to look at the different items of etiquette and ask, “Is this central to people feeling welcome and comfortable, or is it an artificial expectation designed to feed a ‘keeping up with the Joneses’ mentality?”

The line was not always clear, but we navigated it fairly well. For example, we decided that table assignments were necessary because the majority of folks were from New Jersey, where it is the custom, and without them, they would be wandering around wondering what to do. We also saw it as a small mercy to certain folks who didn’t know many people. We sat them with folks we knew would be friendly and welcoming.

We decided that despite my mother’s protests, no one would be adversely affected by the lack of tissue paper in the invitations, and the fact that we gave a reply postcard instead of a card and an envelope.

We need to take a critical look at the conventions we are getting rid of, to be sure that we aren’t losing the baby with the bathwater. For example, I would be in favor of bringing back some sort of blanket social rule for what kids call adults. Some of my peers have been uncomfortable with being called “Mr. or Mrs. So and So,” and have told kids that a first name is just fine. Others ask their children to use adults’ titles and last names. Others use a conglomerate of title and first name. The result is a weird mixture of things that kids end up calling adults.

When I was growing up, we called adults by their titles and last names. I still refer to my parents’ friends that way. Maybe it was formal, but at least people knew what to do. Behind this issue is not merely awkward party conversation but a methodology of what we want our children to learn about authority, relationships and respect.

If I may be so bold, I would suggest a more serious loss of social convention now exists in marriage. Back in the old days there used to be general social norms that people followed in forming families. They would date, meet one another’s families, get married and then start a family.

With the current social acceptance of premarital sex and cohabitation, the new norm seems to be to date, begin sleeping together, move in together and then decide to get married. Generally, people still try to wait until after marriage for children but not always.

Since this is in the culture, many people today are simply following societal norms when they proceed in this order. I know many wonderful people who have, so I don’t want this to come off as a condemnatory rant. It is not intended that way.

However, the new order of things calls into question the meaning of marriage. Whereas, for millennia it was a public expression of a couple’s commitment and the beginning of their new life together, the fact that many couples today are already living together seems to suggest that marriage is simply a celebration of the couple’s love. The shift is now from marriage as an institution of stability for society and children to being about only the bride and groom. Of course, it should be about their love. But not entirely.

Finally, we need to think critically before throwing out norms that have been in place for millennia in the church. There is a reason why the Catholic Church moves so slowly. She knows that small changes make a difference in the faith of her members. That is why it is so important for parishes and priests to follow the norms for liturgy, for instance.

Although it was not the intent of Vatican II, certain changes made after the council designed to make people more comfortable with God, have led to a decreased devotion to the Eucharist and even an abandonment of faith in the real presence of Jesus in that sacrament. We need to use our bodies to express the sacredness of the liturgy.

Not all change in social convention is bad. I, for one, am grateful that I don’t have to figure out which fork to use when dining with friends (normally there is just one, and often it’s plastic), or which color shoes and gloves to wear based on the calendar. However, it is worth looking critically at what is behind a certain convention before tossing it out. What is at stake could very well be the simultaneous abandonment of the virtue that act was meant to encourage.

What do you do with your palm branches? You know, the souvenirs you get from making it through the longest Gospel reading of the year? They used to do a palm-braiding workshop at our church, and people ended up with the most beautiful creations. When I was little, I took advantage of the extra time in the pew to mold a less-than-spectacular cross. Now we generally take them home and put them beneath the corner of our various religious wall hangings.

The palm branches are, of course, a symbol of Jesus’ triumphant entry into Jerusalem. His disciples, according to Luke, “began to rejoice and praise God with a loud voice for all the mighty works they had seen” (19:37). The striking irony at every Palm Sunday Mass is that the centerpiece of it is the narrative of the Passion of Our Lord, the fact that the crowd who shouted “Hosanna” on a Sunday shouted, “Crucify him!” on Friday. Those palms, no matter how brilliantly braided, remind us that we are hypocrites.

Hypocrisy is a glaring issue for Christians: we aspire to be perfect as our Heavenly Father is perfect, but fall short every time. This problem causes many to scoff at us, and others to just give up with faith completely, assuming it is better to not try to live up to the Christian ideal than to “be a hypocrite.”

But let’s go back to Mt. Olivet for a minute. There is Jesus, riding on a donkey, his disciples waving palms and praising him. The Pharisees are outraged and tell Jesus to silence his disciples praising him as God. Jesus tells them that if his disciples stop their praises, the very rocks will cry out. In other words, Jesus, knowing the betrayal that was around the corner from these palm-wavers, forbade them to stop their praises. It is not our attempts at holiness that are the problem. It is the lack of follow through when the going gets tough.

So, Jesus seems to prefer hypocrisy to total disengagement. Then what is to be done? We follow this Holy Week to its end. What is Jesus’ answer to hypocrisy? The Cross. The whole Old Testament, and even the Gospels, are a story of good intentions that fall totally short. We can’t do it on our own! Jesus knows this and that is why he willingly died on the cross: to release the Holy Spirit, that through grace, can actually make us into who we are called to be.

Obviously, we are not to revel in the fact that we are sinners. The palms themselves beckon our response; they are burned the following year and placed on our heads as ashes reminding us of our need for repentance. A penitent heart is the only heart that can be open to the life-changing spirit Jesus came to win for us. So, if you haven’t been to the sacrament of reconciliation yet this Lent, run! The Lord has a lot prepared for each of us this Holy Week. Let us wave our palms, rend our hearts and prepare to receive the grace.

Are we there yet: words that strike fear into the hearts of parents everywhere, particularly when uttered on the very early end of a long car ride by a squirrely child.  Lucky for my husband and I, they are normally quoted from the movie, The Incredibles as a joke, which earns the faux-angry reply from Brad, “We’ll get there when we get there!”

Actually, we really are lucky.  My husband’s family lives 9 hours away (of pure drive time), and our son does very well in the car.  Better, sometimes than his mom.  What holds him on the way down is the thought that if he can just hang in there long enough, our car will eventually pull into the gravel driveway and Grandma and her kitties will be waiting.  I have been shocked as we pull into a rest stop somewhere in the vast expanse of Wisconsin, to see him jump excitedly into his car seat, ready to go-see-Grandma!

How’s Lent going for you?  Around this time perhaps you are questioning if you fast was too harsh or your prayer routine too regimented.  Lent can sometimes feel like a nine hour car ride, especially when paired with a seemingly endless winter.  Are we there yet?

I think the key to persevering in Lent is remembering what follows.  In the past, I have fallen to the trap of believing in Lent we should feel sad all the time, suck it up and suffer. Sometime on Holy Saturday, we flip the Happy Switch, perk up and eat our jelly beans.  That’s not it at all.  Yes, we are called to sacrifice during Lent, to pray more and help the poor. But why?

Lent, the desert time, is meant to bring us somewhere much better than Grandma’s house; to Easter.  It is through the suffering of our fast and prayer and alms that we arrive closer to Jesus at the end of the journey.  Ascetical practices are a means to an end, not an end in themselves.  This is what makes some skeptical about the spirituality of suffering: what good does it do the world that I skip my Snickers at lunch? None.  What good does it do for me to skip a Snickers and offer that up with the sufferings of Christ? More than we know.

Just as it is necessary for the tires on my van to make contact with every inch of road between here and Grandma’s house, it is necessary for us to deny ourselves and engage our wills in the things of God in order to be closer to him.  There simply is no other way. In risk of overextending the metaphor, Jesus did say something about the road leading to life being narrow and rough.  Those who do not embrace the meaning of Lent, making an effort to draw nearer to Christ, simply will not arrive at their destination on Easter Sunday.  This is why the Church can be full to the rafters on that day, but no extra special spiritual fruit is seen in the additional attendance.

One final thought. Lent is a model for our lives.  In the Hail Holy Queen prayer, we call our lives on earth a “valley of tears.” While you hopefully don’t bawl your eyes out daily, I would guess that you don’t have to look further than your parish bulletin, your inbox or the evening news to know that this world is one of great suffering.  God uses these real desert experiences of our lives to bring us closer to him as well.  And, like Lent, there is no shortcut around them.  Every illicit detour we take to try and avoid suffering finds us lost or stuck in the ditch. The only way around suffering is through it.

So, take heart on these long Lenten days.  The sun will shine again, the snow will eventually melt, and we will finally “get there.” Let us embrace the time we have left, waiting in joy for Christ’s resurrection day, both at Easter and at the end of time.

My husband and I have been very busy lately, so we have only caught a little bit of the Olympics. This is a shame, because it is one of the few sporting events for which I am excited. I love the athletes’ stories and the fact that they come from so many different places and cultures to all compete in the same sport. And, of course, who doesn’t love watching the American flag raised as one of our athletes mouths the words to the Star Spangled Banner?

I cannot even fathom the amount of determination that it takes these athletes to achieve their goal of Olympic gold. Most started in their sport when they were little quickly became serious. Whether it is figure skating, skiing or snow boarding, the love for sport has been a central theme of the lives of each one.

Their lives have revolved around training. They have endured great physical pain so to move past injuries. They have endured criticism from commentators. Through it all, it was the idea of Olympic gold that kept them going. To see them achieve the goal is so beautiful!

I especially enjoyed watching Lindsey Vonn win the gold in downhill skiing. She came into the Olympics with a shin injury and some weather delays bought her enough healing time to pull off becoming the best woman downhill skier in the world. She wept when she learned the news, and I don’t blame her. Vonn talked about all the hard work and sacrifice that had brought her to this point in her career and how she had now accomplished what she had always dreamed of doing. Her whole life had lead up to that moment, and she was rightly treasuring it.

As excited as I am for Vonn and all the athletes that will go home with a medal, watching her and others achieve a lifelong dream at a young age makes me think, “Now what?”
Of course there will be celebrations and endorsements and maybe even training for the next big championship. But then what? One can only be a professional athlete for so long. And what about the athletes who won’t go home with a medal? The ones who, no matter how hard they train, will never stand on the podium because of their genetic code, or environment or whatever else? What happens to them?

Some of the coolest conversion stories I have heard are not the ones of people who hit bottom and turned to God, but the ones who had received everything and realized it was not enough. They point to the fact that nothing we accomplish in time and space will ever be able to completely fulfill us because we are built for eternity.

I’m not down on athletes. On the contrary, the pursuit of athletic excellence has been used since biblical times to highlight the need to pursue holiness. St. Paul said, “Every athlete exercises discipline in every way. They do it to win a perishable crown, but we an imperishable one. Thus I do not run aimlessly; I do not fight as if I were shadowboxing. No, I drive my body and train it, for fear that, after having preached to others, I myself should be disqualified” (1 Cor 9:25-27).

No one just climbs off the couch, licks the Cheeto powder off their fingers and jumps in line to compete at the Olympics. Their lives are ordered around achieving the “perishable crown” of Olympic gold. This is how we are called to live our faith. Not aimlessly, but purposefully training our bodies and wills through fasting, nourishing our souls with prayer and the sacraments, and by refining our virtue through selfless works of charity.
It is hard work, to be sure. It requires us to center our lives on the goal and make a lot of sacrifices for it. The good news is, that if we persevere, we will be victorious. Jesus did the heavy lifting for us, and our participation is just that — participation. Each person, in their great talent or their deep infirmity has what it takes to win the prize.

I will never be an Olympic athlete. I will never stand on a podium, or star in commercials or make millions selling sneakers. I’m okay with that. Instead, some day I hope to be greeted by the throngs of the Blessed and the words, “well done, good and faithful servant!” (Matt 25:21).

My spring training starts again this Lent. How about you?

I took a big microwave to the thrift store today.  It had been sitting on the counter in my “weird room” (we call it that because it was an illogical addition to the house; too big to be a mudroom, too small and disjointed to be part of the kitchen) for close to two years.  Taking up half of the counter, I had filled up the other half with other assorted random stuff, making the whole space essentially useless.

Since the countertop on one side of the room looked messy, it didn’t bother me much that the one on the other was also unorganized.  Since the countertops were a mess, the room started to take on the feel of a junk room, where it was not uncommon, during particularly busy days, to leave grocery bags, still filled with canned goods, at the foot of the cabinet in which they belonged.  Clutter attracts clutter.

The crowning jewel of the weird room has been an assortment of things which we either could find no place for, or did not make time to put in their rightful places, i.e. recyclables, paint cans, shoes, outerwear, a folding chair, last year’s Christmas lights and the list goes on. It’s not a big room and since it is the main artery between the garage and house, the overstuffed state was leading me toward a serious attack of frustration.

So today I made the decision that the ten bucks I might profit from the microwave on Craig’s list was not worth the process of selling the item and its countertop friends. I called the thrift shop, found out they would take the monster, and drove it over there.  The action itself, two years in the making, only took about a half hour.

I am not proud to admit that there are many microwaves in my life.  Little by little, I am beginning to try and weed out these preventable annoyances.  After eliminating one, I always think to myself, “Why the heck didn’t I do that sooner?”

Are you ready for the spiritual analogy? What gets in the way of our spiritual progress more than anything, causing us to stumble and trip, or in some cases completely blocks our path to God? Sin, of course.

Our souls sometimes look a lot like my weird room.  Once we’ve permitted a big microwave of a sin to get comfy, other offenses don’t seem so bad.  The longer we leave things that way, the easier it gets to let ‘em pile up. Soon the place is a mess and we get to be at peace with it.  No one’s house is perfect, right?

The kicker is that for us, it really couldn’t be easier to clean up our souls.  Before Jesus came, the Israelites offered animal sacrifices, and made long, dangerous pilgrimages in order to atone for sin.  Even in the early church, there was limited access to the sacrament of reconciliation.  But us? We only have to drive to the nearest church and simply confess our sins with a contrite heart, then do our small penance.  Why don’t we do it more often?

Sure, having God clean our spiritual houses does not guarantee that they will not get messy again.  In fact, let’s be honest — we know they will. But, if I knew that I only had to go down the street for ten minutes, or even a half hour, and my house would be clean again, I would go every week!  And the fact of the matter is, that the cleaner we keep things, the more we notice dirt.  By cleaning up often, we slowly become cleaner people.  So it is with God.  The more we go to confession, the more grace we get to notice our sin and to stop sinning as much.

If you are like me, you are now knee-deep in “resolution season”, in which America essentially tries for a few weeks to get organized and eat healthy.    Let’s not leave our souls out of the fun.

Resolution season is over.  The plastic storage bins have been filled, we’ve lost our 5-10 holiday pounds (or have given up on doing so) and we are ready to move on to the next cultural season: midyear TV show premiers, including the popular American Idol.

For those unfamiliar, a quick summary:  it is a talent competition for singers.  The first phase follows the judges in their auditions of hundreds of hopefuls.  Of those, a set number go to Hollywood to compete and numbers dwindle as viewers vote for a favorite. The show ends with one lucky performer crowned an American Idol at the end of the season.

Some think that these untalented hopefuls are putting on an outrageous act just to get on TV.  One radio talk show host disagrees.  He shared that in his days as a program director at a Christian music station, he encountered many such sincere people convinced they were the next Michael W. Smith, but really weren’t good enough to even put on the air.

I concur, and that is why I can’t watch it. But many others can’t get enough, which causes me to ask why.

My best guess: as humans, we inherently long for virtue.  If it is true that the terrible Idol contestants really think they are great, then they lack the virtue of humility.  There is something satisfying about watching the proud fall.

It is important to point out that humility is not self-deprecation, but the ability to view things as they are.  It would not be humble for Josh Groban to pretend he can’t sing.  Humility is inherently attractive in people. It is endearing to see someone who is very accomplished accept compliments graciously.

An example: Captain Chelsey “Sully” Sullenberger who landed US Air flight 1549 in the Hudson River just over a year ago.  His reply to all the kudos he received for his life-saving skills?  Simply that he, a former fighter pilot, had been trained for such a thing and that he had a tremendous crew.

Pride, the opposite of humility and the inordinate love of self, is inherently repulsive to us.  How many legitimately talented sports or entertainment figures irritate us because they seem to believe the world revolves around them?   Even if someone is the most successful at their trade, no one likes to hear people blather on about how good they are.

Humility is walking in truth.  It means realizing that first and foremost we owe everything to God.   We are dependent on him for literally everything.  It is he who keeps the sun shining and our little blue marble spinning around it at exactly the right angle to keep it hospitable for humans.  It is he who provides for our food and shelter.  More importantly, though, we would be spiritually dead if not for his grace.  We cannot do a good deed or entertain a good thought if God had not first inspired it.

While it is right for someone like Josh Groban or Captain Sullenberger to accept compliments about their successful careers, it is also right for them to keep a low profile about it.  After all, they did not choose to be born with their talents, as talent is a gift from God.  They didn’t choose to be born into families that could provide opportunities to develop their talents; that was a gift from God.   Even the hours of hard work they invested in their craft were motivated by virtue, and enabled by God.  They should be glad at their accomplishments, but keep them in perspective.

In a culture that extols self esteem as its own virtue, humility is refreshing to see in people.  It is also very freeing to the one who possesses it.  If I acknowledge God as the giver of all good things, and people as better or worse cooperators with what they’ve been given, then I do not have to feel bad about myself for things I cannot control.  I don’t need to be the best singer, or airline pilot or entrepreneur.  I just have to be me.

It is only when we are humble that the seeds of God’s grace can grow in our hearts.

Maybe it is best to refrain from treating anyone outside the bathroom to your vocal stylings.  That’s okay.  Seek to impress not some tactless English music producer, but the God who made you and loved you enough to hang on a cross to save your life.  It doesn’t make for good TV, but it could get you canonized.

There is not much written on the first few pages of my oldest son’s baby book. This is because of the old adage, “if you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.” Not that I didn’t have anything nice to say about him. He was gorgeous, and we loved him dearly. It was the whole first-weeks-of-motherhood thing that was a challenge. Labor and delivery were rough. Nursing did not get off to a good start, so we spiraled into a regimen of feeding, supplementing and pumping that left no time for the baths and naps I was ordered to take. Hormones and sleep deprivation teamed up to create a reality for me which was a hazy shadow of the world others were living in.

Worst of all, though, was the mystery cry. This was when Isaac would cry, sometimes very insistently, and we would have no idea what to do about it. Was he hungry? No, not eating. Wet? Nope. Want to be held? Well, he prefers that to being put down, but it’s not helping. Gas? Maybe, but how do you fix it? Ugh. A frustrating fact for both parent and baby is that you can only really be certain of what was wrong the instant after the need is met.

As we continue in the Christmas season, it does us well to reflect on Jesus the Baby. Although I am pretty sure all the things I listed above are results of the Fall and so perhaps not applicable to the Holy Family (for instance, the Church holds that Mary was a virgin during childbirth, which means Jesus was delivered miraculously and therefore without pain and hours of pushing). However, Jesus was a Divine person who took on a completely human nature. He was a real crying, pooping, nursing baby.

Think about it for a moment. The God who existed from all eternity, the One who created the universe from nothing with just a word, took on human flesh in the womb of one of his own creatures. Is there a creature more vulnerable on this planet than a fetus? Than a newborn? Abortion was not as medically sophisticated in Jesus’ day as it is now, but it was attempted. And in Roman society, at a father’s whim, a newborn could be left out in the wilderness to die of exposure or taken by animals.

God chose to come to us in a completely helpless state. Just like my infant son, he could not communicate even his most basic needs at first. He was totally dependent on Mary and Joseph to care for him and protect him. Wow. And do we dare go a step further? He still comes to us this way. Jesus could have made a sacrament out of anything he wanted, but he chose bread and wine. Once the priest speaks those words of consecration, we believe that the bread and wine are substantially changed into Jesus’ Body, Blood, Soul and Divinity.

Although it still looks and tastes like bread, it’s really the Baby of Bethlehem. And just like the baby, it is vulnerable. We can choose to receive the Eucharist reverently, or we can choose to nail it to a wall and post pictures on the internet. He leaves that up to us.

Why would the Ruler of the Cosmos allow himself to be in such a state, where at best he is sometimes allowed to go stale, and at worst is subjected to humiliating desecration? Because that is the kind of God we have. He is crazy about us and knows that we are so wounded by sin that we have trouble with authority. He knows that if he appeared before us as he really was that it would literally scare us to death. But who could be afraid of a baby? Of a piece of bread? Under these two forms, God is saying to us, “do not be afraid to approach me.” He is also in the same position as he is on the cross, shouting with his actions, “There is nothing in this for me. This is 100% for you. Do you believe now that I love you?”

Finally, Jesus becomes vulnerable for us because he respects our dignity. If he appeared in all his glory, we would be shocked into worship. He wants us to choose him. Our capacity to choose love is the key to having been made in his image, and that capacity is crippled if we are not free to also deny him. And how much joy does it give him when we, like Mary and Joseph, tenderly hold him close, sit before him in awe and worship, receive him into our hearts and homes and protect him from danger. Respectively, these are things we do when we pray, receive the Eucharist in the right state of soul, go to Adoration, make him Lord of our families, defend his honor against those who would blaspheme him and fight for the rights of all other vulnerable human lives.

So the next time you have the honor of holding a brand new baby, it could do you well to remember that this was the form in which your God first came to you. In fact, it is in that form that he comes to you every week at Mass. This baby, however, makes no secret about what he wants from you: some measure of love for love.