Love without Possessing.

I am chewing on a new idea – loving something without possessing it. Possession of objects is obvious, at least to my preschoolers in their chants of “THAT’S MINE!” As adults, we work to buy our house, furnish with our stuff, and put our car in the driveway. And if we are not careful, our possessions soon own us. We work hard to acquire and maintain only to realize that we are too tired to enjoy our life.

Possession of people is far more subtle – “who gives this bride?” “my children . . . my husband; my church . . . my students . . ..” We acquire these people and then we expect them to look, act, and think like we do. I am confident most of us do not do this consciously or even intentionally. But let’s face it, we have dreams for the people in our lives and when they deviate from what we have deemed the path to accomplishing these dreams we grow frustrated. We buy our little boys “Daddy’s little quarterback” t-shirts in hopes they will be athletic. We dress our daughters in pink dresses and bows hoping they will become the feminine ideal. Or in my case, I remember buying my prenatal daughter a toy tractor and a soccer ball in hopes that she will grow to love nature and not afraid of getting sweaty and dirty. Despite my efforts, she is a foo-foo princess. We want them to live out our dreams and avoid our mistakes . . . because if they are ours, then their lives become a reflection of who we are and what we have become.

But to possess people, to claim they are “mine” diminishes their capacity to live out their lives as they have been uniquely created to be. To claim ownership is to devalue their individuality – they are ours, a part of us, rather than a being who uniquely reflects The Creator in a means only they can.

As a parent, I am not suggesting we do not discipline our children or provide structure and boundaries. That which does not reflect the character of God should be pruned and tossed away. What I am suggesting is that we help our children foster what is truly unique about them. That we help bring into light what sets them apart from others in order that they may better reflect The Creator who made them in His image.

My hunch is this also applies to the Church. We are not a cookie factory stamping out perfectly shaped, identical cookies. We, as the Body of Christ, are all unique. This is not to say we do not need structure and boundaries. As a Catholic, I find liturgy to be this frame. No matter where I go to Mass, be it Noblesville, Indiana or Munich, Germany, there is a universality – the Mass is the same, the liturgical seasons are the same, the beliefs are the same. But our individual call, our vocation is unique to each set person, in set time, in set place. Imagine if we as a collective Body were to listen quietly to that call and follow . . ..

In Response to Culture (and Ruth Hubbard)

In Ruth Hubbard’s blog (http://ruthhubbard.wordpress.com/2011/03/13/what-do-you-do-with-culture), she raised the question “how do we respond to culture?” Ruth highlighted five common responses to culture that I quote below:
 CONDEMN–When we do battle against culture as if it is an evil to be vanquished.

 CRITIQUE–When we judge the value of culture as good or bad.

 COPY–When we mimic culture as if it’s better than what we could come up with ourselves.

 CONSUME–When we simply ingest culture without filters.

 CULTIVATE–When we take what is good in culture and keep it good.

 CREATE–When we create culture.

Being a lover of culture, philosophy, sociology, etc., I began pondering this question once again. I have come to the conclusion that to respond to culture carries the risk of engaging in a power struggle to prove one’s worldview/perspective/creation is better than another.  I am not suggesting that all cultural responses are equal or even beneficial. While living in Vietnam, I learned that it is cultural to not formerly name a child until they registered for school. In lieu of a name, the parent would refer to the child as “elephant dung” or some other equally offensive phrase. I also learned it was considered rude for me to call a child beautiful or openly admire a child. My American “let’s promote good self-esteem” self had difficulty comprehending such ideas, that is until I learned that this was a religious/superstitious response to an alarmingly high infant mortality rate. This parenting response was actually seen as protecting their children from jealous gods who would kill their children. The intention was pure, but perhaps it is fair to conclude it is not necessary and possibly even psychologically damaging.

 I believe their is yet another alternative -- being a reflecting pool of The Creator.  I am convinced we are co-creators of culture by becoming the authentic self we were created to be. Thomas Merton wrote:

         “The forms and individual characters of living
                    and growing things,
         of inanimate beings, of animals and flowers and all nature,
         constitute their holiness in the sight of God.   . . .

         The leaf has its own texture and its own pattern of veins
                 and its own holy shape,
         and the bass and trout hiding in the deep pools of the river
         are canonized by their beauty and their strength.      . . .

         The great, gashed, half-naked mountain is another
                of God’s saints.
         There is no other like him.
         He alone is his own character;
         nothing else in the world ever did or ever will imitate God
               in quite the same way.

          That is his sanctity.

           But what about you? What about me?”

May we find the courage to silence the voices that tempt us to be something other than who we were created to be. May we strip away the façades and smoke screens that tarnish our ability to accurately reflect The Creator. Maybe then the world will see God and the Kingdom Christ set out to create.

Why Pray?

I started praying again. This sentence suggests a period of time where prayer was absent from my life, and that would be accurate. I used to pray for very specific things, as if God were a genie – I rub the lamp, state my wish, and “poof” it would magically appear. If God failed to meet my request, my insecurities silently cried and questioned my worth. Eventually, God’s silence brought forth anger within me -- “God is absent. God is dead. I do not need God.”


My journey back to prayer has been a slow process. I first had to all the layer of anger to melt away. Healing and peace have been a wonderful blessing. But under this layer were core questions regarding the role of God, humans, and prayer. Are we pawns in God’s cosmic game of chess and therefore prayer has no impact on outcome? Is God a genie-god waiting for us to state our wish, plea out case, and then respond? While there are theological schools of thought that would affirm each god-image, I cannot believe both fall short in capturing both the human condition and God.

This weekend, I started praying for a little girl diagnosed with stage-four cancer. I know her family and cannot fathom the immense pain they are experiencing. Of course, I want a miracle to happen for this child – for her cancer to be the type that responds to treatment, for the tumor to be able to be removed surgically, and for her to recover, heal, and grow to a ripe old age. I pray for this family.

Part of me prays for the miracle, begs for physical healing, and I do believe God hears these pleas. I do not know if they alter the outcome. Mostly though, I remember this family in prayer. As I lift up their names, my heart breaks and tears stream down my face. I hurt for them and with them. I hope for them and with them as they navigate through this storm of not-knowing. When I remember them, I am suffering with them. As God is present in the middle of these prayers, I believe his heart is also broken.

Prayer is intimacy with God and with the Body of Christ. It is being fully present with our thoughts and emotions as we walk through whatever terrain is before us. We may not always choose the landscape. At times we may walk through a desert, jungle, frozen tundra, or tropical paradise – sometimes all in the matter of one day. Prayer is the reminder that we do not walk the path alone.

Prayer is entering the terrain with God. It is also entering with our brothers and sisters, neighbors, and strangers. When we pray for one another, when we empathize and walk the journey together, we are also expressing our oneness. We are one body. We are one in Christ.

On love and sacrifice.

Lent is upon us. Forty days set aside to examine our hearts, clean out the junk, and renew our commitment to God and the mission of Christ. For many, lent becomes a time of fasting and sacrifice – restraining oneself from the vices of life that silently grip us. I am in said category by eliminating certain foods and beverages, some out of traditional sacrifices (e.g. not consuming meat or alcohol), and some to combat an addiction to sugary sweets.


Fasting opens our eyes to the role food plays in our lives. Being a middle class American, I have come to expect large portions of food at the ready. Without much conscious thought I have assumed that food and remaining hunger free is my right. I casually proceed through my day, filling my stomach with protein-filled meats not noticing my neighbor who is hungry and protein-starved. I grow blind to the millions who die daily from starvation and disease-ridden water. Fasting reminds me that food is a privilege, and gluttony hardens my heart.

Fasting also opens my eyes to my growing dependence on food (especially that afternoon sugar fix) to comfort my weary soul. Rather than giving honor to my spiritual and emotional fatigue, I smother it with a cookie. Rather than turning my eyes to the Bread of Life, to cry out in my time of need, to pray and seek peace and comfort from the Creator, I use food as a temporary fix. Food validates my independence and ability to care for myself, even if only for a few hours. I shun the part of me that needs true comfort and grace and pacify it with a lousy piece of chocolate.

In addition to fasting, many add a spiritual practice to their routine. This year I have chosen to pray the hours. In other words, in addition to my regular time of morning prayer and spiritual reading, I am setting aside time during the day, evening, and at night to still my heart, examine my soul, and listen for the quiet whispers of God. I have begun with Thomas Merton’s Book of Hours.

Merton has suggested that perfect love has no needs attached. I have ruminating this thought for a couple of days. Initially I thought, “yes, that is how I love my children.” Being preschool/toddler age, they are still in a phase where they need much and can give little in return. For a brief moment I believed that in this area of my life I loved perfectly. And then I examined further. While yes, there are parts of me that give and sacrifice expecting nothing in return, I do not love my children without hoping to fulfill some need. For me, the need was absolution of guilt. Guilt from a number of sources – society telling me I should be a stay-at-home mom; guilt from my inability to always respond with empathy, compassion, and emotional presence; guilt because sometimes I am less patient because I bring outside stress and worry into the home; guilt because I want to be in control and have an unhealthy obsession with perfection. I love and sacrifice for my children in an irrational attempt to make amends for my failures. Perhaps as a mother, to love perfectly is to love with grace and patience for both myself and my children.

Pure love does not manipulate others. It does not use a neighbor to meet one’s own selfish desires. It is not motivated by self-righteousness. It is not a vain attempt to make one feel better. Pure love sacrifices one’s self for the betterment of another. Pure love relinquishes control – it allows the love to be rejected. And though rejected and misunderstood, pure love mourns and waits for the lost to come home.