This is What I Learned (Day 2 of 20)

In class we've been talking about teaching adults in a parish-- how to do it, what to look for, pitfalls to avoid, etc etc. And we were talking about how it is so easy for us Catholics-- me included-- to get wrapped up in the culture and the language and the philosophy of the time, and to forget subtleties of the faith and its language and the Truth about reality. For example, there are so many social programs which talk about people and "people coming together" and "we're here to help people" and so on. Religious textbooks talk about African people and Asian people and us Americans in our Bill of Rights talk about "We the People." And that's interesting, because as Catholics we're always talking about "persons." In fact, this word, "persons" is disappearing from common parlance.

And for many, this really doesn't matter. Who cares? Well, with this disappearance of a word goes the disappearance of something more foundational. What, you ask?

At the very heart of the Catholic faith is the word, "Person." Three to be exact. The Persons of the Trinity. It's not The People of the Trinity, but Persons. "Person," bespeaks an identity, a reality all its own. Uniqueness, specialty, distinction, dignity.

Ok, so why does that matter?

Because you are a person. That word is the same word which is used when speaking about the Trinity. That's not an accident. Nor is it mere analogy. And this is where the subtlety comes in.

People say: God really isn't a person... He's... the unknowable God. We're the persons and we're just trying to understand who God is.

Actually, turn that puzzle piece over.

God is a Person-- three Persons And we are made in His image. Thus, we are persons after Him. To say that we are "persons" is to directly and distinctly acknowledge our origin: namely, in God Himself. And that He is first. HE is the first Persons. We are analogous to Him.

Shattered worldview, anyone?


And so I asked Sr. Johanna, my prof, "Ok, so we're Catholics and we're praying and we're going to Mass and receiving the Sacraments... yet it's so easy for us to get swept away. To forget Truth and everything. How do we avoid falling away?

"Think."

That's what she said. Catholic's must think. And here's what she meant by that. Right now, we're very used to being entertained. Our nation is very passive in that sense. We want things to come to us-- and easily. And it has to be quick, immediate. But these things do not give us practice in the art-- yes, ART-- of thinking. To think, we must sit down, take a moment, and actually do some hard work, mulling over outcomes and possibilities and results and congruency. "Does it work?" and "Is it true?" and "What does it mean?" are all question which take time and effort to answer.

But when was the last time we listened to a song or watched a movie and really, really thought about its message and whether or not-- and why or why not-- it corresponded to Truth? Even more is avoided the question: "How does it apply to my life?"

And that's a problem. At the present moment the United States is facing a huge gluttony problem. Not of food. But of "Experience." All we do is experience. We go places, we do things, we see people, we watch TV, we work-- it's all experience. And that's well and good. But if we don't think about where we are going, what we're doing, the people we're seeing, the TV we're watching, and the work we're slaving over-- if we don't stop and reflect on whether or not they connect, or whether or not they are good, or whether or not they correspond to Truth-- if we don't think, then we will never grow in Wisdom. Things won't make sense. Life will just be a bunch of puzzle pieces scattered on the floor-- isolated, unfulfilled, and brown.

Puzzle pieces bottom-side up.


What I learned today: When we watch a movie or listen to a song.... when we read about the faith or encounter a troubling issue in the world.... whatever it is, we should be talking with others about it. Especially with God. And you get a good two-for-one deal here as well: not only will you grow in wisdom, but your isolation and loneliness will start to disappear!

This Is What I Learned: Day 1 of 20

Quick background: I'm at Franciscan University and this is my journal from years' past. I've written in it during various out-of-town adventures. Some pretty cool memories here (Pope John Paul II's funeral, B16's election, playing Fronton in Mexico City, to name a few). This is my last semester at Steubenville and I thought it'd be a good time to write a few entries during my stay here-- if not for your edification, then at least for my sanity.

Over the next 20 days, I am living at the Visitation House for priests-- and the house is empty for the next week. I haven't been by myself in quite a while, so I have been taken back to my years in Fort Wayne, Indiana, where I lived in an apartment by myself. Biggest adjustment: plotting out what I'm going to eat for the week, going to the store and getting it, and then cooking it at home. Sounds silly, but I haven't had to do that in a long time. Even at the rectories in the past, things were always available around the house. Here, everything is empty. It's like I'm back on my own again....

The house was built in 1906 and I don't think it's been updated since. It's endearing in a way: the oak door frames, the heavy feel as you pull them open, the large front porch which leads to other homes' large front porches with rocking chairs and tables and, on most summer nights, people enjoying the quiet streets from porch or street. It's a different pace and the senses come alive:

Kids are laughing outside. Birds are chirping. Even the smell of the house-- they bring back memories of my first home in Steubenville on Oregon Ave: my room with the beige carpeting like the back of a Bichon Frise, the afternoon sun warming the white plaster walls, an occasional refreshing breeze blowing through sheer, yellow curtains and making the red Gerber daisies on my bookshelves dance. The bed has sheets only, the architectural desk faces the corner, the day's books are on the floor, and I walk around in white socks. I remember it idyllically and care not to remember the long, sometimes agonizing and lonely nights of study: both of the Faith and of my Self: I was awakening. Catechesi Tradendae entered into my world and with it, The Story. Pieces were coming together like tumblers in a lock and I started to see-- really, really see-- for the first time. Hence the name of this blog.

There are many other memories from that Fall Semester which easily stem from the memories derived from this homey smell. There are so many! Five-fifteen Mass at St. Peter's and the confessional doors that hiss as you disappear into a paradoxically safe yet deathy coffin-like space. The canniloni I had made, only to have its red, saucy, and tubular goodness fall to the carpeted-- yes, carpeted-- kitchen floor. The Japenese beetles which plagued my bedroom's windows, and Mary Oborny who would leave scripture verses on note cards atop my work-- neither of which, beetles or Mary, are related, but which nevertheless in memory go together. The wonderful, sleepy hills meandering the Steel Valley near West Virginia-- I could go for a drive there and get lost among them for hours. Yes, memory can be a good thing.

As the calm breeze lightly teases these sheer curtains, like veils once more in my room, I am thankful for this simple little gift of memory. What a shame if we couldn't remember, because of a defect of the mind or never having seen anything beautiful and good. And worse: if we had never taken the time to do so.

What I learned today: every once in a while take 15 minutes to remember with gratitude something good. (I think when I return to the seminary, I'm going to get a pot of Gerber daisies for my windowsill....)