It’s a polite warning for rail travelers to mind your footing as you step onto or off the train, taking notice of the distance between the arriving train car and the platform.  You see the sign and the notices everywhere.  And the automated public address system reminds you day and night of the same, all with proper British civility.

Your safety depends on minding the gap.  Keeping aright amidst ongoing change demands deliberate attention and action.

Lately, in my own little corner of New England, I’ve been finding all sorts of new applications for the phrase mind the gap.

Creative financing with my checkbook… mind the gap.

Flossing my teeth at night…  mind the gap(s).

Missing my out-of-state sisters – I must give a call… mind the gap.

My teenaged driver is learning how to parallel park, not to mention pulling my car into the garage: mind the gap, (or its second cousin, with the prefix, please God!)

And now this one:  allow me suggest that mind the gap can be a fruitful caution for married and engaged couples.

If your marriage is like mine – it often resembles a fast-moving train through life – its course passing through many stations in life.  Each station brings platforms of varying height.  Failing to mind the gap may be perilous.

A marriage must constantly adjust to new terrain and circumstances.

Recently, I expressed to my husband that I was feeling a gap between us. He knew what I meant. He was feeling it too. We had failed to mind the gap.

We had been separated by necessity (business travel is a common occurrence in our home), and we had peaceful homecomings, but other pressures were mounting. Stressors in our family life and routines were pushing us away from one another.

Weeks of not minding the gap allowed it to grow and take its toll on us.

By mentioning it aloud, in a gentle way, I was taking the first deliberate step toward proper footing.

The next step was a date night of sorts: we knew we needed to unload some frustrations about the state of our relationship, and we needed to get out of the house to do it.  Coffee and sharing a piece of pie at a local diner would suffice.

The good thing about talking about one’s problems in a public setting is that it allows proper civility to reign.  Courtesy toward one another and others is demanded, even when you have a difficult topic to broach.  (Bear in mind, I do believe in privacy for spouses. Often discreet time alone is needed to address delicate concerns out of the earshot of others.  This was not one of those times.  We needed time away from the stressors at home.)

Thankfully, the providence of God knew just what we needed too: our restaurant hostess guided us to a private corner booth.

We placed our order, smiled cordially, and chitchatted about the kids and some routine household matters.

When the pie came, it was the moment of truth.

What of the gap?  What was happening to us lately?  How did we let this stress consume us for so long?

We took turns, respectfully, unloading our burdens. There were many good reasons for the gap that has swallowed us.  Life is just hard sometimes, and for the last few months, it has just been getting harder.

The humble pie consumed, the waitress refilled our coffees.

What was needed was the work of apologies and forgiveness.  We had hurt each other, no doubt.  In not minding the gap, the shifting circumstances of our life tripped us up.

Very simply, we were not being MINDFUL of one another.

We had taken each other for granted. It was a painful misstep.  Sometimes when you’ve been pulling into the same station for years, you forget to actually enjoy the local scenery and observe your surroundings.

Mindfulness is taking a deliberate, attentive step onto something solid.  It is taking notice of situations and positioning oneself to take the next logical step.

Mindfulness is more than just knowing the other’s preferences… it is actually taking that knowledge and acting on it, deliberately.  It is placing another’s needs and desires ahead of our own.

Mindfulness is doing the good thing, the right thing, yes, even the holy thing, on purpose.

Mindfulness in Christian marriage means we are always seeking to be ONE, instead of two.

When we are mindful of one another in our daily lives, we dwell in security and peace and protection.  When we fail to be mindful, we trip and fall.

Jesus stood in the gap for us between heaven and hell, between real life and something less, a counterfeit.  He came because the Father was ever mindful of the gap.

God saw that the disturbing distance between his people and himself needed deliberate attention.  And not just temporary stopgap, but a permanent bridge that brought full restoration and communion between both sides.

And so he sent Jesus.  And thanks to Jesus, we have the way, the truth and the life – the permanent fix for gap-minding and gap-mending in our own lives.

So, hubby and I renewed our love for one another, after confessing our shortcomings.  We talked about how certain choices and responses to circumstances crowded “us” out.  There was more, but you get the point.

To quote my husband, it was like we were in a rat race and the rats were winning.  We needed to recalibrate, redirect, and recharge our unified effort in fighting off the proverbial rats in our midst.

After all, rats are those creepy gap-dwelling critters found under railway tracks and platforms.

Oh yeah, that’s another good reason to mind the gap.

©2009 Patricia W. Gohn

It’s true. Though born in 1960, I started counting birthdays a little differently after my breast cancer diagnosis in 1996.  Back then at 36 I had a wonderful husband and three young children, ages 9, 6, and 3. You can imagine the heartache we experienced as we considered all the possible outcomes of my situation.  There were many months of waiting and wondering what would lie ahead.

Thousands of prayers were lifted on our family’s behalf, both back then, and for the many check-up and tests I have had since then. And for that, I am most grateful. For it seems, for the last dozen years, the Lord’s mercy has granted the prayer of this mother’s heart: to finish the privileged task of raising my children through their teenaged years into adulthood.

So here I am. Still.

This week I passed my 13th anniversary of my last of three surgeries for breast cancer. And the beginning of, what in recent years I have more boldly called, “the Cure.”

As I reflect on being here today, I’m finding that, even though I am squarely middle-aged chronologically, now “at 13”, I feel that I am “rediscovering” what I loved best about Patty when she was that young woman-child of 13. Some of her best and most audacious qualities are reemerging and being rekindled in me.

Back in 1973, Patty was outgoing and a little bit sassy and rebellious, but not so much that she was a troubled teen. She was very much in love with life as she also grappled with a new life with Jesus.  There was a new vitality emerging in her faith… just a year or so after the Sacrament of Confirmation. It slowly took root in her heart and grew, as all great loves do.

She was also an explorer and yearned to travel. She loved walking outdoors, especially, backpacking.  She had a deep creative streak and was busy writing music and poetry. (Oh, you know, the kind that a young teen girl writes!)

She discovered books… and was developing a love of philosophy, (and theology, though she did not know what that was at the time.)

She wanted to do meaningful work.  (Her first job was a paper-route. It taught her all about what she’d rather not “do” when she grew up.)

Until recently, I had forgotten much about Patty, my younger self. Naturally, one grows and changes through the years.

I was busy getting an education, and really, living a very wonderful life, (even if it does sound like a cliché.)

I married my college sweet heart. I worked in radio both as an on-air announcer and as a copywriter for advertising and programming.  I directed a youth program at my church.

A few years later the vocation of motherhood was upon me, and I made that major transition to being in the home. I settled down and matured a lot during those stay-at-home years.

It was a much quieter lifestyle than my career, though it brought a new kind of busyness. I certainly didn’t write much anymore, except in journals when I could find the time.

Motherhood taught me a lot about living one’s life as a gift for someone else… What it means to give unselfishly, and to give without any thought of getting. And being very honest, those were hard lessons for me to learn, as I constantly tripped over my own self-centeredness. Patty the wanderlust had to learn how to be content in her own backyard.

Those years of intense and bustling family life taught me something that I never understood before:  that in a heartbeat, I would gladly trade my life for my husband’s or for one of my children.

Even so, when my breast cancer diagnosis came, I realized I had much more to learn.

I was profoundly convicted about what’s most important: my faith in God, and my family.

For the first time in my life, standing toe to toe with my own mortality, I tangibly understood what it means to live in a deep “state of grace.”

Living “the cure” has been something of a remarkable “come back”, both physically and spiritually, from this disease.

When I was first diagnosed, I knew very few women in their 30s who suffered with breast cancer. And worse, the few I knew had died by age 40.

Despite my faith, and the fact that I was eventually diagnosed with an early stage breast cancer, I was spooked for quite some time.

Until I met Judi, a normally shy woman, who bravely walked up to me after Mass one day and introduced herself to me by telling me that she was a breast cancer survivor. Not only that, she was thriving.

Needless to say, we became friends.  What’s more, Judi was a writer.  And when she learned about my own writing past, and how I wondered if I would ever “get back to it”, she made a point of consistently encouraging me in that area.   Judi was a book person, too; she loved Sacred Scripture and theology. We always had a lot to talk about.

I credit Judi with showing me what it means to carve out a meaningful life in spite of cancer. She lived with the kind of passion and faith that makes one live as if breast cancer is, merely, a bump in the road.

I watched and learned from her example.

Judi loved life innocently, and lustily, and as a Child of God should.

I had forgotten that.

The “abundant life” that Christ promises is available to us here and now, despite what our present circumstances look like.  Jesus said: “The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.” (John 10:10.)

As the post-cancer years mount for me, I understand more and more what Judi, and Jesus, meant.

In the past 13 years, I have had many other heartaches, and major health problems (unrelated to cancer), too.

But these days, I find a growing resiliency in me.  Indeed, some of my more recent struggles have shown me that there’s still quite a bit of young Patty left in me after all.

In fact, Patty is alive and well – that same girl who fell in love with Jesus as she was falling in love with life so many tender years ago.

Today, she is writing, she is reading, and she is walking. She is exploring again.

She recently earned her theology degree.  She is doing meaningful work. And, rather surprisingly, she is even behind a microphone again.

In short, by the grace of God, she is doing it all, still in the company of her loving husband, and alongside her children who are, blessedly, now young adults.

So these days, please understand me when I say, that, when I go to Jesus in prayer, I feel, well… giddy as a teenager.

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. For as we share abundantly in Christ’s sufferings, so through Christ we share abundantly in comfort too. (2 Cor. 1:3-5.)

©2009 Patricia W. Gohn

Recently, I came across an online discussion of the value of a family altar in a Catholic home. I was immediately drawn to it as I have long strived to integrate the idea of the family as the domestic church into our home life.

The Catechism of the Catholic Church (paragraph 1666) states:

The Christian home is the place where children receive the first proclamation of the faith. For this reason the family home is rightly called “the domestic church,” a community of grace and prayer, a school of human virtues and of Christian charity.

When my children were little, we tried to live the domestic church through simple daily family prayers. On Sunday nights, we had special family devotions that Daddy was to home to join and lead. Usually it was a bible reading with questions and answers, or similar activity. As the children matured, our teaching and our prayer time took on different forms (the rosary, the divine mercy chaplet, topical conversation, reading spiritual books, making retreats, etc.)

For me, over the years, the idea of the domestic church idea has grown beyond being about the family prayer circle, the house and its furnishing began reflecting it too. We’ve strived to make the house homier by adding décor that reflects our faith.

After 27 years of marriage and family life…. religious objects have blossomed to occupy more than one space or one room.

It began one day many years ago when I was praying, and I felt the Lord was nudging me to be a little bolder in my faith…. I was new in town and was a bit shy about meeting new people, or being “overtly” Catholic in front of my neighbors.  Many of them were not Catholic, so I was respectful of these differences and started by just letting actions speak louder than words.

The change really came when I dared to put a statue of the Blessed Mother in our living room… right where our guests could see it upon entering the room. It was a beautiful sculpture of the Madonna caressing the Infant Jesus. I was amazed at what a simple conversation-starter it became.

After we moved into our current home, we asked the local parish priest if he would come and bless it. He was happy to meet new parishioners and made an appointment to come one evening after dinner. He went about blessing each room (even bedrooms!) with prayer and holy water. Then he stayed and joined the family around our table for coffee and dessert.  (Not only was it a great way to begin assimilating into the parish, after the house was blessed, I felt that every room of our home could be a sanctuary, and a place of blessing, not just one place or space.)

Next, in light of devotion to the rosary, my husband and children gave me an outdoor statue of Our Lady of Grace as a Christmas present. Later that spring, we put in the center of our backyard flower garden. We made a small slate footpath that led to Mary, and planted appropriate flowers there. Mary’s presence graced years of playtimes, barbeques, and backyard celebrations.

Every morning I spy Mary as I look out my bathroom window while I prepare for the day. And on moonlit nights, her white paint seems to “glow” and I can see her image reflected in the yard as I prepare for bed.

In 1998 I made a pilgrimage to Fatima, Portugal. Being a very Catholic country, I found it was not unusual to see not only to find a family altar, but a “chapel” in a Portuguese home. These chapels often had a family altar, adorned with appropriate candles, statues, and maybe a kneeler and a few chairs.  In small towns in Portugal, there are undertakers but not many funeral homes, so, besides prayer, this room was used for family wakes too.

I came home from Fatima with a 30-inch statue of Our Lady of Fatima (also known as Our Lady of the Rosary.) Since then, she stands tall on a 4-foot speaker that serves as a podium for her in the corner of the living room (and the Madonna has since moved to my bureau). The living room is where we have prayed the family rosary over the years, often lighting a votive candle there for special intentions. Often, as I pass Mary during my daily duties, her presence catches my eye to kneel or stand before “her” momentarily asking for help and intercession.

On the opposite wall in the same room, there is our family crucifix – a replica of the cross of San Damiano, from which St Francis received the commission to rebuild the Church.

So, these days, if you sit on the living room sofas, you are seated “with” Jesus and Mary looking toward you. They are part of the conversation!

I grew up with a crucifix in each bedroom, so that is something I always did. In our master bedroom, there is a prayer chair in my room next to that crucifix and I’ve spent many hours there talking to the Lord or reading the Word, often while nursing a baby or comforting an child who was ill at night. Over the years, it has been my little retreat space, to do as Jesus recommended: “when you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret.” A while back, I placed a small table altar under the crucifix, adding a ceramic jar that holds written prayer intentions placed in it.

The mantle piece over the fireplace in the family room changes with the liturgical seasons… and is a great spotlight space to redecorate in different ways.

There is also our “hall of fame” — the hall leading out to the front foyer contains icons of Jesus, and my children’s patron saints, plus a few more. After collecting these treasures over the years, it occurred to me to group them together – as I do with family photos – since the saints are part of our family of faith! (Not to mention they remind us of what we aspire to as we head out the front door!)

At dinner times, we light a candle to remind us of Christ, our Light, who joins us at our table. Since we live a great distance from our extended family, the candle also brings to mind all our loved ones who are bound to us in Christ. We remember them by name in our mealtime prayers.  (In recent years, I have found this little prayer especially helpful when I am missing my “big kids” who are away at college most of the year.)

Finally, we are birdwatchers and have multiple feeders outdoors in our front yard. And, so, the trend continues. One of our favorite patrons now sits in the front perennial garden.

So, the next time you come up the path to visit the Gohn’s you’ll first be greeted by St. Francis, in statue form, as you make your way to our front door.

Welcome, dear guest, we greet you in the name of Christ!

©2009 Patricia W. Gohn

(Note: If you are squeamish about medical procedures, skip over the next paragraph.)

Most recently, I’ve had a new tooth implanted into my jawbone by a skilled periodontist.  But that was pretty small compared to the work my orthopedist did: implanting a new titanium hip replacing the one that was ruining my gait for years. And back in ‘96, an amazing medical team removed tissue and muscle from one side of my body and re-implanted it on the other side to aid my recovery from breast cancer.

Each implant renewed my life in some way, reclaiming it from disease and deformity.

In each case success was not measured by the skills of the surgeons, important as that may be. Success was first measured by how well what was implanted worked in “natural” harmony with my body, and how strongly the implant bonded with my bones. But the ultimate success came later, measured by what I could do following the implant.  Could I do new things that I previously could not? Was I changed for the better?

This has application to the spiritual life. Especially when things in our life are broken.

If we let God in and give him access to our most difficult and hurting parts of life, he will supply what we need most.

If we let God touch and treat what is hurting in us, he will act as a gentle, loving, and compassionate surgeon – taking us through the hard thing with hope – by correcting what is diseased or deformed in us.

In time, the scars will fade and we will find ourselves able to do new things.

But first, we have to humbly submit to the work God wants to do in us. He wants to bring us to wholeness (and holiness) because He loves us.

Sometimes Christians call this idea “being open to the action of the Holy Spirit.”

Maybe the surgical implant analogy is too strong for all cases.

How about the work of the farmer, or the tiller of the soil?  They cut and break open the soil in order to have it receive the seed.

Recall Jesus and the Parable of the Sower (Luke 8: 5-15 NAB):  The good soil gives the greatest yield, for it was most open and best prepared to receive the seed – the word of God. The rich soil allows the seed to take root, and grow into a study plant.

In fact, Jesus compares the good soil to the persons “who, when they have heard the word, embrace it with a generous and good heart, and bear fruit through perseverance (v.15).” This implies that being open to the word is not always easy, but worthy of the effort.

Sometimes the Holy Spirit gives us a word from the Lord that we to need to take in yet have trouble heeding. Sometimes a hard-yet-loving word requires some kind of permanent change in us. But it is for our own good – for our flourishing. Intuitively, we know this deep down, and can almost feel the relief it brings.

Conversion, renewal, and even, healing, begins when we humbly accept that word of God… by opening ourselves up, as the earth accepts the seed, or more radically, like giving our consent for the surgeon’s scalpel.

After taking it in, we must let God’s holy word (his will for us) take root, or perhaps, let it fuse with our bones. This way, God’s word becomes one with us, so we can live and move with it “naturally”.

What is God planting in you these days? Is there an opening for his word to get inside of you?

Openness, and then surrender to the word – to what God is planting in us – is the key to Christian life.  Nothing will ever grow, and certainly, nothing will ever get healed in us, unless we first surrender.

God can plant his word in us, but it bears fruit when we cooperate and act with it. Our actions must become one with that word. James 1: 21b-22 NAB emphatically reminds us:

“Humbly welcome the word that has been planted in you and is able to save your souls. Be doers of the word and not hearers only.”

God’s got his own miracle to implant in you: Receive the word. Then do it.

©2009 Patricia W. Gohn

Recently I’ve been reflecting on my 40s, and realized that they had a great many similarities to “the 40s” I’ve encountered in my bible reading and recent spiritual journeying. In other words, they’ve been a real preparation and testing for what God has in store for me next. These days, my personal life is curiously reflecting the liturgical calendar.

But back to the Bible for a moment…

Noah experienced 40 days and nights of rain before the clouds parted. The Hebrew people had 40 years of wandering in the desert before entering the Promised Land. Even Jesus spent 40 days in the desert before his public ministry, not to mention encountering temptation by the devil out there. Am I seeing any patterns here?

Recently, we as a Church have come through 40 days of Lent, in preparation for the celebration of Easter, a liturgical cycle we Catholics repeat annually.

Now, without sharing the annoying details, it is sufficient to say that my life has had its own share of depressing amounts of “rainfall.” At times, there have been extended “desert trials”, and certainly, aimless wandering about.  The devil has even tripped me up a time or two. But, still we press on, right? We hope in God’s promises and his mercies being new every morning. (Cf. Lamentations 3: 21-24.)

This year, my Lent, while fruitful, had me pining for Easter more zealously than in previous years.

Thankfully, at Easter, I had a real experience of Easter joy bursting forth, and breaking out. Like a new era dawning, the Easter renewal I experienced was more than a day… but a new reality… a new beginning timed to this new stage of life that I’m entering… almost reaching 50 and beyond.

Again, something “liturgical” kept my rapt attention:  the Church keeps celebrating the joy of the resurrection long after the Easter candy is gone.  In fact, Eastertide, in the liturgical calendar is a 50-day season – longer than the 40 days of Lent – just to prove a point.

The Catechism tells us “beginning with the Easter Triduum as its source of light, the new age of the Resurrection fills the whole liturgical year with its brilliance.” (CCC 1168.)

This Easter light and joy is ever unfolding and expansive, as we find in the Scripture readings associated with this part of the liturgical cycle. We note the Holy Spirit works overtime to expand and transform the Church from a small band of disciples to a tour de force within the Roman Empire.

This joy is meant to expand our own lives as well, transforming us by the power of the Holy Spirit being unleashed in new ways.

The Catechism continues, “Easter is not simply one feast among others, but the ‘Feast of feasts,’ the ‘Solemnity of solemnities,’ just as the Eucharist is the ‘Sacrament of sacraments’….  The mystery of the Resurrection, in which Christ crushed death, permeates with its powerful energy our old time, until all is subjected to him.” [Bold emphasis mine.] (CCC 1169.)

Got that?  The power of the Resurrection permeates and energizes our “old” time.

Through Jesus’ glorious redemption of us, the old is passing, the new is coming. What’s “old” about us, paradoxically, is being changed.

There is a quantum leap being made in my life these days.

From a time of planting to a time of harvesting… from a time of preparation to a time of fulfillment… from a time of waiting and wondering, to a time of gratefully experiencing the ride as well as the ultimate destination.

My children are older now. (I have two in their 20s, the other 16.) The “Mommy” I once was is morphing into the mature “Mom” I am. Indeed, the shift is on, and with it, entire new avenues are opening up in my life, giving me more time for prayer, for pursuing new passions, and for work and ministry of a different sort from my Mommy years.

I am just beginning to savor the joy of life as it expands into my 50s. Okay, call it maturity, or hormones, or settling into my own skin.  But I call it joy. If fifty is the “downside of the hill” in our youth-entrenched culture, I ought to be picking up speed!

Here’s one more encouraging thought.

I often find the number “50” mentioned in the scripture referencing “jubilee.”  The Jubilee came after 50 years.  It was a time of deep joy and blessing, of freedom and forgiveness.

Our liturgical calendar places the coming of the Holy Spirit to the Church at Pentecost at 50 days past Easter.

Our society celebrates 50th anniversaries of marriages and birthdays. Even businesses make note of such a milestone.

I’m still pondering all these things. I’m not making any grand predictions about what’s coming next in my life. But I am looking to embrace this next phase of life, and mothering, as the phase that interprets everything in terms of the radiant light of Easter, and looks eagerly for what the Holy Spirit is up to. Everything, every day, has more meaning when seen in that light.

You may think, what’s the big deal?  Isn’t this the normal course of life for a Christian?

Well, let’s just say, yes, I knew this before, but now I know it.  The one thing maturity teaches you is that there is a heck of a difference between knowing something intellectually, and knowing something by experience.

Lord Jesus, let me live these 50 days, and all my 50s, with Easter joy: jubilant, radiant, and with deep gratitude for all that’s in store!  Amen! Alleluia!

©2009 Patricia W. Gohn

When my children were old enough to understand what an emergency was, I taught them how to call for the police, fire department, or ambulance, by memorizing “9-1-1.” It’s simple. It’s direct. It brings help.

This is Lent. So, I’ll make this simple and direct. Memorize this:

There is no offense, however serious, that the Church cannot forgive.

Got that?  There. Is. NO. Offense. That. The. Church. Cannot. Forgive. That’s from the Catechism of the Catholic Church (CCC), paragraph 982. Ultimately this means there are no excuses for us to avoid receiving the graces God has in store for us through the Sacrament of Reconciliation.

The only problem is, we actually have to ‘fess up, and that’s the tricky part for many of us.

(Now, if you’ve already been to confession recently, or you are planning to go soon—wonderful!  What follows is for the reader who may feel hesitant about going.)

For many of us, for many reasons, entering the confessional is a hard spiritual practice. Instead we practice active avoidance. The Church “knows” this about us. That’s why the Precepts of the Church urge Catholics to go to the Sacrament of Reconciliation “at least once a year.” (The 5 Precepts of the Church are simple directions that help us grow in our love of God and neighbor. See CCC 2042-2043.)

So, the minimum requirement for Catholics is an annual confession.

But we make good excuses for not going.  We rationalize. We talk ourselves out of the need to confess. Often the lies we tell ourselves to deny our conscience, compounds the problem. Especially when it comes to those, you know, big sins. The mortal ones that break one the Ten Commandments.

The painful truth is that if we’ve broken a commandment or two, we’ve broken our relationship with Christ and the Church. But, there is hope in restoring it.

It requires faith that forgiveness is bigger than our sin. That means trusting that we can be forgiven, even if our sin is as bad as fill-in-the-blank.

We need to “call 9-1-1”, spiritually speaking: The Sacrament of Reconciliation.

And now, a little analogy… (Bearing in mind that all analogies are flawed…)

I’m of a certain age and occupation wherein I choose to color my gray hairs. While not everyone relates to this, for those who do, you know this truth: there is no gray, however serious, that a good salon treatment cannot take away. It’s a rather joyful experience in that I always feel a little lighter and a little more radiant when I walk out of the salon.

Let’s apply that analogy to going to confession and receiving the Sacrament of Reconciliation. Think of it as part of a spiritual makeover. In some ways, getting to the Sacrament is like going to a salon. There is a pressing need. We make the call and ask for help. Then we get the treatment we need, and leave refreshed and better for it.

I have to admit… there was a time years ago when I really needed to color my hair and didn’t.  Oh, there were excuses. I did not want to spend the money. (Still don’t!) I had other priorities. I was too busy. None of my friends did it. I’d have to pay for sitter. Etc. Etc. Etc.

The truth is, I tend to be somewhat fretful over change. And I don’t like surrendering control of things. Maybe I could get by with a cheaper at-home treatment until I was really ready, you know? In short, I get stuck in indecision.

I finally gave in to getting the salon treatment when a pressing engagement on my calendar demanded I get “professional” help.  Once I yielded, there was no going back. The difference between do-it-yourself, and hiring a professional is, well, enormous.

The same holds true for the spiritual life. I trust the Church’s teaching on forgiveness more than my own do-it-myself opinions. (Left to my own devices, I’d never forgive some of my sins. Thankfully, the Church’s opinion is different.  Already I’m in a better place when I surrender my own judgment in favor of the Church’s call to reconciliation.)

But when it has been a long time between “treatments”, sometimes I feel a little sheepish about re-establishing the routine.  I have to remember that any growth in life is accomplished by moving from bad to good, and good to better.  That applies to bad hair as well as the soul.

These days, when it comes to my hair, my stylist knows me pretty well. She is always glad to see me whenever I sit in her chair. Her customer service is extraordinary. It took me a couple years to find someone like her, who listens to my concerns and then advises a course of action. She even recommends things I can do to keep my hair looking good between appointments.

Like the rapport I have with my stylist, when it comes to my healing my soul in confession, I see the value in having a regular confessor and receiving the sacrament from a priest who knows me. And yet, there’s a part of me that sometimes prefers confessing to a priest I don’t know.

Whichever I choose, both options bring me to someone who is acting in the name of Christ who forgives me: someone who listens, advises, then, gives me a plan of action.

That’s the part of the formal fundamental structure of the Sacrament of Reconciliation, as CCC 1448 teaches:

It comprises two equally essential elements: on the one hand, the acts of the man who undergoes conversion through the action of the Holy Spirit: namely, contrition, confession, and satisfaction; on the other, God’s action through the intervention of the Church. The Church… [through the bishop or priest] forgives sins in the name of Jesus Christ and determines the manner of satisfaction [or penance], also prays for the sinner and does penance with him. Thus the sinner is healed and re-established in ecclesial communion [or communion with the Church].

Remember, whomever the priest is, he is standing in for Christ in the Sacrament of Reconciliation, and Christ is always glad to see me.  Even if it has been an unmentionably long time since I last came in.

Everything about this sacrament is about re-establishing our relationship with Christ and the Church.

That’s because all of the Church sacraments come from Christ. The Church, in her sacraments, are imitating and continuing the work and mission of Christ on earth. CCC 1127-1128 explains:

Celebrated worthily in faith, the sacraments confer the grace that they signify. They are efficacious [successful or effective] because in them Christ himself is at work: it is… he who acts in his sacraments in order to communicate the grace that each sacrament signifies. The Father always hears the prayer of his Son’s Church…

The sacrament is not wrought by the righteousness of either the celebrant or the recipient, but by the power of God. From the moment that a sacrament is celebrated in accordance with the intention of the Church, the power of Christ and his Spirit acts in and through it, independently of the personal holiness of the minister. Nevertheless, the fruits of the sacraments also depend on the disposition of the one who receives them.

This means that sacraments work because Christ is at work in them, and his power is working in the Church’s administering of them.  It is not up to our personal holiness or the personal holiness of the minister to make them work.  But in order to receive the fruits of the sacraments, we must bring the proper disposition to them.

This brings us back to the first point from CCC 982: There is no offense, however serious, that the Church cannot forgive.  CCC 982 continues:

There is no one, however wicked and guilty, who may not confidently hope for forgiveness, provided his repentance is honest. Christ who died for all men desires that in his Church the gates of forgiveness should always be open to anyone who turns away from sin.

It does not matter what we have done. It matters more that we are honestly willing to do something about it now: confess and make it right. Christ desires that we all come to him through his Church for forgiveness of our sins.  The door is always open to us if we are willing to turn away from our sins.

Even in these dire economic times, we probably get a hair cut or a trim, and perhaps a coloring, at least once a year, right?  Our approach to confession should be no less. In fact many spiritual directors recommend monthly confession. But maybe that’s something we can work up to.

Right now, it might be good practice to book an appointment for confession as often as we schedule getting our hair done.

For A Guide to Making a Thorough Examination of Conscience and a Good Confession visit
http://www.bereconciledtogod.com/pdfs/examinationofconscience.pdf

©2009 Patricia W. Gohn

This news is circling…

This time, Obama administration is moving to rescind a federal regulation that implements longstanding federal statutes protecting conscience rights in the health care profession. The time is now to support conscience clauses for health care workers.

Cardinal George of Chicago (and also head of the US Catholic Conference of Bishops) had a half-hour meeting with President Obama this week. Details of what they talked about have not been released.

But also in the last few weeks, we see this video and news release>> http://www.usccb.org/conscienceprotection/ that the Cardinal released through the US Bishops’ website. The same link will enable you to send your own message in favor of keeping conscience laws in place. I urge you to watch the video and take action.

This second link from the USCCB tells us that there is a 30-day window for our comments: http://www.usccb.org/comm/archives/2009/09-046.shtml

Many people in pro-life work see the reduction of conscience laws as another way of advancing abortion on demand, and forcing conscientious objectors to choose between assisting at abortions or lose their jobs.  To call the White House comment line, phone 202-456-1111.

Let your voice be heard, and pass the word!

Mark Twain once sent a cable to a U. S. newspaper after his obituary had been mistakenly published. His note read, “the reports of my death are greatly exaggerated…”

Recently, news of my death was reported by my high school alumni website, on their “in remembrance” page. A younger alumna visited the site and knew my family. Suspecting a misprint, she contacted my in-laws who lived nearby. My in-laws called me with the sad news. I looked it up. Indeed, there I was, named with deceased classmates in bold relief.

The alumni webmaster graciously apologized and corrected the error immediately. She mentioned that after I had missed my recent high school reunion, some well-meaning classmate emailed her the news of my death.  (It’s weird to imagine the subject of my demise making the rounds of the cocktail party banter!)

Still, it’s a sobering experience — the process of announcing you are not dead, but alive. You think about your own mortality: what your name will look like on some page or gravestone? Hopefully, your name will be spelled right, and your name will have some meaning for someone somewhere.

Just in time for Lent, the news of my “death” serves as a timely reminder of what my life really means.

On Ash Wednesday, we receive ashes upon the forehead, reminding us of our death. There is no escape from it. All temporality is eventually are reduced to dust and ash.

When I was little, there was a fire in my grandmother’s house. No one was hurt, but I remember the think black dust and ash. Much was lost.  When the fire department leaves you ask: What survived the heat and flames?  What can be found as you sift the ash?

St. Paul contemplated this theme in terms of the “Day” of final judgment.

According to the grace of God given to me, like a wise master builder I laid a foundation, and another is building upon it. But each one must be careful how he builds upon it, for no one can lay a foundation other than the one that is there, namely, Jesus Christ. If anyone builds on this foundation with gold, silver, precious stones, wood, hay, or straw, the work of each will come to light, for the Day will disclose it. It will be revealed with fire, and the fire (itself) will test the quality of each one’s work.  If the work stands that someone built upon the foundation, that person will receive a wage.  But if someone’s work is burned up, that one will suffer loss; the person will be saved, but only as through fire. ( See
1 Corinthians 3: 10-15.)

Even though St. Paul was giving a warning to preachers of the gospel, it carries meaning for all of us who will be judged by Christ.

When the Church puts ashes on our brow…. It makes us think… really think… about our death.

The accounts of saints and martyrs give us a proper approach to death. They understood death for what it is: the end of mortal life, a punishment for sin, and yet, something that Christ has transformed. Death is no longer an end in itself. Jesus is on the other side of the veil.  And by understanding the truth about death, the saints could lives that proclaimed the truth about life in Christ.

At baptism, we were marked with the sign of the cross. Baptism both cleanses us from sin and welcomes us into the family of God. But it does so by reminding us we are baptized into the death of Christ, so that someday we may also arise with him. It gives meaning to both our life, and our eventual death.

Ultimately, our baptism means we do mean something to Someone after all. We mean something to God and the family of God, being incorporated into Christ and the Church. And because of Christ, we have a future and a hope. If we turn from sin, and believe the Gospel, there is more to this life than what we see and experience here on earth.

Saints and martyrs understood this. This is why the Church celebrates their feast days on the date of their deaths!  It is a birth to new life in heaven!

In Lent, we get down to essentials. Just like the saints of old, we must understand the truth behind our beliefs if we intend live a Christian life in its fullness.  Lent gives us the tools to make a fruitful assessment.

For forty days in Lent, we link our life with the forty days Jesus spent in the desert; entering solemn days of prayer, fasting, and almsgiving. This desert experience also puts us in touch with our mortality.

These Lenten practices are intended to produce a “dying” to self: we hunger, we thirst, we need God, and we need each other. But this dying away signifies more than mere dying alone… it is meant to announce the budding of new life in Christ.

Knowing this “Good News,” we can better live these Lenten days. Lent, then, becomes a kind of holy addition by subtraction. By pruning back, we grow more fruitful in the days ahead: grateful for the grace of redemption that springs forth on Easter Sunday.

So, that, one day, after years of faithful practice, when the news of our death is finally announced, it will not be treated as a sad end, or a final remembrance, but as a birth day… announcing we are not dead after all, but alive in Christ.

©2009 Patricia W. Gohn

More than any commonality, other than the dignity we all share as human persons – made in the image of God, and called to be in relationship with Him – we all bleed from the wounds of Original Sin. We are all sinners.

I don’t often dwell on Original Sin, or meditate on it, so to speak. If it weren’t for grace, I’d have more than enough depressing topics consuming my mind. But, on the other hand, don’t they all descend from this one potent reality?

The effects of Original Sin touch us both body and soul.

I am well aware of the limits of the human body… I am aging, after all, not to mention I’ve survived childbirth, early-stage breast cancer, a pre-mature hip replacement, and, the nuisance of increasing changes in my prescription lenses!

Where else do I bleed from the wounds of Original Sin?  More profusely than my material shortcomings, my spiritual weaknesses abound.

I am selfish. I am lazy. I get angry. I can be resentful or hold a grudge. I am undisciplined. I am intemperate with certain foods. I can be moody. Yup, with little introspection, I can easily recall my own misadventures with the “deadly sins”.

OK, that’s enough self-criticism… oh yeah, that’s another wound… I’m self-critical, doubting, and weak.

Now what? In my conscience, I can hear the solution to my plight bubbling up in the words of one of my hero-saints, St. Peter: “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life…” (John 6:68).

Not only did Jesus have the words of eternal life, but he, too, also bore for our sake the bleeding wounds of Original Sin.

And so I fly to prayer…

Dear Jesus…

You who came and bled and died… stop and stem the bleeding in my life.

Forgive me for my sins and give me the grace and resolve of repentance.

Allow me to see the repair work you are doing in me, and the beauty of the blood of the Lamb of God for my sake. Help me never to underestimate the blessings of my baptism and the gift of your grace.

Help me get it through my head, and let it permeate my heart, that, in the most perfect sense, YOUR BLOOD is the transfusion that saves me from permanent death from Original Sin.

Your Blood courses through my veins as I receive the Eucharist and it touches every cell of my body.  Your Blood is my champion.  Your Blood restores the weakness that is in the soul of me.  Your Blood REVIVES me.

Even as I am faint-hearted, your Blood buffs me up, strengthens me, and renews me.

The old is passing away, the new has come. Not just in this life, but in the life to come.

Thank you for this loving transformational power that makes a new person out of me. Thank you for saving me.

And so I pray aloud, this mystery of faith, with the Church:

Lord, by your cross and resurrection you have set us free, you are the savior of the world.

Amen.

In closing, let me share another quote from Daniel-Rops who taught that the Bible shows us who we are and how we should live, in spite of the wounds of Original Sin:

We find in the Bible a conception of man that… is quite easy to define: it is a man who “stands before God” (cf. 1 Kings 18:15); a man who does not regard himself as the toy of blind fate or obscure and demoniacal forces, but as a factor in the divine will, a man who knows he is called to a destiny that is unique… a man who prays, and knows as he prays he is collaborating in God’s work; a man who thinks that the world will improve in proportion to the improvements he makes in himself; a man, in short, who as he stands before God, is also supported by God, and looks upon this state of dependence as his greatest pride and his greatest hope.

©2009 Patricia W. Gohn

Simple defined, behold means to see, to gaze upon, to observe, to have vision.

Whenever I find it in the New Testament, I always watch what happens next. Behold is like the sound of the drum roll you hear when the theatre curtain pulls back revealing center stage. Behold is my cue to tune in, to get ready, and see what unfolds.

Behold has been my watchword for Advent and Christmas. See if you recognize these biblical moments:

“Behold, a virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and his name shall be called Emmanuel” (which means, God with us). [Matthew 1:23]

“Behold, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you shall call his name Jesus.” [See Luke 1: 30-32.]

“Behold, your kinswoman Elizabeth in her old age has also conceived a son; and this is the sixth month with her who was called barren. For with God nothing will be impossible.” [See Luke 1:36-37.]

“Behold, I am the handmaid of the Lord; let it be to me according to your word.” [See Luke 1:38.]

“Behold, I bring you good news of a great joy which will come to all the people; for to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. [See Luke 2:7-11.]

“Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world!” [See John 1:29.]

The book of Revelation delights in the Incarnation, God becoming Man: “and I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, ‘Behold, the dwelling of God is with men. He will dwell with them, and they shall be his people, and God himself will be with them’… And he who sat upon the throne said, ‘Behold, I make all things new.’” [See Revelation 21: 3, 5.]

Revelation also declares, even now, that a New Advent still waits: “Behold, I am coming soon.” [Revelation 22:7.]

Behold appears in the Bible in 1134 citations (in the Revised Standard Version). Often it is used as a verb, or an interjection, as we have already seen. Behold denotes wonder and surprise. Coupled with the power of the Word of God, behold invites the reader to see something that God is doing: for Scripture transmits the awesome and sublime heart of God even though it is revealed in humble human language.

Behold reminds us that God is working a wonder… a virgin conceives… God is robed in flesh… the barren become fruitful… the King of Kings and Lord of Lords is born in a manger… those condemned by sin are forgiven…  the old is made new … Christ is coming again!

Finally, behold reminds me of two smaller verbs: “to be” and “ to hold.” To be is to define existence. To be held is to have or to keep in the hand.

Here’s a little word play to wonder about: What if we were to behold our existence as being held in the hand of God? And similarly, what if we were to behold God as capable of being held in our hand? Is this not our Eucharistic Lord, who comes in ways that we might know the true majesty of God-with-us?

As Advent gives way to Christmas, behold the simple, dynamic, truth as you contemplate this mystery: while the Virgin Mary enfolds the Infant Jesus in her loving arms, he encircles all of us in His.

May you behold the wonder, and be held by the wonder, and believe the wonder that is Emmanuel. Then watch what happens next.

©2008 Patricia W. Gohn

For Catholics, November is the month of saints and souls. And it is a happy coincidence that it falls within the election cycle in the United States. This brief season in the Church’s liturgical calendar makes the case for our true citizenship: We, the baptized, are citizens of heaven.

All Saints Day, celebrated November 1st, reminds us of saints through history, both renown and unknown, who occupy the sacred realms of heaven together with the Blessed Trinity. This communion of saints is known as the Church Triumphant. We must never forget they exist. They are the holy ones who are now waiting for us to join their company. But who, in the meantime, pray for us, and cheer us on toward heaven!

While the saints remind us of all we could be, more importantly, they should remind us of all we are.

November 2nd brings All Souls Day.  Though we may grieve departed loved ones on this day, we also celebrate the truth of the Christian’s death: it is the threshold to eternal life. We, who are made in the image of God, have God as both our origin and our end. We are destined for union with God one happy day.  This is the holy dignity that we have as believers. And it should bring us a certitude and joy that gives hope to all of our days.

By virtue of our Christian baptism, we are born into the family of God.  It is an indelible reality that cannot be washed off our soul.  It’s like spiritual DNA… we are born with it and it cannot change. We may indeed reject our birthright, but it remains fixed on our souls. (Cf. Catechism of the Catholic Church paragraphs 1213; 1272-1274.)

These truths remind us that today, we are already classified as citizens of heaven, thanks to our identity as Children of God. What is wrought by baptism is a continual attachment to the Body of Christ—Himself—and the Church.

St. Paul writes:

But our citizenship is in heaven, and from it we also await a savior, the Lord Jesus Christ. He will change our lowly body to conform with his glorified body by the power that enables him also to bring all things into subjection to himself. Therefore… stand firm in the Lord, beloved. (Philippians 3:20-21 – 4:1.)

Note the present tense of Paul’s words.  Our citizenship IS in heaven. This is not just a bold hypothesis on the part of Paul. He is following his Master, taking his lead from Jesus: Be imitators of me, as I am of Christ. (1 Corinthians 11:1.)

Predating Paul, Jesus prayed for his disciples (and future followers) before he died, coaching them in this holy citizenship:

[Father, ] I pray for them. I do not pray for the world but for the ones you have given me, because they are yours…

I do not ask that you take them out of the world but that you keep them from the evil one. They do not belong to the world any more than I belong to the world. Consecrate them in the truth. Your word is truth. As you sent me into the world, so I sent them into the world. And I consecrate myself for them, so that they also may be consecrated in truth. I pray not only for them, but also for those who will believe in me through their word, so that they may all be one, as you, Father, are in me and I in you, that they also may be in us, that the world may believe that you sent me. (John 17:9, 15-18.)

Our country of origin may be the USA or elsewhere, but it is not one’s sole identity as a Christian. We are citizens of heaven and that carries a dignity and a responsibility beyond our allegiance to the country listed on our passport. Whatever our political persuasions, let us first be grounded in our dignity as a Christians, and let that move us to action in this world as citizens of heaven.

May we imitate Jesus, as St. Paul did… standing firm in the Lord.

©2008 Patricia W. Gohn

I whimpered a prayer: Here I am again at your feet, Mary, and, as usual, it’s not pretty. Please help me!

Three months ago I had my hip replaced. This fall might be a serious setback in my recovery.

Remarkably, I took comfort in the fact I took my fall in front of Mary. (Of course, I realize her statue had no power of its own to help me, but its presence reminded me of the Mother who did.) My meager prayer was heard. With faith in her maternal protection, I assessed the damage, and slowly stood, hobbling into the last pew. After Mass I limped back to my car and drove myself to the hospital for x-rays.

I sat in the ER contemplating my crash at Mary’s feet. This was not the first time I have found myself looking to her in desperation.

This points to my thesis: all of us should fall for Mary. Not that I’m suggesting personal accidents, but rather, we should fall in love with Mary, and not wait for tragedy to strike before we invite Mary into our lives.

As a younger woman, I avoided the suggestion that Mary should be a part of my life, or worse, a role model for me. To my way of thinking, with a feminism formed-by-the-culture and not necessarily by the gospel, Mary was a weak role model for me. Despite this bias, I never doubted Mary’s role in God’s plan. I just didn’t include her in any of mine.

Back then, for me, Mary was more of a historical character—necessary for God to take on flesh—an iconic reminder of the Jesus story. I knew she showed up at Christmas and at Calvary, but I didn’t appreciate much beyond that.

My Catholic education taught me Mary was the mother of Jesus, the mother to the Church, and a mother to me. I accepted the first two titles fine, but I denied she had any connection with me. I had no “relationship” with her, other than praying the “Hail Mary,” and an occasional rosary.

As a teenager, I had a dynamic conversion to Christ. But even with a growing faith, outside influences still swayed me. I confused staid depictions of Mary with the truth about her nature as a human person brimming with grace. I was influenced by prevalent skepticisms about Mary. My false impressions were not rooted in Scripture or Church teaching.

Two events in my adult life drew me toward love of Mary. The first was my first pregnancy. At the time, I was so sick I vomited around the clock. My life was in tatters. My only prayer was “Lord, help me!”

Jesus answered my prayers by sending me his Mother, armed with the “girl talk” and strong feminine connection I needed. And I was desperate enough to accept Mary’s help and example.

It wasn’t pretty, and I often faltered, but for the first time, I asked Mary to pray for me.

Over those nine months, I began to see what was missing. I traced Mary’s life through the scriptures, discovering the many lessons she had for me. The rosary and its meditations on the life of Christ and Mary became sources of inspiration.

I no longer kept Mary on a distant shelf—like a statue—now she became a living, holy presence in my life. She never diminished my relationship with Jesus; she only increased it. And I began to trust the wisdom of the Catholic Church—not outside opinions—about Mary and Marian devotions.

Mary took me in—the one who denied her for so long—mothering me as I entered motherhood, forgiving my years of neglect. I trusted her. She wanted the best for me: faith, hope, and love in the Holy Trinity. After all, she is Daughter of the Father, Mother to the Son, and Spouse of the Holy Spirit.

Ten years later, a second event deepened my relationship with Mary. At 36, as a mother of three small children, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. I faced my own kind of Calvary.

Recall John’s Gospel:

[At Calvary,]…standing by the cross of Jesus [was Mary]… When Jesus saw his mother, and the disciple whom he loved standing near, he said to his mother, “Woman, behold, your son!” Then he said to the disciple, “Behold, your mother!” And from that hour the disciple took her to his own home. (John 19:25-27.)

Mary, who stood at the foot of her Son’s cross, and later embraced his broken body, now stood by me. I was broken. It wasn’t pretty. But there she was… filling me with her gifts of grace-filled power… a mother at Calvary beside the child she loves.

Twelve years later, I still take my cue from Jesus’ words, and the action of St. John: I have made a place for Mary in my home. More important, I have embraced being Mary’s daughter.

My falling for Mary continues… I still have messy stuff in my life that needs cleaning up. I still fall and Mary picks me up and dusts me off. With her help, I’m becoming a better woman, a stronger Christian.

The ankle x-rays reported a sprain. No other damage; none to my newly replaced hip joint. You could say that I had the best possible fall, given my circumstances. I believe Mary had a hand in that.

If you haven’t already, let yourself fall for Mary, our Mother. But don’t just drop by “by accident,” call on her today!