On Christmas Gifts

I left home for Mass a little later than usual this morning, due to a changed Mass and confession schedule. As I turned that first corner, I was greeted by a beautiful golden orange sky, and was taken aback. I'm usually not one to be stunned by the colors the sun paints in the clouds each day, but the coloring of this particular view of the heavens was just breathtaking. As I drove on, I found myself desiring to drive east, just so that I could gaze longer upon this magnificent skyway. But alas! my road to work lies southwest, and as I merged onto the highway the sun behind me was so bright that the green road signs glinted orange in reflection.

O Radiant Dawn, splendor of eternal light, sun of justice: come, shine on those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death.

This morning's sunrise truly gave me a glimpse of what a radiant dawn looks like: its light thoroughly illuminates everything and brings a natural sense of joy and goodness. What a gift, in this octave of Christmas, to receive a deeper understanding of those O Antiphons that prepare us for Christ's coming in Bethlehem, in the parousia, and in our hearts.

Merry Christmas, everyone.

On Liturgical Latin (and Becoming a Trad by Accident)

I'm sure you've all heard many of the arguments before for Latin over the vernacular language in the Roman Catholic Liturgy: continuity with centuries of tradition, universal liturgical connection with the rest of the world, etc. You've probably also heard at least one "practically, it just works out better!" argument: The one with the foreign priest whose accent is so thick you can barely understand him if you're straining all your energy to hear (which most people aren't)...

What about our listening skills? Compare three alternatives an intelligent person has to choose from: 1) listening to a Liturgy (even one well-celebrated) in English (which will here stand for "the vernacular", as English is our vernacular); 2) listening in English and reading along in English; or 3) listening in Latin and reading along in English (though there are many differences, for my purposes I include the silent canon with this Latin to differentiate it from heard English).

1) When's the last time you truly listened and prayed along with the Eucharistic prayers? I'll be honest - the Liturgy is the backbone of my spiritual life, and this morning I was thinking about this blog post as much as the sacrifice that was happening at the altar! And I try to pray along! (And this is presupposing a priest who says the prayers lovingly, as opposed to one who rushes through or shouts through the whole thing). No, the modern human mind is much too good at not listening. Next!

2) Perhaps reading along with important things like the Eucharistic Prayers might help in paying attention (setting aside the sheer inconvenience of four plus prayers to choose from) - but after about a week of so doing, most people feel (or at least, I feel) this is a poor use of one's energy, because the same words are being spoken as are being read, thus this reading actually makes one feel bored. Thumbs down.

3) Latin &/or silence. The idea here is, you're reading along (or praying along however you like), and you're not bothered by the priest praying his prayers. Yes, your participation is an important part of the liturgical action, but here your participation is your own! You're not bullied into doing things one way or another. You read along and pray at your own pace. Because you're fully in charge of your prayer here, it can be much easier to pray deeply, especially if you're inclined to do so.

So there's my argument (for listening) against always using the vernacular.

But wait - there's more! Next comes my argument for vocal prayer against always using the vernacular! I have two examples to prove this point (and, predictably, I save my favorite for last).

On Sundays, when we say the creed... Who else finds their brain checking out somewhere between "I believe in God, the Father almighty" and "I believe in the Holy Spirit", even though the mouth continues to recite by rote the same powerful, easily ignored words? And this profession which should be a mental revisiting of the basic tenets of our faith?

Even better - think of the last time you prayed the rosary in a group setting. Imagine a theoretical passer-by who is unfamiliar with Christianity but fluent in English, who tried to figure out what was meant by this prayer, repeated over and over again. Don't you think he would be most puzzled by wondering what a "wombjesus" is?

Think about it, and think about how we pray, especially as a group. Prayers are poetry in a certain sense, sure, but do we ever consider their actual meaning, or whether we should perhaps say them in a way that reflects that?

Another classic example is the grace before meals. Punctuated as it is usually spoken, it runs like this:

Bless us O Lord, and these thy gifts, which we are about to receive.
From thy bounty, through Christ our Lord, Amen.

Little wonder people have been known to change the words! Do we really consider when we say that prayer that our meal is a gift that we receive out of the Lord's great bounty? Of course not! But we rarely question it, because we understand what each individual word means.

I'm ranting. The point is: Latin makes sense, precisely because it doesn't.

On Passive-Agression and Other Things

Yesterday morning, I put up a facebook status that was vaguely politicalish. Yesterday evening, upon returning from work, I discovered 11 comments on it (they read like arguments between blunt, conservative Catholics and our liberal secular peers). I addressed comments individually that bore answer (by wall post), but when I was indirectly accused of being a one-issue voter, I couldn't handle it and gave a simple but clear explanation of the points in question, swearing to leave it at that.

Why do I bring this up? Because I was being passive-agressive in my take on politics and facebook. I used to hate passive agression (back in high school). I saw it as unnecessarily cowardly, and the inevitable explosion of that pent-up emotion seemed hardly worth it. But rooming with Liz last year showed me that one could be passive-agressive and still be a good, likable person who's in control of herself as much as is anyone else. And so I think I became a little more passive, a little more laid-back.

And these sorts of things cause me to realize: So much about the person I've become has subtly changed from the person I was in high school. So many of the things I prided myself on are no longer really even a part of me. I'm still stubbornly solid in my opinions, but I'm no longer confrontational. I'm still well aware of my unique gifts and strengths, but I no longer have the "I am woman; I am awesome!" attitude I once enjoyed. I'm still certain the rest of the world would be better off if they subscribed to my ideas, but now I'm just not interested in explaining why (it would take far too much work to bring a stranger around to the hermeneutic through which I look at life/the world).

I know I'm better off for most of these changes that God has made as He's led me to Himself. But I miss some of the old ways - especially that fun, obnoxiously endearing attitude, and (in a different sense) the ability to wear my opinions on my sleeve and not worry about who cares about what.

I think that's what's been the strangest for me. Because I'm so conscious of scandal and detraction, I am nearly always guarded (save with my closest friends, of course). And that's weird. I loved just being free and unconcerned with the expression of my feelings, but now I have always to be concerned about spreading negativity or being uncharitable or giving a bad impression... I just feel like I'm fake much of the time, like I've finally understand the phenomenon I've been reading about for years about putting up walls or putting on a mask. Not that I'm keeping myself and everyone out of the inner regions of my heart, just that I'm keeping the outside world at bay.

But how am I to show others the attractiveness of Christ if I keep Him hidden behind a wall?

I haven't figured that out yet. Any thoughts?

As more and more of me has become interiorized, I have to consider whether to share or hide my fasts even from my believing friends.

On Weight Loss

Disclaimer: Gentlemen, if you're uninterested in discussion of female body size/shape, you may want to simply skip on down to the next post. I don't get graphic here, but I do speak comfortably, as if to just my lady friends.

I've been going to the gym for a few months now, doing some combination of pilates, cardio, and weights between once and thrice per week. It began just for fun and to get into shape a bit, but the more I've gotten into it, the more it becomes, well, more than that!

Because you can see muscle when I now flex my arm, and that's exhilarating, I've had to fight against the desire to increase the amount of weight I lift in an unhealthy manner. My general goals are less easily observable, and seem even like they're hardly happening: getting into shape (I can still hardly make it 20 mins on the running machine without dying) and reducing the size of the fat deposits on my stomach (looks about the same to me).

My body has become sleeker and more toned, yet my overall shape has been retained (supporting my feelings all along that it's the fault of the manufacturers, not my own, that I sometimes have to shop in plus sizes). However, this brings me to my reason for writing this post:

My hips have shrunk.

Only by an inch or two, I'm sure, and it's quite clear that all that's happened is fat has disappeared. Still, I find myself wondering if my treasured hourglass figure is now going to be lopsided - for which to happen it would take a lot more than a couple inches of shrinkage (I think it'd take some reshaping of bone, actually).

Yes, I know this is pretty much the opposite problem of most American women, but just bear with me. Even in middle school, as puberty loomed large on the horizon, I looked at women and decided that I had no interest in being stick-thin. I want to be curvy, like Topanga, I remember deciding to myself after one of many Boy Meets World-a-thons.

And that's what happened. Before the Rolfes wedding two summers ago, my whole household measured ourselves together (since five out of seven were in the wedding party), and my hips came in at a whopping 43". Forty-three inches! Let me put this in context for you: As far as waist size, our stick-thin sister measured barely a few inches below our most pleasantly plump (similarly, our F-cup girl had at best three inches on our A-cup girl). But everyone else's hips fell in the mid-30's range, to my 43. So really, I have nothing to worry about.

But I still want to measure my hips again. Just to see.

And then maybe sign up for that abs class. To keep myself well-proportioned, of course.

UPDATE:
I asked one of trainers at my gym to measure my hips tonight - 43 1/2". I've got nothing to worry about.

UPDATE 2:
Just for kicks, I checked my score on the "Body Mass Index." I am a 30, which is the low cutoff score for obesity. Seriously!?

On Politics

Well, I suppose Emperor-Elect Obama will make as good a leader as any of the Socialist States of America, where the right to abortion is more fundamental than the right to free speech.

I believe that sentence about sums up my dissatisfaction with the results of this year's election. So on to other political topics...

I find that I am afraid that my co-workers will make election-related comments to me. I am certainly not happy with the outcome of most anything I voted for or hoped in, but I am loath to express it to any but my closest friends. I don't even want to put something partisan on my facebook, for goodness' sake!

So why have I such fear of being perceived as partisan? Is it because I feel guilty that I, a twentysomething American, am not a raging liberal on all the controversial social issues of our time? Or is it perhaps because I'm not sure I'm really a conservative on any but the moral issues?

Yes, I'm a registered Republican (something I've repeatedly considered changing), but nor for more than the fact that at least I can make a splash in the primaries that way (as opposed to as an independent). And yes, I have tended to consistently dislike the Republican candidates less than the Democratic candidates. Still, I fear being labeled a Republican - or even a conservative! Perhaps this is largely because I don't know the length and breadth of what those classifications mean; perhaps I fall into the category of postmodern post-label people. Perhaps I just don't want to put my name to something I'm not in full agreement with. I don't look at politics like those good Yankee fans who love the team but disagree bitterly with the administration; I'm just not interested in that depth of knowledge and self-investment.

Perhaps my real problem is that I, like many, have little to no faith in the system that's now running our country.

Switching gears a bit: I commented to my dad last night (thinking of the many apt comparisons between America and Rome) that perhaps, if Obama won, it might speed the downfall of America as a world power, which would probably not be a bad thing. He disagreed, and it was with his answer that I realized the fatal flaw in those comparison-arguments: When Rome fell, there was no scarier budding world power to take its place. When America falls, who will take our place? Russia? China? Venezuela? As my dad pointed out, at least we're trying to do the right thing. Scary.

This may be a multiple-post day. I'll try not to binge so much in the future.

On Eowyn, and the role of women

Wow - it has been a long time. I do not intend to let this blog lapse for more than a couple of weeks at best. As much as this is fun and a release, it is also a discipline and a training I desire to enforce upon myself.

So I've been rereading the Lord of the Rings, and this week I've been very struck by the battle-part of Eowyn. I looked for some essays that address the role of women in Tolkien's epic work, but none of them address quite the nuances I'm looking for, so here I am, though I haven't yet finished the book (the siege of Gondor is nearing its end, I believe, but it is still going at the point where I last stopped reading).

Eowyn is a strong, powerful woman who has grown up in a society where strength and valor in battle are most valued. She has learned these things and learned them well, though warfare is a man's place, and swordplay a man's art. When the time comes and every man is needed at arms, she waits at home, dissatisfied with the governing noncombative role assigned to her. Still, she fills the role without complaint once. A second time she begs to leave, but remains behind to her duty. When all those she loves are about to leave her behind for a third time, where she knows a lesser man could do her work, she decides to throw convention to the wind and masquerade as a man, and she rides into battle with the all King's forces.

I see how this decision can be seen as selfish. She doesn't want to wait; she wants to be in on the action, but she also wants to give of herself in the valuable, valiant way she knows she can do.

But in the throes of battle is when it gets difficult - for as she remains near to her beloved uncle-king, it is not only her bravery but her unique position of femininity upon the fields of battle that allows her (with the help of Merry, who also was supposed to be far from this battle) to slay the King of the Nazgul, and to protect her Uncle Theoden King from a most ignominious moment of death. (Ignominious may not be the best adjective to use there, but it's what I've got.) Even Merry's part in the small yet great triumph of this moment is inspired by Eowyn - Merry's spirit is roused to valor by the great deeds of the beautiful woman before him, and he rushes to aid her in whatever small way he can (and it turns out that his blade, because of its history, does more damage to the fiend than could have any other on the field of battle).

Her brother Eomer and his knights rue the sight of fair Eowyn lying as slain upon the field of battle - but how much of their pain and outrage is because they think she is dead? How much will their minds and hearts change when they learn of her great works upon the battlefield?

I shall have to revisit this subject once I've read farther. I see now that my reading is incomplete to make a true judgment. Still, I do hope for intelligent responses from you folks in the comments. I am sure that, despite my attempt at being objective, I have projected quite a lot of myself into Eowyn. And I do wonder about her embracement of the masculine battle role with the glad proclamation of her womanhood that enables her victory once there.

Why does she fight? I'm sure there are a thousand reasons (Tolkien's characters are nothing if not well-fleshed out). To impress Aragorn? As an extra guard upon her uncle the king? To prove to herself that she is worthwhile, after all? To put to good use these skills she's been taught since her youth? To fit in with the men she loves by partaking of the same activity? To give what truly is her all in this desperate war that requires everything of everyone?

I don't know. Please, talk to me - about the morality of Eowyn's actions as regards her role as woman of Rohan.

UPDATE: 11/5, 10:14am
Now I've read a bit further, and can reflect upon Gandalf's comments as Aragorn comes to heal Eowyn in the Houses of Healing. He seems to suggest that the heavy weight of darkness brought to the royal house by Wormtongue has helped to poison for her the role of staying behind and holding down the proverbial fort. Still, he greatly honors her valor, and says that it owes her a place of honor among the great queens. Hmm.

On Human Nature

Fr. Dr. Dan Patee, TOR, PhD (hereafter Fr. Dan) once said in class to be careful about the phrase "only human." He pointed out that humanity was created for union with God and would return to such a state. When saying someone is "only human," you're putting their fallen humanity at odds with the perfect humanity once held by Adam and Eve, eternally held by Jesus and Mary, and to be held by all the blessed in heaven. At the time, I thought he had a point, but not an incredibly important one.

This morning's homily was a long thirteen hours ago, and I no longer remember his point, but Msgr. repeatedly referred to human nature where he meant fallen human nature, and I began to see the importance of Fr. Dan's point.

The author of The Cloud of Unknowing differentiates between two kinds of humility: imperfect humility and perfect humility. Imperfect humility is what we're all used to - knowledge of our own wretchedness, especially through knowledge of our sins. But perfect humility is all the more important for true union with God, as it is a knowledge of God's glory as it shines through in us - not through any merit of our own, of course, but simply because we are human. He points out that were humility merely the knowledge of our own sinful weakness, how could our Blessed Mother and her divine Son be humble?

I've come to agree with Fr. Dan. Humanity was created for heaven, and that is where we will again find perfected human nature; thus to say one is "only human" in reference to an error or a failing is greatly mistaken, and an intellectual offense against our own hope of heaven.

Next time you're tempted to dismiss a transgression with the phrase, "It's ok, you're only human" - think about this idea. Think about heaven. And hope.

On Scary Things

Our society loves Halloween. Haunted hayrides, amusement parks-turned-gorefests... These things are a major fuel to the October American economy. It shows that we are a seasonal people, perhaps, but that's a topic for another post. What I'm concerned with now is why. What is it about "getting scared" that America's collective "we" love so much? Alternately, what is it about scaring others that gives us such a charge? A bit more broadly: Why do we take such pleasure indulging in the perverse each October? That last one's probably the simplest - because dark things have their own seductive attraction, and the abberation is dispensed because of the 'holiday' season.

Why do we love scaring others? Well, at base I'm sure it's the same as why we do many things to each other - because we love seeing their reactions. And it's not something we'd dislike to receive ourselves, so we're not bad people for doing this.

That brings us to the heart of the matter: Why do we so enjoy being scared? Is it the rush of the fear without actual danger? Is it the pleasant feeling of building up a higher and higher tolerance, so that one is more and more 'sophisticated'? Or is it simply harmless fun?

Now I understand why ComBoxes are used. Please, give me your feedback. My mind is far from settled, but my interest is piqued...

On Food and Fasting

I've begun to realize recently how integral food really is to our lives. Duh, you think. Ok ok, but besides the whole we-need-nutrition-to-survive bit, food really is an essential part of things. When it's time to celebrate, what do we do? We eat. When we want to feel better (be it because of a death, a breakup, or just hormones), what do we do? We eat. When we're struggling to stay awake during a difficult day at work, what do we do? We eat (and sometimes drink a hot beverage). When welcoming someone new to our home, to our organization, to our church, what do we do? We feed them. When we want to fast, or give something up (e.g., for Lent), where are our minds first drawn? To thoughts of eating less. I think you get the point.

None of this is bad. Eating is an essential part of both our life and our culture. But we can't let it become the focal point of our lives (that is, after all, where Gluttony gets its steam, eh?).

Has anyone else had the feeling lately that their "fasting" is more like dieting - or even budgeting? For instance: I can't skip a meal because my body would shut down halfway through the work day, but I'll refrain from eating that midafternoon bag of M&M's from the vending machine, and I'll offer that up for so-and-so... and besides, that's so many fewer calories migrating to my gut, and an extra couple bucks saved to boot! Seriously? Do I really allow myself to be duped so easily by my own clumsy sophistry?

I thought about this briefly this past Lent (well, the days before Lent, to be precise). I wanted to give up something really hard, something that was unmistakably me sacrificing something good for sake of a greater Good (and we're not talking about sacrificing chocolate for a trimmer figure here). It took me nearly a week of constant brainstorming and prayer, but I finally found it: for an extrovert like myself, restricting my social interaction (by specific rules I'd previously decided upon) was one of the most difficult - and eventually most rewarding - things I've ever done.

After all this time, it's like I'm back where I started in February - inadvertently focused on food so much so that I have to work hard to remove the horse blinders and see all the other, more beneficial options that are out there.

I look forward to exploring more creative penances. Any suggestions?

On Saints and Symbols

Admit it: When you were standing outside those magnificent French gothic Cathedrals with saints linings the outside, St. Denis is the only one you could identify. How hard is it to mistake a guy holding his own head?

But think about this: It didn't used to be that way! Catholics used to be able to recognize all sorts of saints from their symbols (not just St. Denis, St. Thérèse, St. Patrick, and St. Anthony).

I think it's irrelevant to ask "What happened?" That's been answered so many times, I don't imagine I could bring anything new to the table. No, what I wonder instead is "How to fix this?" (Not that this hasn't been answered a million times as well, but bear with me.)

Even when I was younger, my mom and I discussed the idea of designing a saints matching game - where St. Agnes matched the lamb, St. Peter matched the keys, etc. We never actually made such a game, but as I got older and more interested in Church architecture, I found myself playing this same game almost constantly! There's a nun holding a monstrance - St. Clare. What about that monk with the dog? St. Dominic, of course. But those are the easy ones. Is there a resource where it's explained which saint is depicted with which symbols and why? This is reportedly the most comprehensive saint resource on the web, and while I haven't examined it thoroughly, I somehow doubt it has such information. Certainly it would be nigh impossible to search by symbols.

So those few of us who really care will have to keep plowing on through, playing the guessing games, though we have no one to bounce our ideas against, and hoping to learn more brick by brick, as the saying goes. Perhaps I'll learn more when I take Liturgical Art and Architecture with Dr. Denis McNamara. *swoons* Look at that - just thinking about my future classes at the Liturgical Institute makes me weak in the knees!

On Life After College

I returned to my alma mater, Franciscan University, for Homecoming Weekend a few days ago. Amid a flurry of campus-wide activities, I saw many people - those nearest and dearest to my heart, of course, but also quite a lot of others who will probably never know how much joy their mere presence brings to me. Nearly every one of these people asked me, the newly-graduated, how life was and what I've been doing - a very sensible question to ask someone you haven't seen in months.

As with any social gathering with people you're not in regular contact with, I formulated the answer to that question repeatedly. The more I answered "So what have you been up to?" the more I realized what I really have been up to, and not only how different that is from college life, but also how that is different from college life. (Thus this post.)

College life is primarily social. No matter what you do, you can hardly help but come into regular contact with many, many people - and at a small school like my alma mater, extroverts like myself tend to make a large circle of acquaintances. Now that I'm out of school, I do still see people, but it's very different. My socializing is now on my own terms - which is great for when I want to take care of myself (I've been to the gym more these past two months than the previous twenty years), and to keep in meaningful touch with those long-distance friends who are most important, but less so when I'm feeling sad or insecure (whether those feelings have hormonal causes or not). Days after returning home from Steubenville, I felt that I shouldn't reach out to friends who were still in school, friends who had put aside everything else they were doing on Saturday to hang out with me, because they were busy and I shouldn't bother them. Certainly this train of reasoning is faulty at best, but my point is that it's very hard while living on campus to seclude yourself in the way that you're naturally secluded at home.

Perhaps this is what DB meant when he told me in response to my inquiry about living off-campus that it was a good way to learn how to be part of the community without living in the community. I think only two of my readers have experienced such a thing, but I'd love to hear your take on it. How much of this reaction is really just a response to the off-campus lifestyle?

The other obvious thing that's different about post-college life is the intellectual side of things. Passing conversations on campus that merely took for granted past intellectual discussions stirred into flame latent passions in my heart that I had nearly forgotten about in my day-to-day life of work, exercise, reading, prayer, phone calls, eating, and sleeping. This just confirms that I need to make an effort to go to those theology lectures from the Dominicans at St. Vincent Ferrer, to those mornings of recollection from Opus Dei, to anything that will keep the intellectual part of my brain engaged! It's great to read critical essays online, but that's hardly the same. My brain longs to continue working, and it's my job to keep it going.

Now that I researched those two links, I've found hordes of other ineresting web-things to keep me busy 'till my self-imposed log-off time two hours before bed. With the luxury of time that no social engagements and no homework affords me, I'm off to check them out!

EDIT (8:30pm):
I wonder whether this thirst for the intellectual is the reason why I've felt such thorough enjoyment for the few works of theater I've been able to see these past few months. I'll bet they're absolutely related!

On Long Blog Posts About Both Forms of the Roman Liturgy

I wrote this a few weeks ago but never posted it:

It's so tempting for a trad like me to just run from the mediocrity, strange music, abuses, and lack of reverence often found in the Ordinary Form (OF) of the Mass and take refuge in the ethereal quality, dependable structure, and vertical focus usually found in the Extraordinary Form (EF) - but is that really a good reason to switch forms? Is it really a virtuous thing to run from the normal and mediocre that causes you pain and instead hide away in the special, where you're mostly protected from ever having to prayerfully interact with those who do not share this particular part of your worldview? Or is it okay to seclude yourself from the chaff in the world and be refreshed in a place where you know you can trust the spiritual food that's being given to you, where you can just relax into prayer as opposed to keeping your defenses up?

Come to think of it, switching from your territorial parish to the local EF parish is really little different than switching to the local charismatic parish or the local Franciscan parish. We're different parts of the same Body, with different strengths and weaknesses. Each spirituality has its own incredible blessings and heresies to watch out for. Does a liturgically traditional spirituality carry with it obligations much different from those of the rest of the Church?

But let's think evangelization here. Every Christian shares in the baptismal call to evangelize. Again, we're different parts of the same body, and a foot obviously can't evangelize in the same way an ear does. Still, when the foot and the ear get together, it's very easy for them to try and bring each other around to see things their way - for the foot to chide the ear on its stumbly walking, and the ear to chide the foot on its bad listening skills. In most cases, the foot and the ear can't very effectively judge how well each other is doing things. But the ear can tell that something's not quite right with the foot if, for instance, its skin is rotting (since the ear has skin, too).

Pardon my affinity for analogies and extended metaphors. The challenge for traditionalists is that because we have such a deep, often intellectual understanding of the Liturgy, and a knowledge that the treasures of the Church's tradition are meant for all, it's very difficult for us to accept that other parishes have accepted less of these beautiful traditions that are so fruitful to us.

Sure, I see the subjective and objective value in sacred, contemplative, oriented traditional Liturgy, but if Joe and Suzie down the block are spiritually fed by the Liturgical Dance-A-Thon at Mary, Mother of the Earth parish downtown, who am I to judge? (I am exaggerating.) Sure, I know that Rome and the Liturgical documents are on my side, but how am I to convince them that the "dispensations for pastoral reasons" probably shouldn't be given in every possible case?

It's certainly not my job, as a lay woman, to be the Liturgical Police. It's probably not even my job to convince Joe and Suzie down the block that their parish's Liturgy could probably be more God-centered. But I know that it's my job not to disown Joe and Suzie. I know that it's my job not to hole myself up in a small, possibly elitist community. We are all called to evangelization. Maybe my job is not to speak but to love.

But I still need to take care of my own soul.

Since these musings, I have effectively switched parishes. I mostly consider my local Institute of Christ the King apostolate my parish. But more and more, I'm feeling two tensions: the question of generalization (i.e., this is clearly best for me. Is it best for everyone?), and the divergence of calendars. These I will address now.

As mentioned above, it seems clear to me that, theologically speaking, the EF is superior to the OF. Not that it's perfect, mind you (the Second Vatican Council did produce a Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy for a reason), but that it's objectively superior to the OF. I tend to judge liturgical appropriateness in part by the laughability factor: If an outsider were watching this, would they laugh? In the EF, it is very clear that the Liturgy is about God Himself coming down to mankind. Still, there is some validity to the fact that many are not reached by the EF who are reached by the more pastorally-friendly attitude with which the OF is often celebrated (by "pastorally-friendly" here I mean reaching out to meet people where they're at; I don't mean to imply that the EF is not pastoral). This then begs the question: is a greater amount of tradition and ritualism important for the arm of the Church in which I reside, or is it for the Church as a whole? And if it's for the whole Church, how much?

I'm sure part of my dilemma here comes from my background. I've been involved in Liturgical ministry (mostly singing, but others more recently) since I was ten. My last two years at Franciscan, I was on Liturgy Committee, a group of people who were chiefly responsible for the Liturgies on campus - keeping them in union with the desires of the Church, reaching the campus spirituality, and drawing our fellow students ever deeper into communion with the God of the universe. So it was partly my job to see these beautiful traditions and to bring them to my peers by way of the whole campus. But now I'm back in the real world. My Liturgical ministry is at an all-time low (about once per month), I've only just found a parish where I can truly pray (and where I'm not just running away from abuses), and I meet few who are dissatisfied with the Liturgies at their own parishes, which are mediocre at best (in my opinion). How much of my feeling that what I've been given is for the Church at large is the natural experience of projecting my needs and desires onto others, of thinking they'd be so much better off if they just did things the way I do?

This leads into my second point. I fight feeling cut off from the rest of the Catholic world because of the dichotomy in calendar. Generally speaking, I attend the EF on Sundays and the OF on weekdays, and I pray the Liturgy of the Hours in the OF. So I celebrated the feast of Ste. Thérèse de Lisieux on Wed, Oct 1, with the knowledge that my parish would celebrate her feast two days later, on Fri the 3rd. This may not seem like a big deal to most, but I have an extremely Liturgical spirituality. My penances and indulgences center around the solemnity of a given day (in gradations, ranging from a Lenten feria to an Easter solemnity), and even my devotions are somewhat cyclical, based upon the traditional devotions of the day. In this way, I know that I am in union with the Church universal (or at least clergy and religious), and I know that my religious observances are not just a private thing but are one drop in a vast bucket of Christians giving honor and glory to God, and petitioning Him on behalf of their fellow humans.

But the calendars are different. Some awesome feasts have been suppressed; some equally incredible feasts have been added. Celebrations have been moved - some far, some near. How can I live in the Liturgical heart of the Church if she is divided? Do I celebrate St. Monica in August or in March? Do I invite others to fast on Ember Days? Do I go to a more solemn Liturgy on Low Sunday, knowing that I desire to pray the propers for the Feast of the Divine Mercy?

I trust our holy father, especially on Liturgical issues. And I know that any process of change, especially one of healing, is painful. Well, I hurt. May it be for God's greater glory and for the salvation of souls. Amen.