Why is the Generation of “Tolerance” so Complacent to Religious Persecution?

If you are following current events, especially those involving Hobby Lobby and the lack of public outcry over the injustice of their predicament, it would be a fair assessment to suppose that, never in the course of all our schooling, was my generation ever exposed to 'tolerance' and 'anti-bullying' education.   In fact, the opposite is true.

To all the Gen X’ers and Y’ers out there: didn’t we all read the Diary of Anne Frank, or Night by Elie Wiesel, which detail what happens when a religion is demonized by the government and almost totally annihilated from existence?

If so, then why, when religious persecution begins to crop up in our own backyard, do we not even protest?

And why do I get the un-funny feeling that, not unlike the townspeople of Aushwitz who cheerfully sat sipping lemonade on their porches while the smoke stacks of the death camp daily bellowed black ash above their rooftops, our generation will be characterized as distractedly updating their Facebook statuses while the fate of the First Amendment is similarly and tragically ignored.

Sadly, a day at the office for many.

It should be a worrying thing to any rational person when those presently in their 20s and 30s, who were the population most indoctrinated with phrases like,  “Bad things happen when good men do nothing,” and  “Become the change you wish to happen,” are also the most ostentatiously mute when their own government tries to force its people violate their religious beliefs.

Hm. Methinks the ‘lessons’ we were taught in school never took – or they just took on the same tone of superficiality and commercialization that characterizes our age.

How else could it happen that an imposed healthcare system arises where every employer of faith must choose between not offering healthcare to their employees or funding abortion inducing drugs – a decision, which historically, has never befallen any freely worshiping individual in our nation?

Martyrdom: always been a spectator sport, apparently.

The most popular argument one hears in favor of the HHS mandate is this: Religious employers can't "force" their beliefs upon their employees. What those who hold to this argument don't see, is that now the government is imposing its beliefs upon privately enterprising employers who wish to operate their businesses (and their whole lives) in accordance with the tenets of their faith.

The government’s message is simple: the religion of the state trumps yours.  Since what the Obama administration dogmatically believes regarding healthcare is widely held amongst individuals than your religion's tenets (because popularity has always been religion's aim) then you must violate your beliefs to publicly uphold the state's beliefs. 

If that isn't blatant infringement of the practice of religious freedom, I don't know what is.

It begs the question of why now?  Did the administration know that there are few of us remaining, would become indignant at their actions?

It used to be that anyone with a backbone could be trusted to call out bullying when they saw it.  Now, it seems, that so long as our medical bills are covered, all is well and good.  

To a point, I sympathize with the silence of so many.  There is a feeling of, "What can I do?" in the face of such unprecedented evil.  That and my generation is poor, very poor.  Because most of our parents aren’t going to retire, ever, we don't want to jeopardize our chance to take the handouts the government is willing to give us, since we don't have a way of becoming sufficient for ourselves.

Also, why “become the change we want see to happen,” when we can now all run out now and get our tubes tied or our urethra severed for free?  Apparently, that's the pinnacle of everyone's middle age, as my husband and I are now learning from most of our peers. 

We no longer need to become those proverbial “good people” who speak up when bad things happen because the media is not going to report all that dreary bad stuff anyway, and, heck, most of us probably even voted in the guy doing all the persecuting.

So, sorry, persecuted religious people, you’re on your own in this fight.

Along the way, my generation had to pick its battles, and it seems we’ve chosen to save our own necks and stay silent while those who are being unjustly treated are silently lead to martyrdom by the state who is trying to forcibly excise their right to practice their beliefs in the secular sphere.

Instead of reacting, here we sit comfortably, while it all occurs, sipping our Moscato in our apartments, while the ashes of the first amendment rise above our heads.  Just like every other do-nothing-about-it generation of people who allowed evil to rule and themselves to be ruled by evil.

To My Daughter, I Hope I Can Still Hold Your Hand at 18 (And You Will Still Hold Mine at 80)

Author’s note: I wrote this post before the Sandy Hook Elementary School tragedy.  It has taken on a new sentimental significance since then.

As she grows up, my firstborn is hitting her milestones at lightning speed.

And I don’t like it.

On the one hand, her unfolding maturity and blooming language acquisition is a wonder to witness.  On the other, it’s utterly terrifying and makes me slightly sad.

My baby is growing up, and I can’t stop it. I don’t want to stop it, but I can’t believe it’s here.

She’s almost five and about to enter kindergarten.  In a few months, we will welcome our third child to the family.  Maybe it’s this impending reality that has me reminiscing back to my first pregnancy and thinking of my first most especially.

I can’t help but think of my eldest baby in a special way as the one I’ve lived the longest with.  She’s my proverbial “first pancake” child, the one I’ve made most of most of my mothering mistakes on.  The one whose forgiveness I will probably need more than any of the others.

She’s the one most like me in sheer stubborn will, but most unlike me in her general interests.  She’s a dress and skirt preferring, princess-loving, daddy adoring, lego-building and cake baking little math whiz.  I was none of those.  Not even close.

Yet I know her so intimately, and, if I’m being very honest, she knows me just as thoroughly.  It’s an amazing mystery, the bonding that takes place between mother and daughter.  We know how the other ticks.  And when she does little impressions of me (especially when she’s ‘disciplining’ her little brother, it’s scary just how accurate her imitation actually is).

Where will she and I be in 13 years, when she is 18 years old?  Or what about the next 50 years, when I am 80.  Well, I know where I hope to be, and what I still hope we do.  And if I had to make a list now for her, based on all of our experiences together so far, it would read something like this:

To my four-year-old daughter; when you are eighteen, I still hope you let me hold your hand – yes, in public (and I pray you will continue to hold mine when I am eighty and crippled).

Hopefully we will still bake together for family birthdays and holidays and look at pictures of baked goods in books and on the internet.  Maybe Cake Boss’s grandkids will be running the family business by then.

I hope I can still cook you steak (and that you never stop asking me to make it for you).

I hope you will always adore your father (I know it sure helps me to do so, wink) and are patient with your mother – and visa versa.

I hope you always want to share the big decisions in your life with me.  This week it was deciding to share your dessert with your brother.  Who you will marry, where you wish to travel to, and the projects you love the most – I hope I can be there to witness them all (and there’s an extra ticket for mom if you’re going someplace tropical or ancient).

I hope that one day you too will know what it is like to have a daughter.  To brush her hair while she squirms, to find her raiding your makeup, to walk in just as she’s flushed your pearl necklace down the toilet.  And I hope you know what it is to watch a pint-sized version of yourself scarily remind you of all the ways you struggled as a child.

I hope that, despite all of my mistakes, you still are proud to call me your mother. That you see how hard I tried in between those unfortunate blunders and that you come to love the person who, at the end of the day, was learning just like you were. 

I hope you still retain a little of an English accent – for daddy’s sake.

I pray that we will always forgive each other.

Lastly, I hope your gift of Faith grows and cements you more firmly to God’s will for you.  I don’t know what Our Heavenly Father wishes for you yet, but I’d love to be there in some way as often as I can.

And if you are a mommy one day, I hope you remember to call me and invite me to mass with you and the grandkids– that way I can encourage when you have to take your daughter outside a million times, knowing that she does outgrow it.

And really, they all outgrow it far too soon.

Dear baby girl, you are my first and will always know me at my best and worst.  Hopefully, the bests are what you remember most.  That I was there for every ballet class and every math problem, as well as every sign of the cross you made before meals and bed.

I hope I am made worthier of your love with every passing year, and that you can always find a way to love this mama of yours, who will never outgrow her role, ever.

All my love, signed the one making you steak again tonight.

Tragedy In Connecticut

For my next writing deadline, I'm writing a post formatted as a letter to my daughter Abigail.

She's almost five.

Most of the children who died in yesterday's massacre in Connecticut were just a year older.

I can't imagine the grief of those parents.

Further, I'm struggling to comprehend how such a great evil could take place.

Every life is precious, from the moment of conception and beyond.  Until we recognize this as a culture, there will be more massacres.

We're already in the midst of the largest running assault on the most innocent among us.

So pray for those families, for the souls of the deceased and for the soul of our nation.

Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord, let the perpetual light shine upon them, may they rest in peace.  Amen.

Regretting your Marriage Doesn’t Mean it was a Mistake

Right now, like millions of other married couples, you may be suffering in what you consider to be a tough marriage.

First, take heart! There is good news about perseverance through these difficult times.  Featured recently on the National Organization for Marriage’s Facebook page is the following, hopeful quote:

"In studies of 700 miserable, ready-to-split spouses, researchers found that 2/3 of those who stayed married were happy five years later. They toughed out some of the most difficult problems a couple could face... What was their strategy? A mix of stubborn commitment, a willingness to work together on issues, and a healthy lowering of expectations." -featured in Prevention Magazine (from Marriage Missions International)

I can personally relate to this quote.  In the past, I have regretted my marriage many times (especially during those moments where the bitter cup tasted down right poisonous).  But, even in those dark moments, I’ve come to realize, it didn’t necessarily mean that my marriage was a mistake.  What am I getting at?

First, let me be clear, that God never intends a bad marriage.  We do that ourselves.  Living a good, fruitful marriage is entirely possible and the Church gives the surest way of achieving this such as abstaining from premarital sex and being open to children (neither of which is easy to do, mind you). 

Sometimes (most of the time) though, life still happens.  Things still happen. Our fallen nature still happens. But human beings are also capable of redemption and that’s what I’m getting at.

During our first years together, I struggled daily against believing that my marriage was some sort of critical error and that God had duped me into undertaking a path too difficult for any human being.

But this was only a temptation and one that is very prevalent today.  Why so?

Just look around.  Missing from the current media frenzied over-glorification marriage is the unending mileage of forgiveness required for its harmony.   Instead it is depicted as a romantic, cozy adventure for the benefit of the spouses alone.  

But, boy, when do people do marry, then what happens? 

They quickly encounter the universal difficulties that have always plagued marriages such as breakdowns in communication, conflict, and difficulty raising children.  No wonder so many people call it quits, thinking it was a mistake!  It looks and feels and tastes like nothing they expected!

But again, take heart if you’ve found yourself in the boat of those who have contemplated ‘ending things.’ Yes you may feel regret over you marriage, but that doesn’t necessarily mean it was mistake.  In fact you may discover, as I and so many have, that my perseverance through my marital difficulties has added to me.

For instance, I am far less judgmental of people in general.  I get it now.  I’m not perfect – neither is my spouse.  What was I thinking all those years that I felt “we” could do no wrong together? Our particular rough “patch,” lasted almost two years – and to be honest, we’re still trying to get things right. 

Believe it or not, some of the most saintly couples currently walk this earth have been there.  They have endured addiction, adultery, abuse, depression…sometimes all at once.  And many have walked the healing path and come out victorious.

Why mention all of this?  Because I’ve learned that marriage, more than anything else, is a path to sanctification. As a vocation, married life will cleanse your heart and exercise your faith muscles in an almost inhumane regimen of sacrifice and death to self ad-nauseum – and that’s if you’re doing it right!

I used to think of being married as some sort of security blanket.  Now I see it as a journey I travel everyday, arming myself through prayer and the sacraments to face it’s sometimes blistering conditions.  Christ’s own example shows us that the way to Heaven is the cross and marriage is not impervious to this reality. 

 But what about happiness?

Here God surprised me.  When I finally abandoned the notion that I had made a mistake in marrying my husband, and started to focus on doing God’s will alone, things got better. I was suddenly happy. And I finally came to see that the marriage I so often regretted was not necessarily a mistake. In fact, it really is the best thing that has ever happened to me.

Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t immediate marital bliss or anything, I have grown up from that young college girl clutching on to her, high, unrealistic ideals which in the end, only hurt me and my opinion of my husband.

Certainly the world says suffering within marriage is pointless, and that it’s best to discard it if things aren’t working.  Barring abusive circumstances, we Catholics know better. The saints, who suffered far more than any of us, show us the ultimate reward for undertaking our crosses: peace of heart, and heaven.

God has proven time and again, in even the most broken of circumstances, when His mercy is applied, they become light for the world.    He does have a plan for married people who are hurting and we are capable of being the saints we are all called to be. We need only seek it in all confidence and love.

I’m writing to reassure you that searching for God’s will in the midst of your painful marriage is possible; that perseverance is worth it and that you will be the more peaceful person for doing so.  In the end, you cannot fix another person, you can only change yourself.

(And please, get real marriage help!  Retrouvaille ministries is one such resource. We recommend them.  Also Marriage Ministries.  See link above.)

Confessions of a Mom Standing In Line for Confession

Phew, I made it, Lord!

Well, …we made it didn’t we?  Me, my four year old, my two year old, and every other person in this valley who heard that this parish offers confession during all masses.

Although they all probably made it here more quickly than I did, what with my two year old’s bowls becoming vigorously active right before walking out the door, and my four year old’s recalcitrance not to leave the house without her Cat Woman mask.

And let’s not forget the person who thought it would be a good idea to do a three-point turn right at the mouth of the Church’s driveway as slowly as they possibly could (but, hey, if I was at a loss for things to confess, I acquired at least 3 new sins just in trying to park the car).

But here we are, baby, in our favorite confession line!

I know my children always look forward to trying to play ‘piano’ on all of the “button candles” in front of the image of Our Lady of Perpetual help.

Speaking of perpetual help.  Thank goodness for that one sympathetic older lady who only took about 3 minutes for her confession. 

It’s only been a seven to ten minute average for everyone else so far.  Don’t we have spiritual direction appointments for that?  (I’m not sure that I packed enough snacks to stand here for an hour).

A line like this one makes that confession app look like a better idea all the time.

But, no, shoo!  Away, negative thoughts! I am happy for those souls coming to confession today!  Really!  No, really.  Even if it means I might not make it into the confession today, or for another month. Perhaps it means that someone needed it more than I did! 

And hey, I have three words for you:  confession-of-desire. 

Should I tragically kick-the-bucket before the next time I head to confession

I can point to St. Peter’s clipboard and say, “See!  Right there. On Tuesday. Tried!” 

This might help explain why I hardly see other moms in the confession line. Ever. 

They’ve all either just given up, figured out a way to stop sinning or maybe they have just gotten wise and found someone to watch the kids.

Not I, though Lord.  Horribly sinning, incapable of thinking ahead Catholic mom, I. Am. Still. Standing. Here.

Barely.  Now, I’m more leaning my aching vertebrae against the wall.

If the other people in line only knew, Lord. 

But then again, maybe today we aren’t really lined up for a confessional. Maybe on Tuesdays it morphs into a gateway to Narnia and those that enter find themselves in a snowy, dreamlike wood and proceed to have centuries of adventures before emerging after only a few minutes in our world’s time.

By that measure, all those minutes don’t seem very long at all. 

Anyway, it’s a more pleasant thought than thinking about all the times my daughter has already asked to go play outside on the kid structure.

Oh that reminds me, add “I’ve tried researching boarding schools for the four year old already,” right after, “I’ve been impatient” to the list.

I get it, Lord. In your Mercy, you have called me here and this is part of the penance.  It must be – this line is punishing.  If nothing else, please help me remember the line because standing here for so long makes acquiring a plenary indulgence look like a cake walk.

Which reminds me, did I shut off the oven before we left?

Lord, in your mercy, hear my prayer.

How to Respond to Mean Moms

Once a week I am catechist assistant, and the other day, after class, I met her. 

She is a Catholic mom, who obviously cares enough to enroll her kids in religious education classes, with a baby on the hip and six more beautiful look-a-likes in tow.  Based on appearances only, she struck me as quite a good profile of where I’ll probably find myself in a few years.

One thing I didn’t anticipate though: she was mean.

I’ll spare you all of the gory the details, except to say that she was very put out by having to fill out the paperwork required for the program for all of the children (which is tough when you have more than two, granted, but you know, that part is not really our fault or anything) and she practically slammed the binder out of a good nun’s hands as she wrote in it.  But you get the picture: she was mean. 

She was angry, no, livid, and she was going to let the other adults, know it.  And she was going to do it in front of her kids right after catechism class where they just learned about becoming saints.

I have to confess, the tragic irony of the scene made me chortle as she stomped away closed fisted, with a set of small heads trailing behind her (but the best response award goes to the nun at my side who called after her cheerfully, “God bless you!”).

As is the case with most disturbing scenes that strike someone as just plain wrong, the incident stayed with me and forced me to pray.  How could someone who professes to be so Catholic act so poorly?

Something a priest said from the pulpit has always remained with me: that the moment you dislike something about someone else, it’s because they are showing you something you don’t like about yourself.

I realized the incident affected me so much because, I too have been bitter and resentful and have complained about my crosses.  Yes, I have critiqued parish catechism programs and bemoaned certain  hoops I’ve had to jump through to complete them.  In general, I too have been overly angry and behaved in a way that has embarrassed my children as well as my spouse.  Yes, I have vented anger and harmed myself and my relationships with others.

In short, I have been that mean mom, maybe not in public, but at different times; in private, in prayer, to my children and those who I should love the most.

The whole week I struggled with the incident, “Lord, what was her problem?  It’s not like anyone is forcing her to be in the program.  It’s not like we’re the ones that made her have that many kids.  Her crosses certainly aren’t heavier than all the other big families I know where the mom is actually kind hearted and nice to people.  What a grouch, what a -, and those poor kids!”

As you can tell, I too was venting.

God’s classic response to me: “What’s your point, Marissa?”

You have to imagine it a bit like an Austin Powers moment, where you’ve just elaborated some important point in detail and were only met with a shallow, “And?”

It was perfect. 

It forced me to consider: what was my point anyway?  A mom was mean, so what? The lesson was simple enough: learn from her example, don’t imitate it, and move on.  

And lastly, love her.  This is God's response to mean moms and un-peaceful souls everywhere: love them.

This was also so eloquently worded by Mother Theresa when she wrote."People are unreasonable, illogical, and self-centered. Love them anyway.”   I realized that dealing with one frustrated parent certainly wasn’t the last time I was going to encounter illogical behavior in my life…or even within that week.  So I moved on.  In all my venting, I really didn't have a point – but God did: love those who have no peace, and you will have found your own.

So I prayed for her and for myself and I was able to wish love and peace on that mom, in the end. And yes, in doing so, I was able to have peace myself. (And the good news is she did come and apologize later!)

During This Year of Faith, Pray for Supporters of Same Sex "Marriage”

As someone who lives in the Bay Area, it’s tough to be apart of the decided minority of those who revere marriage as a sacred institution, designed by God to be between one man and one woman for life.

It’s crummy to constantly be accused of being hateful and fearful and so filled with animosity that I will be content with nothing else but ruining the lives of a historically oppressed people.

But it’s even more difficult to watch such a large number of folks, many of them Christians, completely misunderstand Church’s position on marriage as bigoted and somehow oppressive of secular society (they miss the whole point of marriage by doing so, I would argue).

Instead of becoming angry at them, however, or retreating to the emotional gush of “Mine is the just cause and everyone who disagrees with me is just a mean-spirited poo-poo head,” I’ve decided that, during this year of faith, I’m going to pray for supporters of same sex marriage in all seriousness and charity.

And I invite you to do the same.

Pray for them, because supporters of same sex “marriage” whether they are gay, straight, Catholic or otherwise are doing more harm than they probably realize.  In fact, they don’t see it this way at all, which is exactly why they need prayer.

Pray for them because not only are they abetting the federal government’s efforts to “redefine” marriage for everyone, they’re enabling it to take it’s sledgehammer to our religious freedom, which will eventually affect them personally.  More on this in a minute.

Pray for them because, while many simply want their same-sex oriented friends and family to be happy, they are actually harming those same loved ones.  Supporters of same sex marriage are essentially handing gays a death sentence by remaining silent on the topics of early death and disease, which come lock, stock and barrel with the practice of homosexuality.  They are therefore, even without wanting to be, actively complicit in the self-destruction of other human beings.

I haven’t even mentioned the spiritual harm being caused.

Pray for supporters of same sex marriage because, whether they want to admit it or not, they are causing our gay brothers and sisters to fall into and remain in a state of mortal sin. By doing so, they are causing scandal to the Body of Christ and their own children (and recalling Christ’s words about  how one would be better off flung into the ocean than doing so shows just how seriously God takes such an action).

Society’s already gnashing intolerance of the Church has been swelling with confidence due to their dissent from Church teaching.  The world is content to stop at nothing to destroy us on this topic – and all, it seems, with their blessing.

What will happen when their side wins, I wonder?

Will they joyously be celebrating each blessing of gay nuptials when their Churches can no longer perform any marriages or hold receptions on their own grounds, which will, of course, impact their children’s ability to marry in the Faith?

Will supporters of SSM’s zeal for equality and compassion extend to those who no longer have the right to express themselves in public because the side of ‘tolerance’ won?  Or will they enjoy watching the Christianity they profess to love maligned to the fringes of society? 

Are they going to rejoice when their fellow parishioners are perpetually at risk for losing their careers, their money, their businesses and their ability to adopt children because of their beliefs?  Will they ever be able to truly build any sort of community with them knowing that they are in part responsible for tying up and leveling the heavy burden of oppression on their fellow traditional marriage supporting Christians?

I wonder.

Our opponents are going full gusto, and doing so by support of those in favor of so-called equal marriage rights and their assenting silence to the bullying of all those brave enough to speak out in favor of true marriage.

So pray for them.  Dedicate a family rosary for them once a week.

Do so, because they are inviting more harm than good to come upon our nation, upon their fellow Christians, upon the homosexuals they claim to support, and lastly, upon themselves.

What does it say when you have to look to secular society for consolation, while you fling the tenets of you Faith as far as you can throw them?

Hint: it’s called being led by the Evil One away from the Truth.  Pray for them and everyone in this battle that we may all resist the devil’s snares and enticements to reject the Truth, no matter how delightfully enlightened, progressive and ‘tolerant’ he makes them sound. 

AMDG