Author Archives: jtjimltcm

Weeds

Quote: Look within. Within is the fountain of good, and it will ever bubble up, if thou wilt ever dig. ~~Marcus Aurelius

Living in Phoenix where summer temperatures once reached 122 degrees on June 26, 1990, I am a gardener who loves anything that grows. Absolutely anything.

When people from Phoenix move to Oregon, we don’t cut down trees either. Just ask my grade school friend Shawnee. It took her fifteen years to grab a chainsaw.

This Arizona fried-brain attitude makes life very difficult in the garden. Seed packages tell you to place zinnias six inches apart. But when you look at a small seedling isolated on a patch of dry dirt, six inches is a long way to reach a fellow zinnia. This is also why it’s very hard for an Arizonan to work up a hatred for weeds.

I remember the first Californian who walked through my lush green yard. “What is this?” she asked. When I told her, she exclaimed in horror, “In California, Bermuda grass is a weed!!”

“Well,” I inwardly sniffed, “it’s green. Besides, everybody grows Bermuda grass. And double besides, I can buy Bermuda grass seed at the nursery.” I didn’t want her to know she hurt my feelings, but to call Bermuda grass a weed seemed a bit harsh.

Slowly, one question percolated up from inside of me, finally rising to the surface. What is a weed? I began looking up weeds in every gardening book I could find. Most didn’t tell you what they were. They only told you how to poison them.

Eventually, in my non-poison Rodale organic gardening “bible,” I found what I had by now begun to suspect, “Weeds are simply native plants that happen to be growing where you would rather have something else grow.” Webster’s is even more to the point, “A plant that is not valued where it is growing.” Further down, Webster leaves no doubt, “an obnoxious growth, thing, or person.”

I’ve learned to identify with weeds. Bermuda grass knows how to take advantage of limited water and soil conditions. It’s willing to endure searing summer heat to give us green grass by the swimming pool. That’s enough to make me forgive it when it sneaks into the row of cucumbers. I still dig and pull at stray Bermuda strands, insisting they obey my boundaries. But I don’t poison it. And I don’t celebrate over its dry remains. I wish it well.

Weeds take me closer to God than almost any plant I know. In human terms they may be plants “not valued where they are growing,” but I doubt God thinks that. He made weeds. He made me.

Many days I feel like a human weed. There are people who have told me as much. But God made me. He doesn’t make weeds. He makes plants who extend beyond their boundaries, and he makes people who goof up now and then. But God doesn’t make weeds. He loves us. And He wants us. No matter what names people want to stick on us. There are no weeds in God’s kingdom.

Scripture: For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. Psa 139:13-14

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Meditations: In the Garden
TABLE OF CONTENTS

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Hello world!

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It is a day just like all the others before …

You raise up in bed, turn and drop your legs over the side and onto the floor. How can you know that you will come back to this spot at the end of the day a changed person? Nothing will ever be the same. Ever.

On this page…and the many pages to follow…in the coming weeks and months…this day and the many that have passed by since will be shared by the survivor…me.

If I have anything of value to say…it owes much to the love that has changed…and continues to change me…from the arrogant, self-righteous person I used to be…to the semi-arrogant, semi-self-righteous person I am still struggling to control, manage, and change. Join me in the battle. At the very least, you will feel much better about your own struggles.

Thanks for dropping in today. I hope you will check back in with me in the days ahead.

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WHAT’S NEW

December, 2013: The Lord’s Prayer

Do you say debts, sins or trespasses? What difference does it make?
What does this prayer sound like in Aramaic, the language of Biblical times?
Who was the Singing Nun?
Did you know American Indians translated the Lord’s Prayer into sign?
Where can I find remembrances and keepsakes of this prayer for myself, my home and my friends?

RCIA v. 1

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August 2012

Fifty paces ahead on the sidewalk, an arrow pointing to my left…in less than a minute I would finally be walking through the door to the RCIA* class and into the Catholic Church.

A mixture of anticipation and apprehension stirred inside me. After years of watching Catholicism play out on EWTN, of wondering if I could really become Catholic and of considering what it would mean for the rest of my life…I was officially on the journey.

Marcus Grodi, on EWTN’s The Journey Home show, each week traced the personal journeys of people just like me who had each walked through the door into the Catholic Church. Never missing an episode, I had identified with each of his guests – their early lives, their prejudices against Catholicism, their faith questions, their loss of family and friends who could not deal with their new faith…and most definitely…with their peace and joy when at long last they walked toward the priest for their first reception of the Eucharist.

Emotionally embracing the Catholic faith, I had finally come to that place of peace…short of the final decision. And here I was walking up the sidewalk, the decision being sealed as I reached for the handle, pulled…and walked into the room.

The moment was transformational, a personal allegory, the first movement of the first petal on a rose opening to the world, a hint of the anticipated joy when I…not someone else on a television show…when I would be walking toward the priest in full communion with the Church.

Ahh…romantic notions don’t always play out so nicely.

I surveyed the large gym being used for our RCIA classroom. It seemed as if a sixth grade class complete with its desks and teacher podium had been carefully lowered through the roof, keeping the rows and aisles clearly defined in the middle of the big open space. I introduced myself to the woman who approached. She smiled, recognizing my name from her list, and handed me an enrollment page and class syllabus. “What sacraments do you want?” she asked.

I was caught up short. Could I really be so unprepared for becoming Catholic? What did she mean? Marriage? I was already married. Communion (I should remember to call it the Eucharist)? Well…doesn’t everyone want that? Anointing of the sick? What the heck does that have to do with entering the church? I did the only thing I could think of to avoid a long discussion at the door. “I don’t know. What sacraments are there?”

“That’s OK,” she said. “We will go over that in class.” I walked toward the desks and chose a seat in the middle of the room.

As people joined the group, we worked to fill out our enrollments. The leader had by this time discerned the need for her to help us out. “There are seven sacraments,” she explained. It took only two minutes for her to list and explain them.

If this was a precursor of things to come, I was in a lot of trouble. The form required the kind of details I have never been good at…and for that reason…details that I have never much cared to deal with. How old am I? Every time…I have to subtract 1951 from the current year. What anniversary are my husband and I celebrating? I have to go to the file cabinet, pull out our marriage certificate and do another subtraction problem. If not careful, we may pass by our golden wedding anniversary without even knowing it.

The enrollment form had it all…questions about things I did know…how many times have I been married? One. How long have we been married? (Well, fewer than 50 years but more than 30…I think.)

And questions I knew nothing about…date of my confirmation…sponsor of my confirmation…place of baptism…and date….

Well, this was September. The class ran weekly through next March. Seven months. I had time to figure it all out.

Things did not get easier.

The leader went to the podium, pulled out the syllabus and began running down all the requirements for the class. We would have to buy a copy of the Catholic Catechism. Her assistant held up a red book. I was ready to check that off my list. My green copy of the Catechism of the Catholic Church, 2^nd Ed., published by the Vatican Press was clearly legit…even if it was green instead of red…one of those unnecessary details I wouldn’t let concern me.

As people began asking questions about the book and its cost, the leader addressed the green/red issue. My book was the official Vatican Catechism. The class copy – required – was the revision made by the U.S. Council of Bishops…another $20 book on my shelf.

The assistant held up a copy of the wine colored Ignatius Catholic Bible required for the class. Wine? Check. My Bible matches this time. I just saved myself $20.

But things were adding up fast: $60 cost for the class, $40 for books and $80 for a required Cursillo retreat in November.

The lady to my left on the other side of the aisle raised her hand. “I’ve got a King James Bible. [KJV]” The leader was insistent…the KJV version wouldn’t work. “But what’s the difference. I have a Bible.” I waited for the leader to help the lady understand the distinctions between the two versions of the Bible.

“They’re not the same. They are different.” In frustration, a man in the front row turned around and said loudly he would pay for the her Bible. Tension was building in the room.

I wanted to lean over and reassure her of the validity of both her Bible and her question. I sat in the middle of a room clearly divided into two groups representing the parish. On my left, tattooed men and women were dressed in work jeans and shirts. On my right, people were in button down shirts, dress slacks and dresses. While the man had offered to cover the $20, she still had $160 left to worry about, even if the leader had said people could break it down into payments. And, while he intended his offer out of kindness, for the person publicly identified as “too poor to afford a Bible,” kindness is not much better than condescension.

Maybe my failure to appreciate details was finally catching up with me. Did it mean I might not have what it takes to be Catholic? I just couldn’t figure out why her KJV was illegitimate in its totality. I kept waiting to see Christian charity modeled by the leader, “Sure. You can use your KJV, and we will help you with the other additions from the Catholic Bible. Just check with me after the class.”

Things did not improve. Marching down the syllabus, our leader picked up speed.

“You will need a sponsor.”

“What is that? I don’t know anyone. What do they do?” Looks of concern and confusion clouded faces as questions popped up randomly from around the room.

“Don’t worry about that. We’ll talk about it in another class. If you can’t find one, we will find one. Let’s move on. You will need to choose a saint.”

“What is that?” More clouded faces and popping questions. “How do we do that? I don’t know any saints. How do we know which saint to choose?”

“Don’t worry about that. We’ll talk about it in another class. We will help you. Let’s move on. I’m passing around a page. Make sure you get one. Each week you will need to write down one charitable deed you did for each day and turn this page in to me when you come to class.”

“What…what…what…?” The questions were moving quickly from lack of understanding about how to do the assignments to lack of understanding for why.

“Don’t worry. It’s not that hard. You don’t have to make it difficult…like mowing someone’s yard. It can be as simple as smiling at someone. That is a charitable act…and that is part of being Catholic. I won’t be grading them.”

My mind wandered away from the discussion of charitable deeds in order to deal with more pragmatic and personal questions.

This was the beginning of weekly classes from September through to March 31, Easter. While I now knew which of the seven sacraments I needed, that had become secondary to the question of whether or not it made sense to complete the class. After all, my husband was not at peace with the whole Catholic/Protestant division. Considering our marriage as a vocation, and validated by a woman on The Journey Home who had lived my situation, I knew I would not formally join the church until my husband reached personal peace about the change. He didn’t have to become Catholic himself, but it was important that he be at peace with my decision. There was no sign that this would come by Easter. Maybe RCIA could wait for another year…and another class.

I mentally re-entered the world. Time for the class being short, the leader took the last few minutes to go around the room, all of the students and leaders giving a brief statement of who we were and why we were in the class…did we want to become Catholic and why?

A prayer was offered. Cookies were on the back table.

I walked back to the leader and thanked her for the class, explaining that, now knowing what the RCIA process was like, it might be more appropriate for me to wait and take the class when I knew for certain that I would be able to enter the church at the end.

As I walked through the door, back into my former world, my mind was churning, my heart was pumping, and my eyes were burning. “Wow.” And I exhaled as slowly as possible.

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*RCIA: Rite of Catholic Initiation for Adults, the educational class, teaching the basic doctrines of Christianity and the Catholic Church, preparing adults (catechumens) to enter the Roman Catholic Church. In current practice, the class meets weekly beginning in the fall and culminates 7 to 8 months later at Easter Vigil Mass of the following spring with entrance for the catechumens into the Church.

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NEXT: DEAR DEBORAH, Page 1 – RCIA v1.1

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IT’S NOT WHAT YOU THINK

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³So he told them this parable: ⁴“What man of you, having a hundred sheep, if he has lost one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness, and go after the one which is lost, until he finds it? ⁵And when he has found it, he lays it on his shoulders, rejoicing. ⁶And when he comes home, he calls together his friends and his neighbors, saying to them, ‘Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep which was lost.’ ⁷Just so, I tell you, there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance. Luke 15:3-7 [RSVCE]

IT’S NOT WHAT YOU THINK

As a Lutheran, I have great reason to give pause in writing.

Martin Luther set out to change Catholic practices, and he put into motion the great revolution that set Christians, including me, outside the Catholic Church.

I do not want a revolution…just a small change. I do not say this lightly. As a Lutheran who is on the path to becoming Catholic, can anything good come from setting out to change even the smallest part of the Catholic Church?

First of all, I need to say that change was the furthest thing from my mind. I intended to attend RCIA. I was looking forward to it. I still do.

I knew I had a lot to learn about a Church with a 2,000 year history. I still do.

Years of following the news and commentary on the New Evangelization led me to believe the Catholic Church was ready to take even a poor sinner like me, Lord have mercy. They do…but it’s just not that easy.

…the New Evangelization…in recent years it’s become the buzzword par excellence in Catholic circles. Books are being published, lectures given, conferences organized, diocesan offices created, and whole courses of study put together, all devoted to the ways and means of the New Evangelization.

This is where the challenge begins. It is hard to create a case for change without being critical. It is especially difficult to nail the grievances onto the door of an Internet public forum. I have no desire to follow Luther’s path. But the stakes in this discussion are high. Even one lost sheep left in the wilderness should cause us to shudder.

In a nutshell, the “New Evangelization” is about salesmanship. The idea is to move the Catholic product in the crowded lifestyle marketplace of the post-modern world.

When cardinals say the next pope has to be committed to the New Evangelization, therefore, what they mean is that he should be a pitchman, someone who can attract people to the faith.

Just as in other markets, there are different ways of doing that – some salespeople are brash and in-your-face, some much kinder and gentler. Some work the street, others work the high-end markets. The key, however, is to be always be closing.

The odd thing about “selling” Catholicism is that just when a buyer turns up, the Church tells them that their money is no good. I am speaking from personal experience. I showed up at the door, and they told me to put my wallet away.

Jesus Sheep 1 Now…this is not what you think. I am not trying to retaliate. I have no desire to hurt anyone. And, yes, I have tried to address my concerns in a personal and private setting…many times. To no avail.

And while this is about me…it is about way more than that. The New Evangelization is more than a sales campaign for the Church. It is about more than wooing ex-Catholics home again. It is about laying the lost sheep on her shoulders; it is about rejoicing.

Whether the New Evangelization will work remains to be seen, but at least it seems to have the church’s finger on a real problem.

In the United States, there are now 22 million ex-Catholics, big enough to be the largest religious denomination in the country. The church drops four members for every one member it gains, and if it were not for Hispanic immigration, it would have been declining for decades. Yet the Catholic church in America also holds on to almost 70 percent of its members into adulthood, a higher retention rate than any other Christian denomination.

Those statistics suggest the problem for Catholicism isn’t so much what happens once people are actually in the church, but getting them through the door in the first place. To return to the marketing metaphors, the problem isn’t customer service but new sales.

I was a “new sale” ready to check out. And, just as I reached the clerk at the register, she turned out the light at her station, locked the cash drawer and put a sign on the counter: This Lane Closed.

This is not what you might think…the story of a wounded sheep with a bruised ego. Certainly, if I am honest, some part of my ego is involved. But some kind of ego is necessary to stand before the Church and suggest that she is traveling down the wrong path.

What is one to do? If I love the Church, and if I care about the lost sheep, there seems to be no other course to take.

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What’s this ‘new evangelization’ thing, anyway? John L. Allen Jr. Mar. 7, 2013
http://ncronline.org/blogs/ncr-today/whats-new-evangelization-thing-anyway

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Don’t Get Mad

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The worst part of this writing project is that it involves a heavy discussion of religion.

Well..actually…the very worst part of this project is that it involves the Catholic religion.

I shudder when I consider Internet Comboxes on religious websites. There is simply no way to have a civil discussion about faith. In short time, someone will write an attack on someone else, and like flies to cows, the Combox will fill with absolutely useless vitriol.

And those are the “good” comments. If the blog merely mentions the Catholic faith, you will draw killer flies, hornets, Africanized bees and tarantula hawks. I know what I am in for.

I am not only going to mention the Catholic Church. I am going to mention it in every line. Please, please, please…don’t get mad. I am going to question it, challenge it and confront it. But, it’s not what you might think.

Heads-up. I love the Catholic Church. I want to join the Catholic Church. And, when I first pursued her (the Church is the Bride of Christ – her), I thought we were a match made in heaven. I called the contact in the church bulletin and put my name on the list for RCIA, their class for new members.

During the course of my years working in a pro-life arena, I came to understand, appreciate and agree with the Catholic pro-life position on everything…yes…everything, including the thorny issue of contraception. I amassed a library, courtesy of Amazon, of books on every aspect of the Catholic faith: the Reformation, early church fathers, the Saints, prayer, biographies…and the Catechism of the Catholic Church, 2^nd Edition.

In the car, I continue to catch the Rosary with Fr. Benedict Groeschel. Between Patrick Coffin and Patrick Madrid, on the highway, I have traveled at least 150 hours’ worth of Q&A with radio listeners asking Catholic questions, including pointed challenges to the “Patricks” each of whom welcomes challenges from non-Catholics.

Meanwhile, at home on television, the EWTN schedule of programs covers every aspect of The New Evangelization. I Live Right with Dr. Ray, yell, “Go get ‘em, ladies,” to the women with The Catholic View, Consume the Word with Dr. Scott, track current news with Raymond Arroyo and remain ready at any moment to Grab my Catechism.

Daily, I receive the Saint of the Day via e-mail, recording each of the Saint’s names and dates in my devotional journal. Measuring their accomplishments against my own life, I come up short. And I have no time to “catch up.” I calculate the age of each saint at death. Few make it past 65. Both my father and mother died at 62. I am 63.

The saints, reaching out to me through the centuries, inspired me to attend the last two West Coast Walk for Life events in San Francisco and to travel to Jamaica to volunteer with the Missionaries of the Poor.

OK. I hear you. It’s not all about me. I get it. None of this is intended to vouch for my personal and perfect understanding of everything Catholic.

It’s simply that some of it is about me. And considering that the protestants took me out of agnosticism when I was raw and untested, when I had never cracked a Bible and had to learn the Our Father…I figured I was at least ready, after twenty years of dedication to Christ, to enter the Catholic Church and fight the good fight of the faith; take hold of the eternal life, to which you were called and for which you made the good confession in the presence of many witnesses. [1Tim 6:12]

I was wrong.

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