The Ascension and Abandonment Issues

I always have trouble with The Ascension.  It’s become a little bit of a joke between God and myself.  When I’m praying my rosary in the morning, I always have to think a minute to remember what comes after the Resurrection in the Glorious mysteries.  And then I remember, oh yes, the Ascension, and laugh a little, and get on with my prayer.

The Ascension has never completely made sense to me.  Intellectually I understand the whole thing about Jesus returning to heaven to be an Advocate for us with the Father.  Plus it makes sense on a practical level.  Jesus wants to have a deep, intimate relationship with every one of us, which would pretty difficult if he were still physically on earth, bound by matter to one physical location at a time, with a limited amount of time that would have to be guarded by gatekeepers.  I mean, I know that my local bishop is my spiritual father, but that doesn’t mean I actually get to see the man more than once a year at most, and that’s only if I go specially out of my way to see him.  I feel lucky that once, a few years ago, I had an actual conversation with him.  And while I know that he cares about me as he cares about all of the souls entrusted to his care, I would not call my relationship with him deep nor intimate.  If my relationship with Jesus were on that level, there wouldn’t be much point to being Christian.  Plus, what would it do to the meaning of the Eucharist to have Jesus himself physically still on earth?  So that much makes sense.

However, in my heart of hearts, in the irrational side of me that does not like the idea of being left behind, the part that still remembers what it was like to be a five year old who suddenly realizes that her family has left the house and forgotten all about her, I don’t understand the Ascension.  I don’t see why Jesus had to leave us.  I want him here, someone I can see and touch and hug.  I mean, hugging a Tabernacle may technically be the same thing, but it’s not as comforting as putting your arms around a live person, and feeling them hug you back.

However, I’ve come to understand that part of living in this world and yet preparing myself to live eternally in the next is accepting this kind of discomfort.  Our world here will never be perfect, will never be everything we want it to be, because this world is not our home.  My home is really in heaven, where at long last I will be able to put my arms around my God, and feel him hugging me back.

I do believe that it will be worth the wait.

The Body of Christ

Today I went to my Parish Credit Union to cash a check. It’s a tiny credit union, tucked away in a corner of the basement of what used to be my parish grade school (now the common grade school for three inner-city Catholic parishes, of which my parish is one). It’s only open three afternoons a week, and is accessed by going through an unmarked door at the bottom of a flight of concrete steps on the back of the school. There is no sign, no posted hours, no advertising. You only know that it is open because when you try the doorknob it is unlocked. I’ve been a member of this credit union since I was in third grade. The ladies who run it, a gang of almost-geriatric matriarchs who could run the parish if they ever cared to try, have known me since my family moved to the area when I was five. When I went in, I didn’t bother to bring my bag or wallet in with me. I presented the check I wanted cashed, the woman behind the counter asked me my account number, had me sign on the dotted line, and handed over the money. Just like that, with inquiries after my family’s health, and telling me how good it is to see me again.

On the way out, I passed another Matriarch of the Parish, Mrs. Richardson. She smiled and asked how I was. I replied politely, and it seemed that was it. Then she stopped and asked me how was Lisa, where was she now? Lisa is my little sister, who is currently in Kenya. She arrived there shortly before Christmas to begin a five month stint teaching grade school at St. Jude’s Academy, the second half of her year of service in Africa. I don’t know how many of you guys have been following the news, but the country is in a downward spiral of violence that is threatening to turn into a total meltdown. Just after Christmas there was an election in which the two main candidates were members of rival tribes. The election was massively corrupt. Protests by the party that lost turned violent, there were reprisals, and everything quickly spiraled out of control. Now there are gangs of men from one tribe armed with machetes and clubs studded with nails actively going out to hunt down members of the other tribe, and being disappointed when they can’t find any to kill. So far the police have been unable to stop the violence, and have lately been given orders to shoot to kill. The US State Department’s warnings have been growing progressively grave, although they have not yet warned US citizens to leave the country.

I told Mrs. Richardson that Lisa had made it safely from the small village where she had been staying to Nairobi, where hopefully she would be able to make arrangements to come home soon. She smiled and nodded, and said she was praying. We parted, but as I walked away, I was shaken. You see, Mrs. Richardson’s sister is Sr. Dorothy Stang, the Sister of Notre Dame who was martyred in Brazil in 2005. She was gunned down on a forest road by hired killers in the pay of rich landowners who didn’t like her work with poor farmers. Her death stunned her family, and our parish. Mrs. Richardson’s sister went into a dangerous situation and never came back. Now she was asking me about my sister, who is in a dangerous situation. Hopefully, however, my sister will come back.Most of the time I take for granted the kind of community I live in. Even though I usually attend Mass elsewhere, I’m still part of the parish I grew up in. My family is embedded deep in the web of relationships. Because of the strength of that community, I can walk into the credit union and cash a check without ever having to produce any ID, a situation most people haven’t experienced since the 1950s. Every person I encountered knew who I was, knew who my family is, and cared about us. This is partly because we’re an unusual family, but it’s because they’re unusual too. We are a parish that gives birth to martyrs and missionaries and free spirits. We are a parish that cares about God and about each other. We are a parish that trusts and prays for one another.

This is what it means to be part of the Body of Christ.

No Nonsense Marian Theology

Today I am wearing my Our Lady of Guadelupe t-shirt, one of my favorite articles of clothing.  My friend Chris asked about it, and I started telling her the whole story: Juan Diego is on his way to Mass, and a lady dressed as an Aztek princess tells him to go to the bishop and instruct him to build a chapel in her honor on that spot.  My friend pointed out that this was like a picture of Abraham Lincoln coming to life, and asking me to go to the President of the United States and telling him that he should build a new library on the corner of Fifth and Main because Abraham Lincoln said so.

The funny thing is that Mary does this a lot when she appears to people.  She comes to visit, and tells them to do something totally ridiculous.  Tell the whole region to repent.  Drink from a spring that isn’t there.  Whatever.  The visionary whines about it some, and Mary tells them to suck it up.  Just do it, cuz I’m going to make it work.  So they do, and it does, and we have miracles like roses in December, and springs of healing water and things.

It occurred to me that this is very like a mother.  The mom tells the kid to do something, the kid whines, and the mom tells the kid to suck it up.  And then the kid does it, and it’s cool.  Because it was never about the kid.  It was about the mom and the power of God.  We do these things, not because we can, but because God can.  It’s a good thing for me to remember these days, when so much seems impossible.  Suck it up.  It’s not about me, it’s about God.