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The Church of the Transfiguration.
Beautiful churches are a draw for me. I know that many people grumble and gripe about the grandeur of many of our Catholic Churches, but I need them in my life. We have enough ugliness in the world, I need a place full of beauty.
Each time I walk through the doors of a magnificent church, I breathe a sigh of relief. I don’t know if describing it as a sigh of relief is accurate, but it’s as if my soul sighs relief. It’s hard to explain.
Regardless, I need to be in this beautiful space in the presence of Christ.
The church we just left in DC and our new church here in Alabama are suburb churches, nothing incredible. Something happened in the 60s to art and architecture that is a great mystery that leaves one wondering, “What they heck happened?”
It’s always a little down-heartening for me to attend churches that lack beautiful art and architecture. It can give me a bad attitude sometimes. This week, at Daily Mass, I talked to God about this and He reminded me of the Transfiguration.
When Christ was here in earth, He usually looked just like a ordinary guy. He didn’t “look” like anything special and people couldn’t see Him for who He truly was—the Second Person of the Blessed Trinity.
He gave Peter, James, and John, though, a glimpse into His supreme magnificence.
Our beautiful churches are the best way that we humans try to depict Heaven. I’m grateful that we have so many beautiful ones to raise our hearts and minds to God.
The ordinary ones, though, are kind of like Jesus walking around when He was on earth; people couldn’t see with their eyes who He truly was.
So, God shared with me in my thoughts, “Remember what is happening on the altar. Angels and saints are in your midst adoring My Son there.”
When I started to imagine the space around the altar filled with heavenly beings it changed my attitude. While I may not always have the benefit of “seeing” what is truly happening, like the three Apostles did at the Transfiguration, incredible things are happening at the moment of Consecration—even in a suburban church on a weekday at 8:45 am.
Have a blessed Feast Day of the Transfiguration, Catholic Pilgrims.
The first semester of my freshman year in college, my mom called me with some awful news. She explained to me that my old cheerleading coach had been tragically killed in a terrible car accident. She was a young mother of two. A lot of bad memories of my cheerleading days came flooding back to me. My junior year, in order to impress a guy, I dropped sports and became a cheerleader. There was a lot of turmoil in me and, consequently, I allowed that turmoil to turn me into an absolute brat. My cheerleading coach and I did not like each other and I was eventually thrown off the team during basketball season for being wildly disrespectful. So, it wasn't like I had fond memories of being with this coach, but it still felt like a blow because she was young and had two young kids. My mom asked me, "Amy, do you believe in Jesus?" I was totally taken aback by this question and half-heartedly mumbled out a feeble, "Yes." My mom sighed and said, "Okay," but I knew she was not convinced by my answer. See, it was my junior year when I decided to reject a relationship with God. I believed in Him, but I did nothing to show it. It's a good reason why Sola Fide doesn't work. I said I believed in Jesus, but my mom wasn't reassured one bit. After I hung up the phone with her, I was a bit jarred by her question. I pridefully thought, "Why would she ask me that, she knows I still call myself a Christian?" But, I wasn't fooling anybody. There was nothing in my actions to suggest that I really loved and believed in Christ. This worried my mother and rightfully so. I was a pitiful "Christian." There was something in her question though that remained with me and haunted my thoughts. My mom was worried about my salvation and she wasn't convinced that I was Heaven bound should I leave the earth "too soon" like my old coach. Just like St. Monica prayed for her son, St. Augustine, my mother prayed and prayed for me. Thank God for good mothers that never give up on our souls. Have a blessed Wednesday, Catholic Pilgrims. St. Monica, pray for us!
Continue ReadingWhat is the purpose of this life? "To know, love, and serve God in this life so that you can be happy with Him in the next." First day out the gate for our homeschool and I asked this Baltimore Catechism question to my son. All three of my kids could probably say it in their sleep. Lol. I asked my son, "Is it hard to love someone that you don't know?" "Yes. You can still love someone, but it won't feel like how I love you and Daddy." "That's very true. You know, I didn't know my paternal great-grandma, she died a few years before I was born. I love her because she's my blood, but when I was a kid, it was a faint love. I just didn't know her. But, I wanted to love her more because my dad loves her so much and great-Grandma Shirley loves her so much. How do you think I learned to love her better?" "Well, you probably asked Papa and Grandma to tell you stories about her." "That's exactly what I did and still do. Each time I learn a little more, I come to know her more, and then love her more. It's the same way with God. The more we know Him, the more we will come to love Him, and the easier it will be to serve Him. So, how do we get to know Him?" "Well, reading the Bible, going to Mass, praying." "Yes. All those things and even more: Talking to His mom, reading about the lives of the Saints (because we will see Jesus in them), learning about God through science, philosophy, and beauty." I know for me, Catholic Pilgrims, when I barely knew God, my love was weak and faint. I loved Him in a very abstract, hazy way. The more I try to get to know God, the more I come to love Him in a very real and concrete way. And then, I desire to know even more to grow even more in love. So, live the Faith boldly and travel well this Tuesday.
Continue ReadingIn January of 2019, the day before my 40th birthday, my husband came to me smiling and said, "Pack your bags! We are going to Cincinnati for a day!" I instantly felt dread. Not because I didn't want to go with him, but because it would mean leaving our kids home alone for one night. My oldest was a senior in high school and completely capable. My best friend lived not far away and we would only be a hour south. Still, I was nervous about leaving. My kids urged, "Mom, it's going to be just fine. Everything is fine." But, I couldn't shake my need to think that I was the only one who could take care of things properly. Reluctantly, I agreed to go, though I was struggling to trust. Off we went and, thankfully, I fixed my attitude and we had a wonderful time. When we got home the next afternoon, I spotted my best friend's van near our house. "Hmm...is this a surprise?" I wondered. Upon entering the house, it was completely quiet and I snuck into the kitchen and found my family, my best friend's family, and my dad, sister, and nephews all there to surprise me. "SURPRISE!" they all yelled. What I didn't know the day before was that my husband had to get me out of the house so that my family from Kansas could arrive to surprise me. They were there the whole night with my kids. We often don't trust God when He asks us to walk the Narrow Path. We don't trust Him with our happiness and have faith that a life walked in imitation of Christ will be worth it. What I would have missed out on if I had chosen to stay home and not trust my husband and kids. What we miss out on when we don't trust Christ with our lives. Trust in the Narrow Path, Catholic Pilgrims. It won't disappoint. Have a blessed Sunday.
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