It is well known my love and admiration for Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI. It is equally well known, in this household anyway, of my abhorrence and repulsion for fasting. And so, I am torn, simply filled with discord, to be writing on Benedict's 2009 Lenten message on fasting (found here). It is like seeing former Roughrider star Weston Dressler now wearing a *spit* Winnipeg Blue Bomber jersey. Alas, when our one time Papa speaks, I must listen.

But why? Why fast? Food is so good. God made food. God made us need food to live. Food. Glorious food. Let's pause and look at this plate of food for a moment. 

How majestic. How uplifting. Truly a demonstration for the existence of God.

I recall vividly my two young boys, er, every day. You see, they wake up generally happy. However, if they do not get food in their belly within 20 minutes the world starts to fall apart. No pain or anguish can compare. Finally, buoyed by a hearty bowl of oatmeal, perhaps not completely cooked due to dire time constraints, these boys seek survival until their 10am snack. The snack must attempt to tide the boys over until lunch. Yes, each and every meal or snack for the day is often preceded by a meltdown. I think this daily drab experience is the reason Hobbes coined his phrase: "The life of man, solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short." Clearly food is important. Especially to young children who somehow remind me of the gas guzzling Hummer. But as adults, we seek a deeper meaning for the deprivation of food.

Benedict writes: "We might wonder what value and meaning there is for us Christians in depriving ourselves of something that in itself is good and useful for our bodily sustenance. The Sacred Scriptures and the entire Christian tradition teach that fasting is a great help to avoid sin and all that leads to it. For this reason, the history of salvation is replete with occasions that invite fasting."

We fast to avoid sin. My little Joseph and John Paul don't sin. Hard as that is to believe. But I do. Fasting helps fight the fallen pull towards sin. To willingly give up a good that our bodies need is to, in a certain way, master our own bodies: the flesh. Look, to avoid sin takes grace. But it also takes will power. If confronted with the choice to watch a bad TV show, or instead work on one's homework, one must will the good to avoid the fomes of sin. Fasting builds up will power. It is spiritual training. Rocky Balboa was unable to beat Clubber Lang in Rocky III until he first was able to sacrifice and train properly. So too do our spiritual battles require proper training... And maybe an awesome theme song as well. Yes, a theme song would be great too.

Further, fasting disposes us to Christ. Indeed, Benedict states: "Denying material food, which nourishes our body, nurtures an interior disposition to listen to Christ and be fed by His saving word. Through fasting and praying, we allow Him to come and satisfy the deepest hunger that we experience in the depths of our being: the hunger and thirst for God."  Feel the pain of hunger? Great! We must hunger for God! That perhaps isn't the most consoling thought on a Good Friday when I'm rolling around on the floor in starvation-induced agony... and it's only 9am. But digging deeper, looking into the inner desire of the soul, yes we must develop a hunger for Christ.

And how can we leave Christ out of fasting? He not only is the One we must desire, but He even shows us the way. Soak in these words of Benedict:

  "In the New Testament, Jesus brings to light the profound motive for fasting, condemning the attitude of the Pharisees, who scrupulously observed the prescriptions of the law, but whose hearts were far from God. True fasting, as the divine Master repeats elsewhere, is rather to do the will of the Heavenly Father, who “sees in secret, and will reward you”  (Mt 6,18). He Himself sets the example, answering Satan, at the end of the forty days spent in the desert that “man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that proceeds from the mouth of God” (Mt 4,4). The true fast is thus directed to eating the “true food,” which is to do the Father’s will (cf. Jn 4,34)."

Can you imagine people fasting in order to appear better than others? Surely there must be easier ways? Lift weights? Get a haircut? Buy a fancy new camel? Nope, the Pharisees fasted, and fasted fruitlessly (pardon the pun). Of course, the real reason was to appear spiritually superior to others. Even the greatest acts of self-denial, when done without love, leave us literally feeling empty. Love must be proven with sacrifice. Sacrifice must be fueled by love. The final word from Benedict explains this:

"By freely embracing an act of self-denial for the sake of another, we make a statement that our brother or sister in need is not a stranger. It is precisely to keep alive this welcoming and attentive attitude towards our brothers and sisters that I encourage the parishes and every other community to intensify in Lent the custom of private and communal fasts, joined to the reading of the Word of God, prayer and almsgiving."

Fasting is not selfish. It actually bonds people together in love. This is difficult to believe when one's stomach is eating itself up, yet clearly it does. If someone says: "I'll pray for you" to another person, that's good. If someone prays for someone and fasts for their needs, as Benedict says, the person in need is no longer a stranger but a brother or sister.

I'll conclude with one of my favourite St. Padre Pio stories. Padre Pio had been going through a difficult time and was to be consoled by being made a plate of his favourite pasta. He rather excitedly sat in front of his plate, said his grace, and then looked at it with gusto. Padre Pio then paused thoughtfully, then looked up to the brothers nearby and said something like: "Let's make some poor person happy tonight." His beautiful consoling plate of food was given to someone in need.

There is no mistaking it. Fasting is crucial. Thank you Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI for the timely reminder.

And yes, I am starving after having written this post.

La Messe

We all know the saying: treat each Mass as if it were your first Mass, your last Mass, your only Mass. Words to live by.

It was 30 minutes before Mass. We had done remarkably well, I must humbly add. Supper was finished. Dishes done. The kids not only were dressed, but they'd had a bath beforehand as well. Why, we even had a clothing theme going on!







So I sat down and pulled out the remarkable book: "Preparing Yourself for Mass" by Msgr. Romano Guardini (1885-1968). I read a chapter on the importance of composure at Mass. Guardini explains that silence is not enough at Mass, our minds, bodies, and souls must be composed in such a way as to enter Mass despite the distractions around us (or within us). Beautiful stuff. I read the chapter, reflected on it for a while, and then proceeded to get everyone in the van for Mass. Truly this was going to be a Mass for the ages. How prepared we finally were! Composure. Got it.

There was a hiccup on the way. Joseph was being silly and not getting his coat and boots on like he was told to. No big deal. We still arrived a few minutes before Mass began.

And it began. We read the entrance antiphon. A beautiful antidote, often revealing a theme of reflection to keep in mind throughout Mass. With the antiphon completed, and my composure soaring high towards heaven, Father began with: "In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit." And then everything went black.

It began with Joseph. He started bopping up and down. Moving around. Wiggling. Talking. Getting books loudly. Drinking water noisily. Not sitting where he was supposed to. Talking back to me. Pushing me away. I looked up and it was already time for the Gospel. I spent the entire Gospel trying to get him to stand up. Threatening him with a life of misery if he didn't stand. No story later. No snack. No hockey stick next year. No use of our vehicles when he's older. No university. To no avail. The Gospel mercifully ended. I think I heard the word "seed" in there. The way it dragged on leads me to believe it was from the Gospel of John. Not a great time for a deep theological reflection. But it was over. Exasperated I flung Joseph onto Becca and told her I couldn't handle him anymore. She took him from me and I sat down to listen to the homily. As Father began I heard Joseph laughing. His laugh produced a laugh in John Paul. John Paul! Where was he?! There he was, hanging out in the centre aisle. He seemed to be playing peekaboo with some of the parishioners. Joseph's laughing made him start to giggle and grunt (John Paul's a goofball). I immediately went to force Joseph to be quiet, only to see that Becca had already had her hand over his mouth, and he was laughing despite the lack of oxygen. Eventually I went and did the walk of shame down the aisle, picked up my one son, and took him to the back. John Paul screamed and kicked in delight.

In the back John Paul squirmed and kicked until I put him down. He immediately made a beeline to a candle on a little table. I fought it away from him, and he zipped over to the stairs. I shooed him away, and then it was off to the wheelchairs, then the children's mailboxes, the collection baskets... where were those darn Development and Peace pamphlets when I needed them!... he needed something to destroy. I scooped him up. He squirmed and kicked. The bell rang for the consecration. He quietly pointed to the front and whispered: "Jshsshsh" (Jesus). How holy of him. Then it was back to war. I looked up and saw Becca with Joseph in a headlock. Well, I could see the thought was in her eyes anyway. Finally we made it to go down for Communion. As I returned to the pew Becca quickly took John Paul from me. Translation: "Joseph's your problem now!" After Holy Communion I got into another war with Joseph over who he was going to pray for. Finally, with a defiant sarcasm I'm sure, he replied: "Daddy." Then Mass ended ("Thanks be to God."). But it didn't! Aha... there was a D&P prayercard in the pews. We all were to recite this prayer. So we stood there impatiently, as John Paul had a squirmy meltdown, while this endless prayer was read: "Sisters and brothers... seeds for sowing... we must change the world... us... as the rivers flow into the seas... waterbottles are evil... Amen." Now it was over. After Joseph blew out the candles we apologized to Father and went home. In the vehicle Becca and I reflected on how we didn't have a clue what the readings were, or homily, or anything. And it was at that moment that I recalled the need to be composed at Mass. Composure to be open to the sacred mysteries. I guess sometimes composure requires small steps.... I didn't kill my kids. Baby steps.

May my next Mass be treated like my first Mass, my last Mass, my only Mass... and especially not my recent Mass.

Amen.

Family "Prayer"

What's this? Scare quotes on Family "Prayer?" Where do I begin?

Single Life of Prayer

Single life was pretty good, prayer-wise (keeping in mind that once you think something is good and holy, you then realize how proud you are, and around and around we go). Yes those were the days. I was having vivid flashbacks the other day of me, a single male in Barry's Bay, ON, and I was praying a holy hour at adoration. Can you imagine? Hasn't happened since. Not since Becca and the boys came along. Clearly married life is hazardous to your spiritual health.

Isn't the single life positively monkish! All the Mass, prayer, and confession a guy could ask for! Here's the problem though, no matter how much time I spent at the church as a single person, or volunteered doing various activities, yes no matter how much, I always had more free time than I could ever dream of now. Even if I was up from 6am and prayed and worked and helped the poor until 9:00pm, I still had that hour before bed to do whatever I want. 

Married Monk

Monkish? Actually, that would be married life. Monks, or at least the ones we read about in saintly books, have nearly every minute of their day planned. Rise at dawn. Pray. Help the poor. Repair a well. Pray some more. Go to bed. Maybe even rise in the night to pray. How giving. How saintly. How like marriage. Of course marriage has many similarities to monastic life. Especially the rising in the middle of the night. But then we return to that original problem: Family "Prayer."

The problem is that no matter how inherently saintly marriage and family life can be, does not one have to also pray? You know, talk with God from time to time? Have a chit chat if you will? A little "what-ho" and all that? Ahh, there's the scare in "prayer."

Child's Play

After nearly five years of marriage, and almost three and a half of those with at least one child, I've finally realized that I seem to have forgotten how to pray. I think if I ended up for a whole hour in adoration I would: a) distractedly wonder what the family is doing, and b) stare sheepishly at the monstrance like someone who has been ignoring his friend for the last few years and finally ran into the friend on the street.

But it's not for lack of effort (I hope)! Have you ever tried praying vespers with John Paul crying and kicking and Joseph whining that nobody is paying attention to him... every night? Sort of like trying to tell your wife you love her, while the game winning touchdown is just being thrown. It's, well, distracting. The effort is there, but holy cow did you see that catch?

Kids are distracting. And the problem is, they're always there. Want to go drive across town and pray in a church? "Daddy where are you going? I want to come! Let's drive our firetruck there! Here put on your helmet. Can we read books there? Maybe we can have a doughnut! Hey, let's go to the park!" Or want to pray a rosary together as a family at night? "Let's have a competition John Paul, we'll see who can get in the most trouble!"

But before you go ahead and think that kids must be a work of the devil to drive away a prayer life from well-meaning adults (I'm only slightly suggesting that), there's one thing that just doesn't shake out of my mind: little children teach us how to pray.

I recall the Joseph who innocently sings his angel of God prayer every night with a soft and perfect tone. He then recites a Hail Mary. All this while kneeling in front of his crucifix with his hands folded. Yes, with the thumbs ever so gently forming a cross, like his daddy taught him. And then he responds to my "St. Joseph" with a determined "pray for us" before pausing and adding on his own accord: "St Andddre..." To which I add "pray for us." Then as I pull him into bed he protests by asking: "Dad, I want to kiss baby Jesus in the manger, and Mamma Mary and St. Joseph." Greedy, but in a good way. So I bring him the tiny statues and he kisses them with the sweetest of kisses, and lies down in bed. Then he somewhat goofily asks: "Daddy, teach me how to be good." I tell him to love God, and to listen to Mommy and Daddy. Then he asks to sing a song. Immaculate Mary is sung. He snuggles close to me, and the room is suddenly as peaceful as a room full of angels, praising God with innocence, trust, and childlike love. And that is what is happening. And as custom, I begin my rosary. Both tired parents begin their rosary separately at times, only to meet up later. Sometimes another little boy joins them to finish it. Mommy and daddy kneeling, John Paul with one rosary, or both of ours, chewing them and soaking in the moment. We finish our rosary, and wearily head over to bed. Another day of war finished. Only to be awoken for sure in the night, when it all starts over again. Where will our minds be? Is there a chance they will be somewhere near heaven? Above the diapers and cries and even smiles?

"Daddy, teach me how to be good."

"Joseph, teach me how to pray."